Buckingham Palace insists it is a venerable institution, steeped in tradition, dignity and discretion. Yet every time Prince Harry or Princess Meghan so much as breathe in the general direction of “Salty Island” (online slang for the UK), someone inside those draughty corridors sprints to the nearest tabloid. The drama over the Duke and Duchess’s return to the UK is particularly hilarious: Harry apparently informed the Home Office of his return before informing the palace.
The story itself is absurd enough, but the speed with which it travelled from “private royal feeling” to “global headline” is the real comedy. Either Buckingham Palace’s HR department is running a loyalty programme for leaks (“Tell us your secrets - earn points! Redeem them for a free briefing against your least favourite family member!”) or the King has absolutely no control over his own palace. The moment Charles was told, the tabloids were told, and then the world was told. They seem to have misunderstood the meaning of “communications office” - it doesn’t actually mean that every last thing must be communicated.
The news that the Home Office knew first being leaked is bad enough but even the king’s feelings about Harry informing the Home Office first were leaked. His actual emotions (he’s apparently “furious”). His inner world, the stuff most people reserve for diaries and therapists, was apparently deemed fit for immediate export to the tabloids. If the monarch’s private sentiments can’t survive more than a few hours without being leaked to the press, what hope is there for anything else? One imagines Pa muttering “I’m a bit miffed, actually,” only for a footman to sprint down the corridor, elbow open a window, and shout it directly into the waiting arms of the Telegraph. It’s hard to blame Harry for treating the palace as a security hazard when even the king’s mood is considered public‑facing information.
And there’s a joke somewhere about Charles being the same man who once declared he wished he could be Camilla’s tampon - an object specifically designed not to leak - presiding over a palace that leaks with the enthusiasm of a colander. You’d think, given that particular historical footnote, Buckingham Palace would be especially committed to discretion.
Of course Harry told the Home Office first. That’s how security works. You inform the people responsible for risk assessments, police coordination and operational planning. You do not, under any circumstances, inform the palace first, because the palace is not a secure environment. It is, in fact, the opposite of a secure environment. It’s a place where proper information goes to die, reincarnates as gossip, and re-emerges in the Fail calling itself “a royal insider”.
The palace’s indignation is particularly rich given its track record. For years, Harry and Meghan have been treated as the family’s favourite scapegoats. If a royal cousin sneezes in the wrong direction, someone will find a way to blame Harry. And yet the palace still expects him to hand over sensitive travel information early, as though it has ever demonstrated the ability to keep anything confidential for more than twelve minutes.
The funniest part of this whole saga is the palace’s insistence that it was “blindsided”. Blindsided by what, exactly? Harry returning to the country he was born in? Harry following standard security protocol? Harry not treating Buckingham Palace as MI6? If anything, the palace blindsided itself by assuming it still occupies a position of trust in Harry’s life. Trust, like good plumbing, must be maintained. And the palace has spent years smashing the pipes with a hammer.
Telling Buckingham Palace anything (or Kensington Palace, for that matter) is basically the same as tweeting it. The palace leaks because leaking is its favourite sport. It leaks because it lacks discipline. It leaks because it can’t help itself. It leaks because it’s institutionally addicted to briefing the press, especially when the briefing involves the Duke and Duchess of Sussex. And then it has the audacity to act wounded when Harry behaves accordingly.
So Harry told the Home Office first, and told the palace later. And that is exactly how it should be. Because until Buckingham Palace learns to keep its own counsel - or at the very least stops treating private information like confetti - Harry’s team will continue to operate on the sensible assumption that anything shared with the palace will be in the tabloids before the ink is dry.
If the king truly wants fewer surprises, he might start by asking his staff to stop moonlighting as gossip columnists. Until then, Harry will continue to do what he has always done: prioritise safety, sanity and actual professionalism. And the palace will continue to do what it has always done: leak, brief, complain, and then wonder why nobody tells it anything.
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