The Secret Diary of Harry Windsor, aged 36¾

PRINCE Harry is writing a bombshell book about his life so far, which is predicted to widen his rift with the Royal Family following his marriage to Meghan Markle and their move to California. Harry, who has secured a 20million-dollar publishing deal, says the memoir will tell his story ‘not as the prince I was born, but as the man I have become’.

TCW has obtained a leaked copy of an early draft of the book, which indicates the prince’s story will be written in diary form …

Friday, January 1, 2016. Bank Holiday in England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales.

These are my New Year resolutions:

1. Never again to play naked billiards.

2. To send my Nazi uniform to the Oxfam shop.

3. Never again to drink champagne out of a prosthetic leg.

4. To swop my Army fatigues for a kaftan

5. To stop hanging out with P Diddy and Kanye West.

6. To meet a woman who isn’t called Chelsy or Cressida.

I didn’t get any sleep last night, what with father singing a lullaby to his bloody plants and Camilla swigging gin, puffing away on a cigarette and belting out Auld Lang Syne as she conga-lined around the palace grounds with the underhouse parlourmaid, the butler of the backstairs and the chauffeur.

Saturday, March 12

The hair on my chin is getting longer and finally covering that pimple or boil that has been growing since New Year. I am much relieved at the prospect of concealment, but apprehensive at the thought of developing a bushy red beard.

Sunday, April 10

My mental turmoil continues. Although I loved blasting away at the enemy with a 50-calibre machine gun in Afghanistan, I’m not really an Action Man, more an intellectual. I thought of contacting my father’s spiritual mentor Laurens van der Post for some advice, but it turns out he is dead.

Tuesday, April 12

I look up The 10 Best Self-Help Books that Will Change Your Life For Ever, but they do not cover angst-torn royal princes.If only I could meet someone, a soulmate, with whom I could share my hopes and dreams and anxieties over my burgeoning facial hair.

Sunday, July 3

It’s happened! Last night I met the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. It was a chance encounter in a discreet Soho club. We talked for hours on so many subjects – life, love, complexion creams, the rate of follicular growth in the average male, our concerns for the future of the planet. So much empathy! We were clearly made for each other. Unfortunately I didn’t get her name or number.

Sunday, July 10

It’s happened again! Last night on an arranged blind date in a discreet Soho club, I met another woman who was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. We talked for hours on so many subjects – life, love, complexion creams, the rate of follicular growth in the average male, our concerns for the future of the planet.

So much empathy! We were clearly made for each other. She insisted I take her mobile and home phone number, business card, email address, Facebook address, Twitter address, etc, and made another date for tomorrow night.

I can’t remember her name just now – I think she is Canadian – but my personal protection officer has all the details. Should I meet up with her again? Oh, the tortures of modern princedom! To add to my dilemma, I am sure now it is a boil, not a pimple.