Whichever side of the Royal fence you may sit on, and even if, like me, you find Harry’s revelatory memoir distasteful and ultimately hypocritical, the book is confirmation, if ever we needed it, that money, palaces and royal privilege replete with fast cars, exotic trips abroad, lavish gifts and hired help, do not buy you love, happiness or security.

Ironically, they often lead to the total opposite. And, of course, we are not just talking royalty here because, on many more modest levels of affluence, it can apply just as easily. True privilege is altogether different from being bankrolled and leaves you all this more human, humbled and intact. 

We didn’t need a tell-all memoir to tell us that the royal family is not a family given to public (or even private) displays of affection. We knew that these people were emotionally stunted and wore a ‘stiff upper lip’ as armour.  And, yet, the confirmation, coming as it did from a senior member of the family (no less than the second son of the king himself), was as fascinating as it was unsurprising. 

We knew, of course, that King Charles was a boy whose parents had been largely absent from his life and who clearly had to deal with his own profound loneliness and lack of affection. But now we were told (and it is indeed a highly plausible allegation) that,  on returning from an extended royal tour, the late queen merely offered her son a firm handshake.  

It is all too obvious that King Charles is another victim of an emotionally unfulfilled childhood. This man, who did not receive any warmth growing up and who carried his teddy bear into adulthood, was doing his parental level best within his own emotional straitjacket.   

So, yes, even if I found some parts of Harry’s book tone-deaf and bizarre, I was definitely struck by others, particularly by the profound lack of open and demonstrative affection which permeates the book.

I’d even venture to say that the duke of sussex’s emotionally repressed upbringing was probably his biggest handicap and the root cause of much of his conflict and unhappiness. Indeed, although the book front-loads complicated and unresolved grief and despite his having to deal with the public and bitter divorce of his parents, followed by the even more public and traumatic death of his mother, replete with cruel media intrusion, Harry clearly, and most of all, craved physical intimacy. 

He found the culture of ‘no hugs, no kisses, no pats’ difficult to bear, particularly when recalling that summer trip to Balmoral in 1997 when his father informed him that his mother had died. Here is the actual passage from Spare: “Pa didn’t hug me. He wasn’t great at showing emotions under normal circumstances, how could he be expected to show them in such a crisis? But his hand did fall once more on my knee and he said: It’s going to be OK. That was quite a lot for him. Fatherly, hopeful, kind. And so very untrue.”

I have always been forgiving of Charles despite the ‘bad press’ and have, on numerous occasions, felt that he was unfairly misrepresented and misunderstood. As far as I’m concerned, his grown-up son’s book makes his father far more sensitive and human than we might have ever thought, imagined or expected.   

It is all too obvious that King Charles is another victim of an emotionally unfulfilled childhood- Michela Spiteri

But, of course, one’s parental ‘best’ is not necessarily enough and often creates strange dynamics and unhealthy patterns of behaviour, with both parent and child unable to convey what they really feel and want to say. It is very clear that both Harry and his father struggled with love and communication. This paragraph from the book is particularly poignant: 

“Other than those fleeting moments, however, Pa and I mostly coexisted. He had trouble communicating, trouble listening, trouble being intimate face-to-face. On occasion, after a long multi-course dinner, I’d walk upstairs and find a letter on my pillow. The letter would say how proud he was of me for something I’d done or accomplished. I’d smile, place it under my pillow, but also wonder why he hadn’t said this moments ago, while seated directly across from me.”  

Spare in fact demonstrates two things. Firstly, that children unknowingly idolise their parents and crave their love and approval, making mothers and fathers by far the most important people in their emotional lives and the first people with whom they develop relationships. 

Secondly, that communication and physical intimacy are incredibly important and are factors which, ultimately, determine, define and shape the people they become and the relationships they will have in later life. Children learn most, if not all, of their behaviour during those early formative years.

Emotionally available parents usually make for emotionally secure and confident children, whereas a child whose emotional needs have not been met is in due course a damaged adult. To quote Prince Harry again: “I was a deeply unhappy 17-year-old boy willing to try almost anything that would alter the status quo.”

Although I do have reservations about the publication of this book, which is often clumsy and self-indulgent, I like to think that it does serve a useful purpose. If nothing else, it challenges the idea that privileged people are simply those who want for nothing in the material sense (and so have no right to complain).

A life of unimaginable wealth, luxury and privilege can be a very lonely place. Which might explain the disturbing link between celebrities and suicide.

“And if they didn’t know why I’d left, maybe they just didn’t know me. At all. And maybe they never really did. And to be fair, maybe I didn’t either. The thought made me feel colder, and terribly alone”.

Alone. The very word has a deadening sound. Quite different from being private or enjoying a solitary walk. To be alone in a crowd is indeed a well-known trope. But to feel alone in a family unit is bleaker still.