Years ago, I was in Washington DC when Prince Harry blew through on an official engagement. He was 28, with a full head of hair, a slightly louche gait and a public image that, on a tour of the Senate led by a baffled-looking John McCain, caused people to lose their minds.

Senate staffers stood five deep to get a glimpse; women materialised from every corner, more glamorously dressed for the office than usual. The excitement was so great that there were actual screams from behind the security line. I remember noting the prince’s prominent ears, the high colour in his cheeks and his habit, when addressed, of bowing his head, as if humbled by what he was hearing. Aw, I thought. Bless him.

But that was a long time ago. This week, Harry, now 42, appeared on camera in an interview in New York with GQ, playing to a very different audience. He looked older and schlubbier – don’t we all – the diffidence of youth replaced by something more pompous and belligerent, undergirded by what, in recent years, has appeared to be his bottomless well of hurt feelings. Harry was promoting something – a masterclass on “grief science”, which he has undertaken with Dr Mary-Frances O’Connor. But the........

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