Dearest Gentle Reader, the Sussexes are homeward bound, the Chancellor's sums do not add up, and the French have taken to slashing dinghies with knives in the name of diplomacy - today's dispatches arrive with the velocity of a runaway carriage and considerably less dignity. This Author has grave intelligence on a top-secret acting role, a brotherly rift that proximity alone cannot mend, and a national day of silence that demands we set the lorgnette aside entirely. Prepare yourself.

Dearest Gentle Reader, today's dispatches bring cheaper chocolate, a hot microphone that has embarrassed the Cabinet, and a thirteen-year-old prince photographed in a suit with his hands in his pockets - which is either a sign of great composure or a very good tailor. This Author has opinions on all of it, and decorum will restrain only some of them.

Dearest Gentle Reader, this Tuesday brings a dispatch so weighted with fire, terror, and sorrow that This Author barely knows whether to reach for her lorgnette or her smelling salts - and she has, upon reflection, reached for both. Counter-terrorism officers have entered the investigation into a most terrible death, nineteen wildfires rage across the Kingdom, and a beach in Hartlepool reminds us what true courage looks like - at the very highest cost. Steel yourself, and read on.