Defining Privilege.

I sometimes think how awful life must be for royalty in a constitutional monarchy, spending nearly every waking minute trapped in the suffocating confines of civil and ceremonial duty. Imagine being unable to walk down the lane with a girl from the village. Imagine being unable to write a blog under your own name in which you rail against crap politicians (and even crapper members of your own family.) Imagine being unable to go to the pub and get thrown out for being drunk and disorderly.

These things are dear to me, far too dear to relinquish for the mere matter of wealth and privilege. Indeed, it begs the question: what is privilege?

But then, I believe in reincarnation, so maybe it isn’t so bad. The being known as Charles might be born into a poor family in a remote area of Indonesia in his next life. He might get eaten by a tiger when he’s twelve. Or he might marry the loveliest of the local ladies and sire twenty five children who will take care of him until he dies again. And then, in the following life, he might be...