Saturday Morning With Jack Tame

What. A. Photo.     What a stunning, extraordinary, scandal-defining, generation-defining photo.    A gaunt man. His eyes wide, somehow focusing on nothing and everything at once, as if haunted by a vision he cannot unsee. His face is haggard. His pale fingers clasped. The light of the photographer’s flash reflected in red in his pupil.  What is the position he’s in? Is he trying to hide? If so, he did a terrrrrible job. Is he willing the plush leather seats of his vehicle to swallow him whole? And what is that expression? Is it the humiliation of Police detention? The shock and embarrassment of being held against your will? Or is it the gravity of this moment, this realisation? Does Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor finally see that he, a man born into the most extreme privilege is now mired in the most profound shame. Charged? As of yet, no. Convicted? Certainly not. But surely irredeemable in his disgrace.  What a moment. What an extraordinary fall from grace. What a photo.  Onc