This week has seen Prince William and Catherine Middleton celebrate 15 years of marriage, with the occasion marked by a suitably heartwarming family photograph of them and their children on holiday in Cornwall. Theirs has been a union that has generally received a good press, bar the odd salacious rumour about what William gets up to in Norfolk and near-constant speculation about Kate’s weight and appearance. However, her revelation two years ago that she was suffering from cancer led to a wave of public sympathy that has suggested that she, not Meghan, is the true heir to the compassionate, grounded legacy of Princess Diana.
If only the same might be said of the rest of her family. Kate’s grace and dignity stands in stark contrast to the ridiculous and often tawdry antics of the other Middletons, who arrived on the scene the best part of two decades ago and have been tabloid mainstays ever since. The first to attract attention was Carole Middleton, who swiftly became catnip to the media through a combination of her steely ambition for her daughter (suggesting that she attend the University of St Andrews and study history of art so that she would have the best chance of snaring herself a real-life prince) and for her past career as a flight attendant for British Airways.
It was reported, with some glee, that William’s snobbish friends would chant ‘Doors to manual’ whenever her name was mentioned, and while we at The Spectator cannot condone such boorish and classist behaviour, there is no doubt that the formidable Mrs Middleton is firmly in the line of such fictitious social climbers as Mrs Bennett and Hyacinth Bucket. She received the back-handed compliment of being portrayed by the great classical actress Eve Best in the final series of The Crown. Aficionados of Best’s theatrical work might remember her playing such characters as Lady Macbeth and the Duchess of Malfi, both of which undoubtedly prepared her for the task that she faced of playing someone with similarly grand aspirations for her loved ones.
Yet Carole has faded into the background over the past few years compared to other members of the Middleton clan. Her husband Michael, a fellow British Airways alumnus, is usually blandly described in the press as ‘a businessman’, but her brother Gary is the one who tends to excite attention, and rightly so. Although he, too, claims to be a ‘businessman and entrepreneur’, he is the true black sheep of the family. Uncle Gary who famously owned an Ibiza villa known as the ‘Maison de Bang Bang’ and embarrassed everyone with his appearance on Celebrity Big Brother, is a flamboyant character who received an assault conviction in 2017 for attacking his fourth wife. While he once said that ‘I’m a grown-up business man who has actually done quite well for himself, so I dress and behave accordingly’, his behaviour has made him seem like the worst kind of Essex lad-made-good, a cocaine-sniffing braggart who, unsurprisingly, had the legend ‘It’s Gary’s world, you just live in it’ emblazoned in six-foot high letters outside Maison de Bang Bang. Spare us.
There is no doubt that the formidable Mrs Middleton is firmly in the line of such fictitious social climbers as Mrs Bennett and Hyacinth Bucket
If Kate epitomises regal dignity and good humour, this cannot always be said of her sister Pippa and brother James. Pippa, if you cast your minds back, stole the show at the royal wedding with a figure-hugging Sarah Burton-designed dress, which briefly led to a flood of excitement that she was going to be the Marilyn Monroe de nos jours, just without all that regrettable JFK and Mafia stuff. Such was the enthusiasm about her apparent sartorial know-how that Time, for no clear reason, decided that she was one of the hundred most influential people in the world, and Penguin paid her £400,000 for a book called Celebrate. Alas, it proved very clear, very quickly, that her nous when it came to stepping into the spotlight was not complimented by literary ability. When it was published, Celebrate was much mocked for its strange, rather stilted style, which contained deathless observations like ‘This traditional British pie has attained iconic and protected status and is instantly recognisable by the distinctive shape.’ The book flopped, and Pippa’s next offering, Heartfelt, a selection of cardio-friendly recipes, gave the impression that her heart, ironically enough, was no longer in it.
Would that the same could be said of her younger brother James, who seems to have manifested a decidedly modern sensibility when it comes to issues of mental health. He has talked repeatedly and candidly about his battles with depression and anxiety, many of which he ascribes to his unlooked-for place in the public eye. It is, however, this slight celebrity that enabled him to pursue his own authorial career, publishing Meet Ella: The Dog Who Saved my Life in 2024, and of repeatedly assuring his nearly 350,000 followers on Instagram of his wellbeing. Unfortunately, like his sister, he seems to be in the habit of stating the obvious as if it is great profundity. He solemnly told the world a few weeks ago that ‘Sometimes we don’t fully realise the pressure social media puts on us until we take a step back. If I could offer one piece of advice for 2026, it would be to try it yourself; a week, a month, or even longer…’.
If only he, and the rest of his family, would listen to his own advice. Imagining a Middleton-free universe, where we are spared the intriguing and banalities of the future Queen’s family, is a happy thought indeed. Alas, it is unlikely to take place any time soon. To misquote Uncle Gary, it is the Middletons’ world, and we all have to live in it.
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