The Prince of Wales has received an esteemed new title from the King of England. King Charles III’s title bestowment comes at the same time his secondborn son, Prince Harry, is visiting the U.K. for the Invictus Games 10th anniversary.
This week has proved to be an eventful time for the British royal family. Yesterday, a media outlet reported that King Charles III is set to confer the role of Colonel-in-Chief of the Army Air Corps to his eldest son, Prince William. The announcement was made via Buckingham Palace.
According to reports, the official date for the role transfer is set for May 13 and will take place at the Army Aviation Centre in Middle Wallop.
“In August 2023, following His Majesty’s Accession, the King was pleased to announce military appointments including that the Prince of Wales would become Colonel-in-Chief of the Army Air Corps. The role was previously held by His Majesty the King, as Prince of Wales, for 31 years,” discloses the Palace’s message.
Interestingly, though Prince William is stepping into the role for the first time, the role itself is not new as it used to belong to his younger brother, Prince Harry. The Duke of Sussex’s affiliation with the Armed Forces runs deep.
Aside from previously holding the title, Prince Harry worked in the Armed Forces for ten years, serving two Afghanistan duty tours with the British Army before ending his operational duties in 2015. In addition to Prince Harry, other members of the royal family “have official relationships with many units of the Forces.”
The official website for the King and Queen of England states that the royal family pays soldiers, airmen, and sailors, who serve both at home and abroad, “regular visits.” They have long recognized and supported “the work of the Armed Services.”
News of the King bestowing the title of Colonel-in-Chief of the Army Air Corps to Prince William comes amid the Duke of Sussex’s recent trip to the U.K., which has raised eyebrows in public spheres. Speculation has been swirling based on the fact that it is widely known that Prince Harry and his father’s relationship has been tense in recent years.
“This is one of the most public rifts in the world. If it was handled in private without so much press speculation, it would have a better chance of being resolved,” asserted royal expert Richard Fitzwilliams while speaking about Prince Harry and King Charles III.
The rift between the father and son runs so deep that even though Prince Harry is currently back in the U.K., a meeting between him and the King of England will not take place. This has sparked heated responses from the public.
“In response to the many inquiries and continued speculation on whether or not The Duke will meet with his father while in the U.K. this week, it unfortunately will not be possible due to His Majesty’s full program,” announced a spokesperson for Prince Harry.
The statement went on to explain, “The Duke of course is understanding of his father’s diary of commitments and various other priorities and hopes to see him soon.” According to a media outlet, King Charles III has a busy schedule because he recently returned to his public royal duties.
Since working behind the scenes amid his cancer diagnosis and treatment, King Charles III held an audience at Buckingham Palace yesterday, where the Prime Minister of Fiji, Sitiveni Rabuka, was welcomed. Further occupying the King’s time is the premiere garden party of the season, which is set to take place at Buckingham Palace today (May 8).
Like his father, Prince Harry is also booked and busy. His time in the UK has been spent on the Invictus Games’ anniversary which kicked off with a panel yesterday. Today, St. Paul’s Cathedral will host a service where Prince Harry is expected to give a reading.
The public has reacted with shock and outrage to the news that Prince Harry and King Charles III will not see each other during this time, with many people expressing disappointment in the King. “That’s absolutely unforgivable, that a Dad can’t prioritize his son. King or not!!!” chastised a social media user.
Similarly, someone else expressed, “Harry deserves better. Shame on #KingCharles. He treated #PrincessDiana terrible as well. #TheWholeWorldIsWatching.” “Shameful… but Prince Harry can sleep well at night. He has reached out numerous times,” commented another.
Continuing to highlight the tumultuous nature of the late Princess Diana’s relationship with King Charles III, another user noted, “Charles is who Diana said he was 🙃.” Another King Charles III critic called him “petty.”
A Facebooker wrote, “As a parent I can’t imagine not being able to pencil my child into my schedule.” “I can’t imagine anything more important than getting to spend some time with a child that you really don’t see very often,” added another.
Someone else who felt particularly strongly about the matter stated, “Sadly, his father chooses his position over his family. His father has made it very clear where his love is. If he really wanted to see his son he would and could. This whole situation clearly shows that it is all about him and his ‘control over others.’”
Although King Charles III may not currently have the best relationship with his youngest son, with the recent news of Prince William receiving a new title from him, it would appear as though he remains in good standing with his eldest.
Furthermore, he also reportedly shares a great relationship with his daughter-in-law Princess Catherine. Like Prince William, the King had also conferred a new title on the Princess, which we previously reported on April 24, 2024.
On April 23, King Charles III announced that the Princess of Wales would become the Royal Companion of the Order of the Companions of Honour. This was the first appointment for any royal. This prestigious appointment places her among an elite group recognized for their significant contributions across various fields, including the arts, sciences, and public service.
The Order of the Companions of Honour was established by King George V in 1917. It is an exclusive society limited to 65 members at any given time. However, additional honorary members from outside the Commonwealth are allowed. Notable figures among its ranks include Sir Elton John, Sir David Attenborough, Anna Wintour, Dame Maggie Smith, and Dame Judi Dench.
The announcement of Princess Catherine’s new role raised eyebrows. It prompted a flurry of online comments expressing confusion and concern. Thoughts from the online community ranged from skeptical to supportive.
“Definitely a distraction as to what is really happening but okay,” one comment read, hinting at underlying royal dynamics. “But where is she?” asked another, highlighting the Princess’s noticeable absence from public engagements. “A Royal Companion never heard of that role,” a person noted.
“She still hasn’t been seen in public since Dec 25th, and no one seems concerned with this at all?” another person expressed. “I hope she is getting better,” a Facebook user shared. “Ermm what kind of title is that?” questioned another, puzzled over the significance of the new title.
It’s clear that while the honor is significant, it also casts a spotlight on Princess Catherine’s recent low profile. This has stirred public curiosity and concern about her well-being and the circumstances surrounding her new royal duties.
My Neighbor Drove over My Lawn Every Day as a Shortcut to Her Yard
After her divorce, Hayley pours her heart into the perfect lawn, until her entitled neighbor starts driving over it like it’s a shortcut to nowhere. What begins as a petty turf war turns into something deeper: a fierce, funny, and satisfying reclamation of boundaries, dignity, and self-worth.
After my divorce, I didn’t just want a fresh start. I needed it.
That’s how I ended up in a quiet cul-de-sac in a different state, in a house with a white porch swing and a lawn I could call my own.
A house with a white porch swing | Source: Midjourney
I poured my heartbreak into that yard. I planted roses from my late grandma’s clippings. I lined the walkways with solar lights that flickered to life like fireflies. I mowed every Saturday, named my mower “Benny,” and drank sweet tea on the steps like I’d been doing it my whole life.
I was 30, newly single, and desperate for peace.
A smiling woman sitting on a porch | Source: Midjourney
Then came Sabrina.
You’d hear her before you saw her. Her heels clicking like gunshots against concrete, voice louder than her Lexus engine. She was in her late 40s, always in something tight and glossy, and never without a phone pressed to her ear.
She lived in the corner house across the loop. Her husband, Seth, though I wouldn’t learn his name until much later, was the quiet type.
I never saw him drive. Just her. Always her.
A woman standing next to her car | Source: Midjourney
The first time I saw tire tracks through my lawn, I thought it was a fluke. Maybe a delivery guy cutting a corner during his route. But then it happened again. And again.
I got up early one morning and caught her in the act, her SUV swinging wide and slicing clean through my flowerbed like it was a damn racetrack. I flagged her down, waving like a madwoman in pajama pants.
“Hey! Could you not cut across the lawn like that? I just planted lilies there! Come on!”
A flowerbed of beautiful lilies | Source: Midjourney
She leaned out the window, sunglasses perched high, lips curled in a smile so tight it could cut glass.
“Oh honey, your flowers will grow back! I’m just in a rush sometimes.”
Then, just like that, she was gone.
Her SUV disappeared around the corner, tires leaving fresh scars across the soil I’d spent hours softening, planting, grooming. The scent of crushed roses lingered in the air, floral and faintly bitter, like perfume sprayed on a goodbye letter.
A car on the road | Source: Midjourney
I stood frozen on the porch, heart pounding in that familiar, helpless rhythm. I wasn’t just angry, I was dismantled.
Not again.
I’d already lost so much. The marriage. The future I’d clung to like a blueprint. And just when I’d started to rebuild something beautiful, something mine, someone decided it was convenient to tear it up with their Michelin tires and manicured entitlement.
An upset woman sitting outside | Source: Midjourney
This yard was my sanctuary. My therapy. My way of proving to myself that I could nurture something, even if I hadn’t been enough for someone else to stay.
And she drove over it like it was a patch of weeds.
I tried to be civil. I did what any good neighbor would. I bought big, beautiful decorative rocks. The type that was polished, heavy, and meant to say please respect this space. I placed them carefully, like guards at the edge of a kingdom I was learning to protect.
A pile of rocks on a lawn | Source: Midjourney
The next morning? Two were shoved aside like toys and a rose stem split down the middle.
That’s when it hit me: this wasn’t about flowers. This was about me.
And I’d been invisible long enough. So, I stopped being nice.
A damaged rose bush | Source: Midjourney
Phase One: Operation Spike Strip (But Made Legal)
I gave her chances. I gave her grace. I gave her decorative rocks. But the message wasn’t sinking in.
So I got creative.
I drove out to a local feed store, the kind that smells like hay and old wood, and picked up three rolls of chicken wire mesh. Eco-friendly. Subtle. But when laid just beneath the surface of a soft lawn?
A close up of chicken wire mesh | Source: Midjourney
It bites.
I came home and worked in the early evening light, the same time she usually thundered in like a one-woman parade. I wore gloves. I dug carefully. I laid that wire with the precision of a woman who’s been underestimated one too many times.
I smoothed the soil back over like nothing ever happened. To the average eye? It was just a freshly groomed yard.
A woman working in her garden | Source: Midjourney
To a woman who doesn’t respect boundaries? It was a trap waiting to be triggered.
Two days later, I was on the porch with my tea when I heard it.
A loud crunch.
The kind of sound that makes your shoulders tense and your heart quietly hum with justice. Sabrina’s SUV jerked to a stop mid-lawn, one tire hissing its surrender.
A cup of tea on a porch | Source: Midjourney
Sabrina flung the door open like the drama queen she was, stilettos stabbing into my flowerbed as she examined the deflation.
“What did you do to my car?!” she screamed, her eyes wild.
I took a slow, syrupy sip from my mug.
A close up of an annoyed woman | Source: Midjourney
“Oh no… was that the lawn again? Thought your tires were tougher than my roses.”
She stood there, seething. And all I could think was: Good.
She stormed off in a flurry of clicks and curses. But I wasn’t done. Not even close. There was so much more to come.
A woman leaning against her door and smiling | Source: Midjourney
Phase Two: The Petty Paper Trail
The next morning, I found a letter taped to my front door, flapping in the breeze like a threat dressed in Times New Roman.
It was from Sabrina’s lawyer.
Apparently, I’d “intentionally sabotaged shared property” and “posed a safety hazard.”
Shared property? My yard?
A letter taped to a front door | Source: Midjourney
I stood there barefoot on the porch, still in my sleep shirt and leggings. I reread the letter three times just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. It was laughable. But laughter wasn’t what came first, it was rage.
Slow, steady, delicious rage.
You want to play legal games, Sabrina? Fine by me.
I called the county before my coffee even got cold. I booked a land survey that same afternoon. Two days later, there were stakes and bright-orange flags marking every inch of my property like a war zone.
A woman sitting at her kitchen counter | Source: Midjourney
Turns out, her property line didn’t even brush mine. She’d been trespassing for weeks.
So, I started gathering receipts. I went full-librarian-on-a-mission mode.
I pulled every photo I’d taken. Snapshots of roses in bloom, then snapped in half. Sabrina’s SUV parked mid-lawn. Her stilettos crossing my mulch like it was a runway. One image had her mid-stride, phone to ear, not a care in the world.
An older woman talking on a phone | Source: Midjourney
I printed them all and put them into a folder. I slid in a copy of the survey, the report I filed, not to press charges, just to get it on record. The paper trail was clean, legal, and satisfyingly thick.
I mailed it to her lawyer. Certified. Tracked. With a little note inside:
“Respect goes both ways.”
Three days later, the claim was dropped. Just like that. No apology. No confrontation. But still, Sabrina didn’t stop.
And that?
That was her final mistake.
An envelope on a table | Source: Midjourney
Phase Three: The “Welcome Mat” Finale
If chicken wire couldn’t stop her and legal letters didn’t humble my annoying neighbor, then it was time for something with a little more… flair.
I scoured the internet until I found it. A motion-activated sprinkler system designed to ward off deer and raccoons but with the power of a small fire hydrant.
It didn’t mist. It attacked.
An open laptop on a kitchen counter | Source: Midjourney
I buried it low in the spot she always cut across, hidden beneath a fresh layer of mulch and daisies. Wired it up. I did a test run and got blasted so hard I lost a flip-flop. It was perfect.
The next morning, I sat behind my lace curtains with a mug of coffee and fresh buttery croissants. I had the patience of a woman who’d been underestimated for far too long.
Right on schedule, her white Lexus turned into the cul-de-sac and swerved over my lawn like it always had, confident, careless, and completely unprepared.
Fresh croissants on a plate | Source: Midjourney
And then… fwoosh!
The sprinkler exploded to life with the fury of a thousand garden hoses. First her front wheel. Then the open passenger window. Then a glorious 360 spin that drenched the entire side of her SUV.
Sabrina screamed. The car screeched to a stop. She threw her door open and jumped out, soaked, makeup running like melting wax.
I didn’t laugh. I howled. Nearly spilled my coffee down my shirt.
A sprinkler system on a lawn | Source: Midjourney
She stood in my flowerbed, dripping, sputtering, mascara streaking down her cheeks like black tears of entitlement. For the first time since this all started, she looked small.
She never crossed the lawn again.
A week later, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find a man, mid-50s, rumpled button-down, holding a potted lavender plant like it was a peace offering.
A man holding a potted plant | Source: Midjourney
“I’m Seth,” he said quietly. “Sabrina’s husband.”
The poor man looked like a man worn down by years of apologizing for someone else.
“She’s… spirited,” he said, offering the plant. “But you taught her a lesson I couldn’t.”
I took the plant gently.
A smiling woman standing outside | Source: Midjourney
“The sidewalk’s always available, Seth,” I smiled.
He smiled back. The kind that carried more relief than joy. Then he turned and walked away, on the pavement.
Right where he belonged.
A man walking down a side walk | Source: Midjourney
Weeks later, my lawn was blooming again.
The roses were taller than before. The daffodils had returned, delicate but defiant. The rocks still stood guard, though they didn’t need to anymore.
The chicken wire was gone. The sprinkler? Still there. Not out of spite but memory. It was a line drawn in the soil, just in case the world forgot where it ended.
A beautiful garden | Source: Midjourney
But the war was over.
I stirred a pot of marinara in my kitchen, the window cracked just enough to let in the sound of birds and distant lawnmowers. My hands moved on autopilot—garlic, basil, and a pinch of salt.
I had made this recipe a hundred times, but that night it felt different. Like muscle memory soothing something deeper.
A pot of marinara sauce on a stove | Source: Midjourney
The steam fogged the window just enough that I couldn’t quite see the tire marks that once haunted the grass. And I thought… maybe that was fitting.
Because it wasn’t really about grass.
It was about being erased. Again.
When my marriage ended, it hadn’t been with a dramatic fight or infidelity. It had been quieter. Colder. Like watching someone pack up their love in small boxes and slip out the door while I was still convincing myself things could be fixed.
A pensive woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
I had spent three years asking to be seen. To matter. To be considered.
And then I came here. To this house. To this porch. And I finally started building something just for me. Something alive. Beautiful. Soft in all the places I had gone hard to survive.
And then Sabrina… Tire tracks across my peace. High heels stomping on my healing.
A laughing older woman | Source: Midjourney
She hadn’t known that every daffodil she crushed, I had planted with hands that still shook from signing divorce papers.
That every solar light she bumped had been placed with quiet hope I’d someday fall in love with evenings again.
So maybe it looked petty. Maybe a sprinkler seemed like overkill. But it hadn’t just been about defending grass.
A close up of daffodils | Source: Midjourney
It had been about drawing a line where I hadn’t before. About learning that sometimes, being kind means being fierce. And that setting boundaries doesn’t make me crazy.
It gives me freedom.
I ladled sauce over pasta and smiled as the scent filled the kitchen.
Some things broke me. And some things, like a perfect flowerbed, or a well-aimed jet of water, brought me back.
A bowl of pasta on a kitchen counter | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
When Martha returns from a weekend away, she’s horrified to find her MIL, Gloria, has destroyed her daughter’s cherished flowerbed, replacing it with tacky garden gnomes. Furious but composed, Martha hatches a clever plan to teach her a lesson she’ll never forget.
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