One of the side-effects of the Covid crisis has been that Mr and Mrs Harry Mountbatten Windsor have had to up their game in competing for headlines.
In recent times, the Duke and Duchess of Markle have been busy, busy, busy with their Zoom sermons. They've been advising American voters, finessing their inspiring, empowering television output of impactful content and progressing their privacy court action against a national newspaper.
But they've still managed to get on with their central role, which is to provide the rest of us with some light relief from the dire Covid cloud beneath which we now live.
Obviously, this has come at some sacrifice to our selfless pair of philanthropic martyrs.
This week, Meghan announced that she's been told (by whom?) that, during 2019, she was "the most trolled person in the entire world - male or female". A finding which may come as some surprise to, say, Donald Trump.
Meghan describes this as "almost unsurvivable". I like the "almost". Obviously, without that qualifying adverb, she'd have to explain how come then she did survive.
So, what evidence is there for her bold claim? As with those commentators who assert that "women are attracted to Boris Johnson by his animal magnetism", Meghan is short on corroborative detail.
What she and Harry aren't short on is self-esteem. Never in the history of virtual conferencing have one pair done so much wittering about themselves, their "leadership", their "platform", their "voices", their "work" (work!) and their relentless quest to make the world a better place, where we can all escape the "negativity" and they can get on with utilising their royal titles to rake in cash.
Because, let's not kid ourselves (even if Megs and Harry do), without those titles, Netflix didn't sign their Rishi Sunak-scale pay deal based solely on her CV, or his sagacity.
It's the titles, not their talents, that make the Markle-Mountbattens marketable. That and the fact that Harry might be up for spilling a few royal secrets.
The pair have robustly denied reports that a fly-on-the-wall film about their lives is included in the Netflix mix. Perish the thought.
It's hard to imagine, though, that it's just the worthy stuff of impactful content that's attracted the Netflix big bucks.
Nothing they say is particularly new, or even - especially where Harry is concerned - comprehensible.
This week, Meghan's been mocked over a Zoom speech about the ills of social media, which bore more than a passing resemblance to lines from the film The Social Dilemma.
And for Harry to poke his princely nose into American politics was never going to go down well in a country that is more Boston Tea Party than Royal Garden Party. A Missouri Congressman has now written a letter of complaint to the British Ambassador.
The pair constantly refer to themselves as "leaders". Leaders of what?
It's reported that Harry may be heading back to Blighty soon; one theory is he needs to leave the US to avoid being landed with a major tax bill.
So, why should UK taxpayers be expected to put up with the audacity of this duo cannily hanging on to the titles which are their major marketing tool?
Taxpayers finance the monarchy. They have a right to expect that royal titles should not be used for commercial purposes.
Yes, Meghan and Harry, in their absurdity, are one of the few headlining distractions from the awfulness of other news stories right now.
But that doesn't mean their ongoing and cynical cashing in on royal status should continue to be met with an indulgent shrug.
Duke and Duchess? The Queen needs to cut the cord.
The Irish Whiskey Association (IWA) has taken up arms - not literally, of course - against Russian authorities who are turning a blind eye to the production of fake Irish whiskey in Russia and Belarus.
I'm not sure what they call this stuff. Bushmillski? Jamesonivich? Perhaps they should appeal directly to Mr Putin.
Or, as he possibly styles himself on the label of that own-brand fake Irish liquor of his, Mr Poitin.
I wonder if Stormont might care to explain to us the science behind the decision to shut off-licences at 8pm each evening.
I'm trying to work out why a bottle bought, say, an hour later might be construed as more a source of contagion.
Or is it that, knowing that the latest lockdown rules will spell the death-knell for countless other businesses and jobs in the hospitality industry, Stormont just wants to share the misery round a bit?
Move over Elvis and, indeed, Jesus. The new face people are finding on foodstuffs, such as a pizza, or a slice of toast, is Donald Trump.
Maybe it's part of a clever election strategy, but Trump has been showing up with regularity in chicken nuggets and the like. You can see why there could be a likeness in the golden fried department. Someone even discovered a reasonably lookalike pork scratching.
I always wonder what people do when they come across an edible effigy like this. Do they put their Trump pork scratching on eBay? Or - gulp - just eat him?