Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid — Even If They Sell More Books

Charles Spencer, 9th Earl Spencer, has a new book, Swan Song: Diana, My Sister, was published on 22 September 2026. It has already created quite a stir in the media.

At times, coverage of the book appears to have eclipsed considerably more consequential news, much of it focusing on the revelation of a private conversation said to have taken place around thirty years ago.

I’m not going to repeat the alleged conversation here.

Partly out of principle.

Partly because Earl Spencer has already got enough free publicity without me joining his marketing department.

In fact, by writing this, I probably am joining in. But seriously, should this conversation even be news?

Earl Spencer has rather more publishing clout than I do. He can boast four Sunday Times bestsellers. My book currently boasts more proofreaders than sales.

But why choose to write this book now — and why publish such a private conversation? It was always going to be controversial. In doing so, he risks looking less like a protective brother preserving his sister’s memory and more like someone willing to expose a private exchange either to generate publicity or to damage the reputation of another member of the Royal Family.

The timing, of course, may be entirely coincidental. But publishing is a business, and a globally published book about Diana, released a year before the thirtieth anniversary of her death, is unlikely to suffer from a lack of attention.

When the book is published, it will have a global release and be translated into 12 languages, with some newspapers speculating that it could be worth as much as £10 million to Earl Spencer.

So, financially at least, he should be well placed for any future divorce settlements.

Which makes the scale of the publicity surrounding the book all the more curious.

Does the media know what it’s doing? This coverage amounts to free publicity for a man who already stands to make a fortune from the book.

I’d love to increase my own book sales, and I confess that in my latest book I’ve quoted plenty of people saying things they probably never expected to see in print. Fortunately for them, most are of little significance, and I changed their names anyway.

Unfortunately for me, my few encounters with high-profile people produced little more than polite pleasantries. Although, taken wildly out of context, one or two lines might raise an eyebrow.

“Yes, of course you can hold them.”
or
“Well, that’s how most of my ideas start.”

One of my more memorable encounters with fame came from a safe distance: the late Queen, in Swindon.

I’d only popped into town to grab some lunch and noticed a huge crowd gathered outside McDonald’s. Naturally, I assumed there must be some sort of impromptu buy-one-get-ten-free offer judging by the size of the crowd.

Then the Queen appeared.

Her Majesty cast her eyes in my direction, took in my appearance and pulled a face that all but confirmed my Swindonian thuggery.

I bear no grudge.

Had I known the Queen was going to be in town, I would have upgraded from my Nike tracksuit and Adidas baseball cap to something a little more regal.

Entirely my fault.

Unfortunately, the encounter gave me very little material for a memoir.

But seriously, why give this story coverage?

Perhaps next time I chance upon someone high-profile, I’ll make more of an effort. I’ll ask the awkward questions, prod the hornet’s nest and see what comes buzzing out — ideally something juicy enough to write about.

Or perhaps I’ll simply get lucky and catch an A-lister emotionally off guard, right in the middle of a personal crisis, just as they say something revealing.

In which case, I’d like to think I’d have the good grace not to tuck it away for thirty years and then publish it.

But perhaps there’s a better question here: who gets to decide when a private moment stops being private?

Does being famous — or simply related to someone famous — make private memories public property?

I know one thing. Some things are better left unsaid.  This was one of them.

Although, admittedly, as I’m rather naïvely discovering, discretion rarely sells as many books.