>So, final proof: Prince Harry is a moron. No, sorry: a bigoted moron. Actually, wrong again: a racist, bigoted, moron, who isn’t even a [allegation removed on lawyer’s advice]. Great. Perhaps in the rarefied environs of the army, calling each other ‘paki’ and ‘raghead’ is all just wizard fun and part of the process that enables you to go around the world killing people whilst braying loudly about just how wasted Giles and Ollie were the other night.

What actually goes on inside the head of the third in line to the throne? Apart from all the thoughts about skiing at Kloisters, shooting animals and spectacularly inappropriate fancy dress, you get the feeling that the wheel is still spinning, but that the gerbil died a long time ago. Today’s New Band, however, are as bright as buttons.

The Momeraths are a band existing in their own world, where it’s always summertime, there’s always a picnic in the park to go to, and when you get there, everything – trees, grass, dogs and all – are made of different coloured fudge. This precis is really the only reasonable explanation for their sugar-powered, youthful and happy sound.

Johnny Coop is a racket, in the nicest possible way. It clatters and clicks enthusiastically, and threatens to collapse under the weight of the jingles, jangles and scattering sounds, but actually emerges as bright, joyful pop. The Boyfriend Song jigs frantically around its teenage bedroom, daydreaming about the captain of the football team, who’s, like, totally lush.
The Momeraths are cute without being twee, fey without being pathetic and jangly without being clichéd. For this achievement alone, they deserve an invite to one of Harry’s parties, though I’m not sure how at home they’d feel amongst a load of hairy-arsed squaddies. Find out for yourself here, and then have a go at racially abusing someone yourself.