THEY’VE taken it all away from me. My Princehood, my Dukedom, my HRH. And now I’m completely anonymous. I could be anywhere. I could be in the room with you now.
Yes, my brother and nephew have deprived me of everything that once made me special. My medals and my Order of the Garter? No longer mine. And in doing so they’ve freed me.
I’m anyone now. Just one more red-faced older man, vaguely recognisable but you can’t put your finger on it. I can mingle with crowds. I can rub up against strangers on Tube trains. I can walk slowly past the fence at netball practice.
There’s no gilded carriage transporting me, nor courtier announcing my arrival. I slip into rooms unnoticed. You’ll only know there’s a figure standing in the shadows by my heavy breathing.
Oh, they’ve put me in Norfolk, but I can leave. As far as the local police are concerned, I’m any thick-set pensioner sipping an Earl Grey at the back of Costa with a good view of all the young mothers sitting with their babies. Babies that will soon feed.
I’m 65, I’ve got a bus pass. The whole country’s within my reach. On Monday I might be in Leeds outside one of those gyms where they run in the windows. Tuesday? A Cardiff nightclub. Thursday? There’s a new starter in your office, and he needs Janine to help him with the printer.
The shackles of royalty are gone. I have been granted the freedom of the UK, and I intend to use it. Thanks, brother. I knew you had my best interests at heart.