Could he not be called 'Andrew' as well? ask Britain's Andrews

THE nation’s Andrews have asked King Charles if he could also change his brother’s first name to avoid the association.

People with the same name as the former Prince are begging for Andrew to be stripped of his first name as well as his titles to avoid potential mix-ups and them feeling sleazy.

Andrew Bishop from Kent said: “I wish His Majesty would put himself in our shoes. How would he like to share the same name as a world-famous alleged sex offender?

“It was fine when the media could refer to him as ‘the prince’ or the Duke of York or even the Earl of Inverness, whatever that is. People knew exactly who they were talking about when it came to Epstein. Plain old Andrew could be any of us. 

“I’ve already had to stop going to Pizza Express and wearing antiperspirant. Unless he’s renamed it’s going to get worse. I might have to start using my middle name Horatio.”

Andrew Booker from Surrey said: “If the King doesn’t change Andrew’s name we’ll all have to change ours via deed poll. And the last thing he needs right now is an admin scandal on top of everything else.

“How about harking back to the family’s Germanic roots and calling him Adolf? The damage has already been done to that name so nobody will be affected.”

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I'm totally anonymous now. I could be right behind you and you'd never know. By Andrew

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.