By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who understands one thing about the China scandal and it’s that Keir must resign
IN the olden days they called it droit du seigneur. It’s still on the statute books. Put simply, it means any Royal has the right to have sex with anyone he desires at all times.
Breathtaking in its simplicity, isn’t it? So obvious. So inarguable. Of course they are: what else is royalty for if not the complete dominion of a country’s subjects down to the genitalia?
Are we really a monarchy worthy of the name when we say ‘Sir, you are our supreme ruler anointed by God, head of our government, head of our church, but you’re not to touch me down there?’ Of course not. It is tantamount to treason.
Then why, given every sane one of us is in total agreement on the above, are we making such a bally fuss about Andrew?
What did the man do but exactly what a Royal bachelor should? He saw something he wanted to bang and he banged it. How is that any different from Charles and Camilla, from Victoria and Albert, from dear beloved Henry VIII?
In what circumstances would it be reasonable to turn this man – a priapic son of the blood Royal, capable of siring a dozen precious bastards a week – down? In no circumstances. Case dismissed and full golfing rights restored.
The truth is, left-wing censoriousness and bleating about consent has made Britain palpably worse. When our dukes could f**k anything that moved we were a world power. Now Saudi Arabia is. Hardly coincidence.
Look at Harry. Wouldn’t he, and we as a nation, be better off if he roamed the country, magnificent red mane blowing in the breeze, cock out, roaring drunk, shagging any daughter, livestock or sexy knothole in a supple young oak that took his fancy?
Unshackle Andrew. Give him a lifetime pass. And I, when he hammers on my door at 4am in his dress uniform, will lie back with my legs wide and think gladly of England, of its former greatness, and how it will come again.
