WRITING exclusively for The Herald, the Queen breaks with convention to reveal the part she played in next year’s fairytale wedding between Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.

ROYAL weddings are so essential to the survival of the monarchy these days, you know, that’s why one had to have a word with Gingerboy about his love life. So I called my favourite grandchild to my chamber and explained there’s a mini-crisis going on with the Firm, after all that Paradise Papers nonsense.

“We need a distraction and another royal baby simply ain’t going to cut it,” I said. He looked at me, his Irn Bru-coloured head clearly confused and declared he’d been trying hard of late, the poor boy’s middle finger sore with Tindering and dating apps for European Royalty Marriages. I said “It’s not about Swipe Left to find a royal cousin these days, Harry. We need a bigger gene pool. Inbreeding is so NOT what the Firm is all about these days.”

He looked at me with those big, bewildered eyes, the colour of which still amazes me because they’re nothing like his dad’s, and said “Look, Boss – the children all call me that, they say it’s because I’m born to run – does this mean I should marry an ordinary girl, like Wills did? I replied “Can you, ever!”

He sat on the edge of the bed, nudging a corgi out of the way with his foot, which was risky, given those little buggers can nip, and then I told him we were thinking outside the Royal box. I said the Firm had to be seen to modernise and monetise, too much revealed about what the Duchy of Cornwall pays his fuddy duddy father. So what we really wanted was a Clickbait Princess. “What’s that, Boss,” he wondered. “Someone who will guarantee 10 million hits a day,’ I replied. “A traffic driver. And here’s what I’m thinking, Harry, let’s go for a mixed race person – a bi-racial social inclusion strategy is so totally of the moment.’

He looked dazed. “That’s, eh, new,’ he said. “Not entirely,” I replied. Some of the relatives have been mixing it over the centuries, but this is the first deliberate Colourblind wedding plan. And let’s go for the unexpected nationality. Let’s go American. With Saint Theresa unlikely to deliver us a European market, we really need to look to turn Trumpland into Poundland.’

Now, my very own Mick Hucknall is a little slow to download at times but the positives dawned. “And she doesn’t have to be a virgin?” he said, all innocent. “Gosh, no. In fact, a divorcee would be better. It would show how class integrationist we truly are.”

Harry’s eyes glinted. “Exceptional idea, Boss. But didn’t an American divorcee once threaten the Monarchy, creating chaos and national horror?” “Yes, Ginger Prince,” I replied with a haughty laugh. “For a time, but it allowed for me to become Queen. That’s worked out all right, hasn’t it?’

Helicopter Harry’s mind whirled. He liked the idea. Then I caught him with a googlie when I suggested she could be a Hollywood actress. I explained, that what with the place being a swamp pit of lasciviousness, we’d be rescuing the girl from possibly being Harveyed. “Win-win, Boss,” he said, looking as happy as he had when pictured that day in a Vegas hot tub with the topless showgirls.

Now I was on a roll, so to speak, ready to gamble like my mother. Harry quite liked the actress idea so I had a word across the pond and my contact found a filly. But here’s the amazing thing; clickbait aside, he met the actress and thought her to be a “totally hot girl” as indeed was her description in one low-budget movie. And she fell for him. But why wouldn’t she? Now, I’ve never spoken about this before but he’s a nice boy really. The days of the odd spliff and wearing Nazi uniform are gone. He does have a real lovability.

That’s not to say everyone was overjoyed at the wedding news. The Dogweed Whisperer was pleased for his boy but Granddad Phil had to take a little bit of convincing; not always keen on embracing Johnny Foreigner and all that, as you know, although when I explained the monetising potential of Princess Sparkle and Carrot Boy and how Sparkle loves dogs – which means even more internet hits – he lapped it up like a Corgi taking afternoon tea.

My favourite Rusthead had a few concerns however. He wondered “if The Babe’s career would continue?” I explained that working for the Firm was a career. And how can she act when Netflix are already all over us with The Crown; you couldn’t have an actress play a royal actress.

“That’s cool, Boss,” he said. “Megs is fed-up anyway opening the pages of her TV script and reading ‘Rachel walks into the room wearing a towel’.”

“On that subject, my little Boadicea-head, let me throw you an idea. “Go ahead, Boss,” he said. So I did. “Opening scene; Kensington Palace balcony. Spring. Meghan walks onto balcony wearing a wide smile, a glistening tiara – and a towel.’ “What do young think, Carrot Boy. Deal Or No Deal?” “Could it be a monogrammed towel?” he suggested. “Of course, Harry. “This is The Windsors. This is showbiz.”