As imagined by Brian Beacom

FIRST of all, I think it’s important that one speaks to The Herald, because my love for Scotland comes just behind my love for Ascot, the corgis and some of my children.

Yes, I do accept that for some Scots – such as the little ginger Greens man Greer – the word ‘Jubilee’ only excites on recalling the triangular, orange-flavoured lumps of ice one ‘sooked’ until one’s teeth became tangerine tinged.

And not everyone here either seems to grasp the 70th anniversary significance. Princess Eugenie, for example, came in to see me yesterday, all excited and said, ‘Oh, Granny, it’s wonderful. I just can’t wait.’ It turns out she was talking about the return of Love Island. But I do love that the children have a populist touch and are not afraid to embrace the crass and the mediocre.

She takes after her mother, of course.

As for her father, the cynics out there are suggesting that perhaps I had the doctor deliver Andrew a very convenient case of Covid, as cover for his non-appearance. Some even claimed we considered giving him monkeypox. But how stupid would that have been, given one of the principal symptoms is heavy sweating?

I appreciate, however, that some of the jubilee coverage may come across as overkill. As for Charles and Camilla turning up at the Queen Vic to play themselves in a fictional TV world, well, I have corgis cleverer than the PR person who believed that was a good idea.

Yet, contrary to what many people think, one has been so delighted that Harry and Meghan decided to grace us with their magnificence, an arrival laced with sincerity and true purpose.

I do believe they are sincere in their attempts to provide Netflix with continuing royal content. And they respect my purpose has been to keep them in the back room, rather than allow them onto the balcony with the working royals.

Yes, some will say ‘working royals’ is an oxymoron. But I would say that William, for example, works very hard, mostly at biting his lip when his wife calls him ‘Baldy’. But I’m sure she’ll stop when she becomes a great queen herself one day.

Speaking of great queens, I will be sorry to miss out on seeing Elton perform tonight. We’re so used to seeing the chubby Rocketman around the palace. And I know my mother loved him, not just because he made sure her gin glass was fuller than Boris’s opinion of himself.

Indeed, I’ve loved many other attempts to portray oneself over the years. Helen Mirren, Olivia Coleman, Imelda Staunton have all been rather clever. But the closest to oneself, I’ve always said in private, has been Stanley Baxter. He’s the only one bold enough to suggest my sense of fun.

That’s why I was particularly taken by Kaye Adams. Her dressing up as me for Thursday’s episode of Loose Women was quite flabbergasting.

Honestly, I don’t know what ITV pays her, but it’s not nearly enough.