The Queen must be lamenting the day when she judged Koo Stark's modest low-budget feature-film 'Emily' to be indecent, and that the demure American actress, whom she genuinely liked, was beneath the dignity of the House of Windsor. One harmless shower-scene, just a few seconds long, was enough to banish her from the life of Prince Andrew - in favour of the most unsuitable princess-consort ever born in this realm.
Right from the wedding day, Sarah Ferguson looked and sounded cheap, and first impressions were more than confirmed. Admittedly a few people did welcome the 'Fergie factor', a robust, rollicking parade contrasting with Princess Diana's more reserved style, but her boisterous antics and vacuous girlie-chat could not hold the interest for long. And it got worse.
If the sailor prince was seriously expecting his wife to stay at home, just doing coffee-mornings during his long voyages, then he'd mis-read the situation badly. One boyfriend after another popped-up in the gossip columns, notably an American tycoon, comically recognisable from his shiny bald pate ("Mr. Osram"), caught sucking her toes while supposedly attending to her financial affairs. People giggled about the 'Footsie Index', but there wasn't much else to laugh about. For it was setting a pattern.
It turned out that the duchess had a curious blind spot about credit-cards: she didn't realise they had to be paid off! Not surprisingly, her debts mounted faster every year, and as for how she managed to settle them, the official explanations just don't add up, and we are left to speculate about possible, rather undignified deals. One of those deals was shared with us close-up, when a tabloid reporter in Arab costume (the 'Fake Sheikh') managed to get her to spell it out in so many words - though rather slurred ones, with a half-empty bottle on the table suggesting an all-day drinking habit.
But the next and worst scandal (so far!) involved not Fergie but Andrew. Few of us will ever forget him squirming on the hook, as Emily Maitlis impaled him with icy charm on that BBC programme straight from the palace, on the awkward subject of child-trafficker Jeffrey Epstein - on which we're having to watch this space, just for now.
A disapproving Dickie Arbiter makes as good a Greek chorus as any, with the usual royal commentators, as well as some new ones. The strangest aspect to the story is how Andrew remains quite oblivious (blank) to any sense of scandal on the part of himself or his wife. Amazingly, perhaps touchingly, the two of them are still close friends, who back each other up, and remain devoted to their two daughters. Some people even think they may re-marry...
Right from the wedding day, Sarah Ferguson looked and sounded cheap, and first impressions were more than confirmed. Admittedly a few people did welcome the 'Fergie factor', a robust, rollicking parade contrasting with Princess Diana's more reserved style, but her boisterous antics and vacuous girlie-chat could not hold the interest for long. And it got worse.
If the sailor prince was seriously expecting his wife to stay at home, just doing coffee-mornings during his long voyages, then he'd mis-read the situation badly. One boyfriend after another popped-up in the gossip columns, notably an American tycoon, comically recognisable from his shiny bald pate ("Mr. Osram"), caught sucking her toes while supposedly attending to her financial affairs. People giggled about the 'Footsie Index', but there wasn't much else to laugh about. For it was setting a pattern.
It turned out that the duchess had a curious blind spot about credit-cards: she didn't realise they had to be paid off! Not surprisingly, her debts mounted faster every year, and as for how she managed to settle them, the official explanations just don't add up, and we are left to speculate about possible, rather undignified deals. One of those deals was shared with us close-up, when a tabloid reporter in Arab costume (the 'Fake Sheikh') managed to get her to spell it out in so many words - though rather slurred ones, with a half-empty bottle on the table suggesting an all-day drinking habit.
But the next and worst scandal (so far!) involved not Fergie but Andrew. Few of us will ever forget him squirming on the hook, as Emily Maitlis impaled him with icy charm on that BBC programme straight from the palace, on the awkward subject of child-trafficker Jeffrey Epstein - on which we're having to watch this space, just for now.
A disapproving Dickie Arbiter makes as good a Greek chorus as any, with the usual royal commentators, as well as some new ones. The strangest aspect to the story is how Andrew remains quite oblivious (blank) to any sense of scandal on the part of himself or his wife. Amazingly, perhaps touchingly, the two of them are still close friends, who back each other up, and remain devoted to their two daughters. Some people even think they may re-marry...
