I’m dusting off my CV for the House of Windsor vacancies - Susan Morrison
To whom it may concern, Royal Persons Human Resources Department. Dear King, it has come to my attention that you have a pair of sudden vacancies in your York department. I am writing to you today to offer the services of my husband and myself as the new ‘Yorks’.
I’ll freely admit, on paper, we probably don’t fit your ideal candidate outline. For one thing, we aren’t actually related to you. Some would see this as a drawback. From where I’m standing, it's looking like a positive benefit.
Second, must be honest here, I have been known to harbour faintly Bolshevik views of monarchy, but given recent history, hanging out with Marxists seems mild next to clubbing sweat-free in the company of a weird, creepy, island-owning billionaire.
Yes, my political views are faintly pinkish but that’s quite trendy in tree-hugging Royal circles these days and in any case, show me a bit of bling, a freebie house with good access to the shops and the chance to ride about in a golden carriage and I can be persuaded of the value of the monarchy, and my role in it.
Admittedly we are not of noble ancestry. A minor issue in the 21st century. Royals all over Europe are bringing good sturdy peasant stock into the bloodline. Yon Middleton lassie has been a right old PR win for you.
Not quite so sure about the other one. Look at Victoria, Crown Princess of Sweden. Married her personal trainer. Not only did she get a husband, she probably got free membership of his gym. Result.
Princess Stephanie of Monaco was briefly married to an acrobat. Now that would liven up the opening of Parliament, a Royal backflipping into the Chamber a la Simone Biles, then finishing the whole thing off with a Yurchenko double pike vault into the throne.
We may not have ancestry on our side, but we do have connections. Specifically, unlike the previous incumbent, my husband is an actual Yorkshireman and proud of it. Well, to be fair, they all are.
At last Buck House balcony would boast a true son of the North during waving duty. Inevitably, following the umpteenth Red Arrows flypast he’d turn to the cameras to demand,“ ‘Ow much did that cost, then, eh?” The voice of the people, right there.
There's bound to be a lot of competition for the job. It's a plum role with a lot of benefits, even if you do occasionally have to sit next to frankly bonkers presidents, prime ministers and dictators during state dinners.
Even your severance policy looks decidedly generous. The previous Duke still lives in that stonking great mini-palace for a literal peppercorn rent. Peasants usually get booted out of their tied houses when they can’t work anymore.
Other ex-Dukes of York didn’t fare so well. Richard, 3rd Duke of York, was beheaded in 1460. Another Richard was deemed surplus to requirements in 1483, shoved in the Tower and never seen again.
Then there’s James. He got promoted to king but handed his jotters in 1688. He fled to France in a fine old funk. We should be grateful to the Old Pretender. Without him, there could have been no Bonnie Prince Charlie, no pictures for the shortbread tins and no global juggernaut called ‘Outlander’.
Swings and roundabouts, I guess. Andrew got off lightly.