QUENTIN LETTS imagines Christmas at Sandringham

QUENTIN LETTS imagines Christmas at Sandringham



eghan Markle is spending Christmas with the Queen at Sandringham. Does she know what she is letting herself in for? A cheeky QUENTIN LETTS imagines how the festive season might go for all their highnesses, royal and yet-to-be . . .



Royal protection officers are already jumpy on account of the nationwide anti-terror alert. So when they hear screams and 'omigods!' from the Sandringham dining room at 11pm on Christmas Eve, they race to the scene with their 9mm Glock 17 pistols primed.



They find Prince Harry's bride-to-be in her Victoria's Secret nightie, alone, in a state of distress.



'You OK, Miss Markle?'



In the moonlit room, a whimpering Meghan points to the sideboard.



'I came downstairs to put some presents under the tree,' she sobs. 'I've been so busy with wedding plans that I only just gotta round to wrapping things. Then I saw . . . that horrible thing!'





The police officers follow her accusatory, acrylic false fingernail. 'Oh, don't worry about Fergie!' laugh the coppers.



'Fergie?'



'Fergie the pig. It's a Sandringham tradition. Every Christmas, the chefs prepare a medieval boar's head in jelly and place it the night before Christmas on the sideboard. It's a great delicacy — named after Sarah Ferguson, the former wife of His Royal Highness the Duke of York.



'You'll be tucking into that after the Boss's speech on telly tomorrow afternoon.'



Meghan is escorted back to her bedroom (a virginal 50 yards from Harry's quarters).



Peace returns to the grand old house, but our young American heroine still has beastly nightmares. Although it makes a change from all those scary dreams she's been having over previous nights about curtseying to Kate and ripping her skintight trousers in the process.



Kate has already given her sneery looks. These, she assumes, are because La Middleton was not invited to join Prince William at Sandringham in 2010 despite the couple having announced their engagement the month before Christmas. Indeed, Meghan has been told by Harry that Kate is convinced the Queen prefers Meghan.





That unfolding rivalry isn't the only thing on her mind. Things had got off to a tricky start when Harry and Meghan arrived earlier that day, to be met at the entrance to the Norfolk estate by Princess Anne, who was walking her dogs.



They'd jumped all over Meghan, leaving muddy paw-prints on her white wrap coat (designed by Canadian brand Line The Label).



Trying to make small talk (something that's never easy with Anne), Meghan gushed that she's 'sooo happy to be in Nor-folk' — pronouncing the second syllable as in 'folk' music.



The Princess Royal shot her a withering look and told her: 'It's Norfolk as in 'Nor-f*ck'!'



Secretly, Anne was pleased that her dogs ruined Meghan's coat since she, like other members of the Royal Family, thought the American actress had been guilty of gross lèse-majesté when, interviewed on TV just after her engagement was announced, she claimed the Queen's corgis had 'taken to her straight away', saying: 'They were laying on my feet during tea!'



On that first evening, a light supper had been served — something monumentally nasty called Gentleman's Relish, though at least it wasn't a pig's head.



Although Prince Andrew described it as 'top grub, what!', Meghan had found herself spitting out the toast into her hand — all that horrible gluten! — and tried to slip it to the corgis under the table. But even they wouldn't touch it.





Thrilled to be at the heart of the fabulous Windsor Dynasty Christmas knees-up, Meghan surreptitiously took a photo of the scene to upload on to her new secret Instagram account, to share with her friends in Hollywood. Except that she couldn't get a wi-fi connection because BT broadband wasn't working properly in rural 'Norf*ck'.



If only they could have seen her here, she thought! What a house — just like Downton Abbey. (Even though she had to admit that everywhere she looked there seemed to be gumboots and tattered back-issues of Country Life and The Field. Not a single copy of Vogue or Variety.)



Suddenly, the corgis had surrounded her. One was on heat and kept jumping on Meghan's shin in an amorous fashion, causing the Duke of York to roar with laughter and say: 'Watch out, Harry! You've got a rival.'



After supper, she had resolved to calm herself with some yoga, and was deep into meditation, sitting on the Axminster carpet (by Royal Warrant) in the Tantric lotus position, when she spotted a mouse saunter out of the skirting board.



Now she was finally tucked up in bed, she was sure she could hear scratching behind the panelled walls of her bedroom. But it was hard to work out what it was over the noise of the East Anglian gale that was rattling the lead mullions, loose as old dowager's teeth, behind the curtains.