PILF

One of the awkward things about watching The Crown on Netflix is that — because she’s played by the lovely Claire Foy — you can find yourself fancying the Queen a bit. For a British person this is a little disconcerting, like being American and wanting to shag the Statue of Liberty.

The actress who plays her sister is even prettier, but the truth is I have long had a thing for the real Princess Margaret. I know this is an embarrassing confession to make but she was always the most glam member of the rather dull Windsor family: Marrying a promiscuous photographer, nightclubbing, hanging out with rock stars and gangsters (possibly doing more than that with them), and smoking like a chimney. Apparently she could be an utter bitch which perversely makes her even more attractive. There’s something about haughty posh birds, especially for a working class lad. It’s not just me either. She had many alleged affairs, and Peter Sellers and Picasso (!) were so obsessed with the Princess they wanted to marry her.

I even have my own Margaret story, well Margaret-adjacent…

During a short period of legal exile from America in the mid-90s I got a temp job washing dishes at the Albert Hall. The first part of the job involved dragging a big cart around the hall and loading it up with all the empty champagne bottles, ice buckets, glasses, and plates left in the private boxes after the previous night’s concert.

The Royal family had their own private room there (reached by their own private staircase) which I had to clean up the morning after a Pavarotti concert they attended. Amid the usual upper-class detritus there was a plate of leftover food with a lipstick-stained cigarette butt crushed out on it. When I picked it up one of the permanent staff looked at it and said “Princess Margaret”.

Now I wish I’d kept the cigarette.

Download: The Royal Scam – Steely Dan (mp3)