A secret PSST?

In which we learn the truth about snooty Geraldine

- 

For reasons which escape me, I am walking down a long corridor at Buckingham Palace. Or possibly Windsor Castle. I can't pretend to be all that familiar with royal interiors.

By the way, wherever it is, you wouldn't believe the dust on the skirting boards. And on one or two of the footmen who line the route.

Anyway, suddenly I hear somebody coming, so I dive through a nearby door and there, sitting in a deckchair and doing the Daily Mirror crossword with a cup of coffee balanced on her lap, is the late Queen.

'Oh, I'm sorry to bother you, Ma'am,' I say. And it's Ma'am to rhyme with jam. In real life, I would get flustered about this. In my dream, I am word perfect.

'Oh, hello Rose,' she says, because we've met before in previous dreams and we rather get on. I do like a monarch with a sense of humour, and she enjoys the company of people who don't fuss.

'I'm just having a few quiet moments on my ownsome,' she explains. 'You wouldn't believe the day I've had. Listening to the prime minister droning on about the economy, knighting some people, meeting the old prime minister to hear him droning on about the new one. It's exhausting. Now, what are you doing here?'