Spain calling. Everyone's favourite defector here. Well, things have calmed down since the hate mail accusing me of disrespecting the Queen has stopped. You know, all that stuff about Prince Phillip what was it a month ago? Nine months! I feel enough time has passed to continue the story. Where were we? Oh yes, that time in the line up. The Duchess Theatre, Covent Garden. Or was it the Drury Lane? Cats was still on... Anyway, the bit I'm getting at is I was there waiting to get shot or knighted. One of the two. Prince Phillip was there, remember. I asked, ''what do you do?'' and he said, ''what do I do? I'm a Prince''. So I said, and you can believe me or not, ''we know what you are, your Royal Highness, but what do you do?'' There was a silence. He looked to the left, eyes staring at the carpet as if to wait instructions and I heard someone say 'move on'', or it might even have been, ''move him on''. God knows where this voice came from, maybe his ear piece ( would that be possible?) or maybe I am just ultra sensitive to these things. He started to move along the line but I can assure you he did it reluctantly. It was if he wanted to come back and resume the conversation. There was a point when he smiled and wagged his finger in my direction. Not in a threatening way. I almost expected him to say, ''lunch tomorrow.... 2 o'clock. Rules Restaurant''.