“Why ?” I quizzed, ” I am genuinely fond of them…” “AND IT SHOWS…”, came the tart reprimanding reply from the press aide, as if I had committed the unforgiveable indiscretion. I could not make heads or tails of this except that I had become aware, at the front line and often walking alongside the Queen, just how much, unacceptably, unfair pressure was put on the main Royal figures. I could not but feel personally involved somehow and if my own health was a matter of concern for some, I did not see why their´s should not be for me. “Does the Queen not drink.?.” I muttered as I saw her looking rather forlorn amidst the sea of lavish refills in the cramped salon. “Of course she does , and she´d like an orange please.” Came the strident, authoritative and endearing lament . As on so many other occasions I witnessed, the Queen was totally dependent on the accomplishment of the instructions that turned her in into something other than just a prize object on a long piece of string. How could one NOT like her , or was it sheer perversity on the part of those who were privileged enough to be an influence in her life to keep her away from such mundane things as close contact with people and potential friends. Luckily, everyone roared with approval and the socializing took on a meaningful and enjoyable role. The Queen herself was chuckling with amusement and I could not for the life of me see any wrong in that. Not so for the poor press aide who practically collapsed with horror. Such are the intricacies of the world that a simple country girl like Diana, who took her father´s side, found herself flung into, by nature of the Spencer family genealogical inheritance and it would seem, rights. If anyone was to take her away from that safe harbour, it