concern for his mother (or dislike of the intrusive press), told us wordlessly just where to get off. In any case, it was pretty obvious that Her Majesty´s son was not a happy boy and I could not utter a word of apology or regret. The party stopped just short of us as it normally did when there was doubt ahead, with Prince Charles covering the intervening space. Like two edgy intruders from a Carry On film, we walked in front hoping that we were leading them somewhere. He could have tackled it differently and even led us outside but the incident gave me an idea of the protective type of person he was and his closeness to his mother who had earlier on presented him proudly on an open jeep to madly cheering crowds. Life in Dolphin Square however, prepared one for every aspect of the personal lives of most of anyone who meant anything in the United Kingdom. This vast complex, probably ensconced most of the relatives and friends of friends of the Royals and occasionally the Royals themselves in search of their advisors and sometime providers, like seamstresses and the like. I had at least two who entertained them regularly in my block. “She´s fallen asleep….” Said one of them once after pummeling at my door , as she hurried past me into my lounge like a frenzied messenger about to deliver her last breath. Who ‘ for heavens sake…?.’ Princess Anne, she trotted bluntly. Had it not been Dolphin Square, I would have said “you mean the Poodle—?, but so it was and not always party to these situations, this occasional seamstress had thought it better to let her rest a while on her own, much to my alarm in case she woke up frightened and unattended in what must have been a rather crowded and unusual sort of hideout. “Don´t be so naïve” someone