![]() This is a man who, while researching his novelettish tome, danced such obsequious attendance on the Queen that a helper at a hospice she was visiting took him for an equerry and asked if his employer needed the loo. It's the kind of imagination a snob possesses, elated by a dizzy dream of high society and of his own exclusive access to it. Indeed his entire biography of the pair can best be read as the product of a sweatily over-heated imagination. How does Brandreth know this? He doesn't, of course, as he at once admits: the tongue-tied dialogue he writes for the two teenagers is entirely invented. He said: 'How do you do?' She replied: 'I'm quite well, thank you.' Oh, she also thought he looked 'achingly handsome'. So now we know - thanks to the prurient intercession of that woolly-pullied royal plaything Gyles Brandreth - what happened when the virginal Lilibet met her nautical Adonis at Dartmouth in 1939. ![]()
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