Monday

People think we’re sisters! Isn’t it jolly? I have these two darling girls, who normally have darling auburn hair just like me, and nobody can ever quite believe that I’m a teeny bit older than they are! Sometimes we call ourselves “the tripod”. Three of us! See? It is jolly!

We used to call ourselves Charlie’s Angels but the ex-hubby didn’t like that at all. “You’re not Charlie’s,” he said, “you’re mine!” We did laugh! It was jolly! He is a protective old bear. We’re divorced, the ex-hubby and I, but we still share a home and get on terribly well. “Stop farting around on golf courses and get a job!” I’ll say, as light-hearted banter. “Like you?” he’ll sparkle in reply. “Getting paid not to get fat? Don’t make me laugh, you ginger old crone!” Aren’t we lucky that we get on so well? And Princess Beatrice and Princess Eugenie, too. Sometimes I think the girls see us more as friends, or siblings, than as parents. Did I mention that people think we’re sisters? It is jolly.

Tuesday

“Mummy,” says Princess Eugenie, my youngest, “I’m nervous.” I’m not bally surprised! It’s a big week for us girls! Princess Eugenie is about to appear on her first cover for Tatler and I’m announcing my new reality TV show, in which I teach people not to be fat, even if they can’t help it because they are poor and live in Hull. It should show people how normal and humble we all are, despite being royal and fabulous. That’s why we chose Tatler. Everybody reads Tatler!

Wednesday

How beastly. They’ve gone and stuck some skinny, cow-eyed brunette on the front of Tatler instead. And they promised. Princess Eugenie is terribly upset.

The ex-hubby comes out of his room to comfort us and tells her it’s probably a blessing. “At least nobody can accuse you of being a loathsome self-publicist vampire like your appallingly pushy mother, who has spent a lifetime trading off a tenuous connection to royalty!” he quips, which has us all in stitches. Then I tell him to go back into his room, and stay there.

Thursday

It’s months until I’m on TV, so I’ve got a while to figure out where Hull is. One of the girls will know. I’ve probably said this before, but people think we are sisters! It is jolly funny! Princess Beatrice, my other girl, did Tatler a few years ago, and nobody could get over how alike we were. All tumbling auburn hair and roaring laughter. One of these days she’s going to find out that she is actually blonde. I’ve been secretly dying her hair since she was 2. Isn’t it a hoot?

Friday

A happy hour in Princess Eugenie’s closet, throwing all of her horrible old jeans and T-shirts into a bin bag and replacing them with duplicates of all the dashing, fashionable things that I wear.

I’m about to go to her bathroom and pour some dye into her shampoo, when she catches me in the act. She’s holding a copy of Tatler. “Mummy,” she says, beaming. “It’s actually me. I looked really carefully.”

I peer at it. So brunette! So flat-chested! What have they done to her? “I think I look wonderful,” says Princess Eugenie.

“Nonsense!” I tell her. “You don’t look anything like your sister at all!”

“I know,” says Princess Eugenie, biting her lip. “And I don’t look anything like you, either.”

“I meant me,” I say.

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