Prince Andrew should be in a flat in Milton Keynes – not another palace

So it seems that Britain’s least eligible bachelor is finally removing his teddy bears. 

Reports suggest that the rent-free fairytale’s over, the gates are closing, and Andrew – formerly known as Prince – is admitting defeat.

The poor man has lost his battle to stay in a house the size of a cushy hotel. Tragic, really.

But that raises as many questions as answers, chiefly: where is Andrew off to?

That’s the real enigma. He still might get another royal residence, with reports suggesting Frogmore Cottage. 

That name has a conveniently humble ring to it. In reality, the former home of Harry and Meghan has five bedrooms, four bathrooms, sweeping lawns and a cavernous kitchen bigger than the cafe where I write.

It says a lot about the degree to which this has royal tug-of-work. The public is not in debt to Andrew and it is time those sitting in ivory towers recognised this.

We don’t want to give him anything from the Crown Estate. Not a palace, not a cottage, not a converted stable. Nothing.

The Queen’s favourite son has been coddled, sheltered, and quietly protected for decades. Even after all the allegations and unsavoury friendships. 

It seems bizarre the row now boils down to which palatial mansion he lives in like he’s earned the right. 

This is not a no-fault eviction. This is not the tragic tale of a guy who’s being priced out of his postcode by gentrifiers. This is what happens when reality eventually catches up with a man who lived in fantasyland.

Andrew has played by his own rules for many years. He always thought he was the exception – the Prince who could talk, bluff, or sweat his way out of anything.

Many people still believe the Prince is lucky to be a free man, never mind keep his titles and riches.

Something mundane is what he deserves.

A two-bedroom flat in Milton Keynes does the trick.

A beige block with noisy neighbours and a washing machine that stomps across the kitchen when it’s on spin. A view over the infamous ring road system that has seen the town dubbed ‘Satan’s layby.’

Maybe he’d be safer even further from London, Windsor, and the seats of royal power. A council flat in Dudley, maybe? 

Maybe Andrew will be rejuvenated by becoming the provincial Prince – waiting in the post office, dealing with GP receptionists, struggling with unexpected items in his bagging area.  

Dressing gown, mini kettle, despair.

Or perhaps he sleeps rough on the steps of Buckingham Palace. ‘Homeless but honourable!’ scribbled on a bit of cardboard. Stranger things have happened outside there.

Anything’s better than the taxpayer giving him another mansion.

Because Frogmore Cottage is far from a little countryside hideaway. It’s huge and the kind of ‘downsizing’ most of us can only hope for in our later years.

The public aren’t fools. A man stripped of his titles and royal duties shouldn’t be handed a country house as a consolation prize.

It’s poppy time soon. I’m already wearing mine to remember real veterans. The ones who served, came back, and got on with it without a trust fund or a grace-and-favour estate. There are many of them who have no roof at all.

Andrew is a veteran, yes. But he’s also a man who has brought shame to his own family and himself. The uniform doesn’t cover for that, I’m afraid.

He always believed he’s special. 

Even amongst royalty, he’s been able to go on as if rules didn’t apply to him but that’s over now. 

If he wants a house, he can rent one. He can deal with letting agents, pay a deposit, and panic when the boiler breaks.

That’s life.

The rest of us do it day in, day out without his lavish demands.

And if he does wind up with that two-bed in Milton Keynes, he should count himself lucky. It’s preferable to what a lot of people wind up with after having made far smaller mistakes.

Because at the end of all the travesty, there are victims. Women whose lives were ruined, while men such as Andrew, at the very least, continued to maintain friendships with the perpetrators. He’s spared a trial, but he hasn’t won sympathy.

However, either way, he’ll survive. He’s got money and mates in high places, but what he’s missing is perspective.

So it is time to let him box up the teddies. Let him shut the gates behind him and go quietly. But for once, let him go somewhere ordinary.

A two-bed flat. Milton Keynes. Long live the Prince… of the ring road.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. 

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