There is no news that has given me greater pleasure in recent months than the increasingly frequent bulletins charting the downfall of the Queen’s second son.

It began with the removal of his royal title in October, rendering Prince Andrew just plain Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor. The hyphen is vital – you may have missed this at the time because your mind was probably on higher things, but Andrew is said to have lobbied for at least having his new public moniker spelled without it. But no. In it went on – presumably – the orders of the King, which is exactly the kind of granular attention to the pursuit of a younger sibling’s misery that I, as a fellow older sibling, truly relish.

Also, y’know, as a subject and citizen fully behind heaping as many humiliations as possible on to anyone as firmly and unconcernedly enmeshed as Andrew apparently was in the web woven by Jeffrey Epstein. Thus my continued particular delight in King Charles’s decision not just to move his brother out of the 30-roomed Royal Lodge but to have redesigned the garden near his new place in Norfolk to include a maze and “healing plants”. This is the........

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