EVERY now and then the British media and public like to make a hullabaloo about the state of the monarchy.

My Mum and Dad’s generation lived through the 1936 abdication crisis, when Edward VIII wanted to marry the double-divorcée Wallis Simpson, who was perceived to be ‘politically, morally and socially unsuitable as a prospective queen consort’.

Matters weren’t helped by the fact that Edward was the nominal head of the Church of England, which at the time did not allow divorced people to remarry if their ex-spouses were still alive.

The story dominated the national and international media for months and rattled those who feared that setting an abdication precedent would be terribly bad for the monarchy.

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But the monarchy rumbled along quite happily afterwards, with a whole host of heirs and spares available in the event that another abdication would prove necessary.

Some thought it would prove so after the British people and media seemingly took Princess Diana to their hearts and wouldn’t hear a bad word about her.

The Queen described 1992 as an ‘annus horribilis’ after Charles separated from Diana, Andrew divorced Sarah Ferguson and Princess Anne divorced Mark Phillips.

Once again the media went doolally and a bizarre collection of people – all of whom tended to be described as ‘sources’ close to key players – fretted about the possibility of the monarchy being so tarnished that it wouldn’t survive Elizabeth.

Well, it did. That same media and public took Charles and Camilla to their hearts and lionised William and Kate (along with their wonderfully photographic children).

Harry decided he had had enough of the whole business – as he made thunderingly clear in his autobiographical Spare – but disappointed me by allowing himself and his children to retain their various titles and places in the line of succession.

There is a crisis surrounding Andrew. A crisis of quite epic proportions as it happens.

But there has always been an air of Del Boy crisis around Andrew. One sort of scrape after another. The sort of behaviour that used to be dismissed – and still is, in some quarters today – with the “there’s always one black sheep in the family” excuse.

But never so black, it seems, that he wasn’t welcome at family events or fawned over by the sort of people who fawn over anyone with a title and a sheen of celebrity.

Irrespective of the fallout over the next few months – in terms of both the misconduct allegations and the far worse allegations re young women linked to Jeffrey Epstein – I think it’s reasonably fair to conclude that Andrew is toast.

His title and house of choice have already been removed, and it looks like an Act of Parliament, available under 2013 legislation, will remove him from the line of succession.

If there is a royal male equivalent of Miss Havisham, then it’s the role he will occupy until his dying days.

Does all of this amount to an existential crisis for the monarchy? I don’t think so.

Unless, of course, there is any evidence of any further senior royal links to Epstein, or any evidence that information about Andrew was known about well in advance and covered up from within the Palace, or ‘the firm’, as it was occasionally described.

Barring that, I don’t see any traction building by those who want the monarchy replaced by a republic.

As it happens, I am one of those people. I’m a very old-fashioned republican when it comes to heads of state: I just believe that anyone with a specific – and in some cases it isn’t much more than ceremonial – role in the governance of a state should be elected, accountable and replaceable.

I disapprove of monarchy, but not of some individual monarchs: although, in fairness, at 70 I’ve only had Elizabeth and Charles to go by.

And to be quite honest, I certainly preferred Elizabeth to the prospect of a President Blair or even Thatcher.

The British monarchy is both a fabulous (in the traditional, rather than Disney sense of the word) and fascinating institution. Those two qualities alone almost explain why it has lasted so long. That, and the ability to reposition and reinvent to steer through a crisis.

It survives, too, because it acts well as an example of British ‘soft power’ (just look at how Trump drooled in the presence of Elizabeth and Charles); and the British people still look to the monarchy when stability and tradition are required in times of national turbulence.

Andrew is presently an enormous national embarrassment. Helpfully, from the monarchy’s point of view, he is also an embarrassment that is easily and speedily sacrificed and isolated.

So I don’t think we are looking at a republican revolution any time soon.

But the saga – especially if it gets worse – has damaged the institution in ways that the abdication and annus horribilis never did.

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