I haven’t got a pot to piss in. That’s the Duchess of York speaking, Sarah Ferguson, caught on a hidden camera in May 2010, sitting across from a man she believes to be an Indian-born businessman named Sheikh Muhammad Saylem. The Sheikh’s actual identity, unknown to her in that moment, is Mazher Mahmood, tabloid journalist with a recording device tucked in his lapel and 40,000 US dollars cash piled in a briefcase on the coffee table between them.
Moments earlier, she’d pocketed that cash as a down payment on a much bigger sum, 500,000 pounds. What did the half a million buy? Access. The kind of access only one person on Earth could broker for him, which happens to be her ex-husband, a prince of the United Kingdom, the eighth in line to the British throne, a man named Andrew.
On camera, she names Andrew as the source of the figure, >> >> explaining her ex-husband instructed her to ask for the full half million. Andrew himself would later deny ever uttering such a thing. He also happens to share a house with her at that exact moment, still does actually, despite stopping being her husband back in 1996.
Hey everybody, today we’re talking about Fergie. Not the Black Eyed Peas one, the other one, the redhead who married a prince in front of 500 million television viewers, who sunbathed topless in street Tropez while a photographer crouched in the bushes outside her villa, who befriended Jeffrey Epstein, who sued the journalist who exposed her years after weeping on Oprah’s couch about how sorry she felt, who lived for two decades with the husband she divorced inside a 30-room mansion next door to Windsor Castle, and who somehow, after all of that,
still tries to sell you cartoons about a farm. Her name is Sarah Margaret Ferguson, and the British tabloids have been calling her Freebie Fergie since approximately the day she got engaged in 1986. You’re probably wondering how one person racks up that many scandals and keeps going. Well, that’s why we’re here for the next 40 minutes or so.
She enters the world on October 15, 1959, in a hospital in Marylebone, London. Her father, Major Ronald Ferguson, holds a job most people don’t carry on their resume. He manages polo for Prince Charles. Yes, that Prince Charles, the future king, now the current king, currently King Charles III, whose entire reign so far has involved him trying to evict his own brother and sister-in-law from the family compound.
Her mother is Susan Wright, a Catholic woman with horse money, and the Fergusons own land in Hampshire, run a stable, carry a surname that opens doors in the very particular slice of upper-class English society where everybody knows everybody, and your last name functions as your business card. When Sarah turns 13, her mother runs off with an Argentine polo player named Hector Barrantes, packs up the whole life, moves to Buenos Aires, and marries the polo player by the end of the year. Susan and the two daughters
get left behind with the major in the grand old house in Hampshire. The major drinks. The major remarries. The girls grow up inside a home that carries, in Sarah’s later telling, a certain quiet sadness to it. The press would later paint her as a vulgar party girl who lucked into a royal marriage, >> >> forgetting that before any of that, she existed as a teenager whose mother had abandoned her for South America.
Berkshire boarding school comes next. A place called Hurst Lodge, where she pulls decent grades, plays sports, and develops the kind of loud, hearty, take up space personality that English upper-class girls develop when they realize being quiet won’t get them noticed. After finishing school, she skips university entirely, takes a secretarial course, because in 1977, that’s still a thing posh girls do, then works in PR, then in publishing.
She’s broke. Not poor, exactly, but the kind of upper-class broke where the trust fund hasn’t kicked in yet, and the rent on the Chelsea flat costs real money. Then, a wedding invitation arrives. Her old friend’s name is Diana. Diana Spencer is about to marry the Prince of Wales. Foreshadowing. Yeah, heavy foreshadowing.
Diana and Sarah have known each other since girlhood, distantly related the way all upper-class English families are distantly related. And after Diana becomes Princess of Wales in 1981, she does what any best friend would do. She tries to set Sarah up with her new brother-in-law, Andrew.
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Now, Andrew at this point is a freshly minted Falklands War helicopter pilot returned from the South Atlantic in 1982 as a national hero, 6 ft tall, broad-shouldered, conventionally handsome in the slightly bland way Windsors tend to come out conventionally handsome. He dates models, he dates actresses, briefly, he dates an American softcore performer named Koo Stark, which scandalizes his mother to no end.
And by 1985, at the age of 25, he’s frankly looking for a wife. The meet-cute happens at Royal Ascot in June 1985, where the Queen seats Sarah and Andrew next to each other on purpose. They hit it off instantly. Where Andrew comes across reserved and stiff, Sarah erupts loud and warm, eating chocolate profiteroles and cackling at her own jokes.
Andrew, who has spent his entire adult life being polite at dinner parties full of duchesses, finds her hilarious. By March 1986, they’re engaged. On July 23, 1986, they walk down the aisle at Westminster Abbey while 500 million people watch on television in 100 different countries. Sarah’s dress carries 20,000 sequins and a 17-ft train.
The Queen elevates Andrew to Duke of York. Sarah becomes Her Royal Highness the Duchess of York, and they receive a wedding present from Mom, a 30 million-pound estate in Berkshire called Sunninghill Park, which the newlyweds promptly nickname South York because it resembles a Texan ranch and Sarah finds that hilarious.
You’d think this counted as the happy part of the story. Well, it did. For about 18 months. By 1987, Andrew returns to sea. He still serves in the navy, which means assignments and helicopter squadrons keep him away from home for months at a stretch. And Sarah, at 27, finds herself a year into being a duchess with a 30 million pound house, no children yet, no real job, and a husband who keeps disappearing into the North Atlantic.
She is, in a word, bored. Princess Beatrice arrives in August 1988. Princess Eugenie in March 1990. And Sarah loves her daughters fiercely, but two babies don’t fix a marriage one partner disappears six months out of 12. The press starts noticing her weight gain. The press dubs her the Duchess of Pork.
A newspaper publishes an article ranking Sarah against Diana on attractiveness. Sarah comes in second by a landslide. >> >> And the mockery turns toward her clothes, her hair, her teeth, her American friends, her Texan friends, her loud laugh, her riding pants, her ski trips. The palace, by most accounts, grows tired. By early 1992, the prince and the duchess have been quietly separated for months.
The word starts leaking. And then, in March 1992, Buckingham Palace formally announces the separation. But nobody inside the palace press office, and I mean nobody, expected what happened five months later in the south of France. I’m going to phrase this carefully because the man involved has spent 33 years on the record arguing that the tabloids invented the story.
Here are the facts as we know them. In August 1992, Sarah vacations at a rented villa in the south of France with her two daughters ages four and two. Joining her at the villa is a Texan-born financial advisor named John Bryan. A man the press would describe variously as her financial advisor, her boyfriend, her fixer, her American friend, her lover, and depending on which tabloid you read that morning, sometimes all five descriptions in the same article.
Bryan has been helping her negotiate her separation. In his own telling, he counts as a close friend and nothing more. A photographer named Daniel Angeli crouches in the bushes outside the villa with a telephoto lens snapping the Duchess of York sunbathing topless, Bryan leaning over her, and Bryan in one particular sequence with his face placed very close to her bare foot.
The Daily Mirror publishes these pictures on August 20, 1992, claiming in print that Bryan stands accused of sucking the toes of the Duchess of York. That phrase enters the English language overnight. It becomes the headline of every tabloid in the country for weeks on end, dominating the front pages from London to Glasgow. The Queen reportedly hurls her newspaper across the breakfast table at Balmoral, where Sarah herself happens to be sitting down to breakfast with her royal in-laws at that exact moment.
Sarah leaves Balmoral within 24 hours. She doesn’t return for years. John Bryan, for his part, has denied for three decades that any actual toe sucking ever occurred. In multiple on-the-record interviews, he has explained that he played a game called Cinderella with the duchess’s two small children that afternoon, that he kissed her instep as part of the game, and that, in his own slightly indignant words, “No toes entered my mouth.
” The phrase, however, sticks. Toe sucking duchess, Fergie’s toes, stand-up comedians milk the joke for the next 20 years and counting. Punch the phrase into a search engine in 2026, and it still auto completes for you. Sarah Ferguson, having served as a duchess for 6 years and slated to remain technically married to Andrew for another four, would now, for the rest of her natural life, carry the title of toe sucking duchess. That’s a lot to carry around.
The divorce comes through on May 30, 1996, and Andrew and Sarah become legally and financially separated, though, as you’ll see, only on paper. So, how much did she actually pocket? The palace has never officially confirmed any figure to the public. Sarah, in interviews stretching across 30 years, has consistently claimed she received a settlement of around £15,000 a year.
£15,000 for a divorced Duchess from the second son of the Queen of England. She has told this story to anyone who listen, including Oprah, including magazines, including podcasts. In 2010, however, The Sunday Telegraph reported, citing senior royal sources who clearly wanted the actual numbers in print, that the real divorce settlement ran somewhat more generously than the public version.
According to the newspaper, Sarah received a £500,000 payout for a house, a £1.4 million pound trust fund for her two daughters, and another 350,000 in straight cash on top, over £2 million, not 15,000 a year in 1996 money, which buys you roughly the same thing as £4.5 million in 2026. So, which version holds water? The palace stays silent.
Sarah tells one story, the press prints another, and the two have never reconciled. What we know for certain, that same year, she signs a publishing deal for her autobiography, My Story, with an advance widely reported at £2.2 million. The book becomes a best seller, followed by a series of children’s books about a character named Budgie the Little Helicopter, which she’d been writing during the marriage.
American daytime television opens its arms to her. She does interviews. She films Weight Watchers commercials, famously, in a campaign that runs for years and reportedly pays her several million dollars across the life of the deal. By 1998, she has become a one-woman PR machine. The royal family no longer claims her. She skips Christmas at Sandringham, and she gets left off the guest lists for most royal weddings.
She is, however, doing very, very well for someone who publicly claims to live on 15,000 pounds a year. She also doesn’t move out of Sunninghill Park. She continues living there with Andrew, raising their daughters together under the same roof. While the press calls this arrangement the most amicable divorce in history, and Sarah and Andrew tell interviewers they remain the happiest divorced couple in the world. Yeah, very strange.
By the year 2000, she has paid off her reported 4 million pound debt from the early years, bought a place in New York, and launched what would become a relentless string of business ventures stretching across two decades. There was a tea company. There was an organic skin care line called Ginger and Moss. There was a wellness app.
There was a children’s book series, partnerships with various American daytime hosts, a stint as a guest co-host on The View, a deal with a Chinese television network that collapsed, a deal with an Indian production company that also collapsed, and at one point, a romance novel. She is, in every visible way, thriving. The toe-sucking Duchess has rebranded as the entrepreneurial Duchess.
Then she meets a man named Jeffrey Epstein. Sometime in the early 2000s, Sarah gets introduced to a financier named Jeffrey Epstein. The relationship plays out like this. Sarah is broke or in financial trouble, and she owes money to a former private assistant named Johnny O’Sullivan to the tune of 15,000 lb.
Jeffrey Epstein steps in and pays the debt for her, just covers it, done. She would later insist she didn’t know who he really was, claim no awareness of the federal investigation that had opened in Palm Beach, Florida in 2005, and spin a great many different versions of events depending on the interviewer and the year.
What we know for certain happened on July 18, 2006. Sarah hosts the 18th birthday party of her elder daughter Beatrice, an enormous affair held at Windsor Castle. With the Queen on the guest list, Prince Philip on the guest list, Charles, Camilla, and most of the British royal family in attendance. Also on that guest list, Ghislaine Maxwell.
Also there, Jeffrey Epstein. The Palm Beach police investigation into Epstein has been underway for over a year by that point. The FBI is involved. Newspapers in Florida have been reporting on him, and anyone with a search bar could read about within 30 seconds. Yet on the 18th birthday of Princess Beatrice in 2006, at the actual castle where the Queen of England lives, Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell appeared on the guest list and walked through the door without anyone stopping them.
Sarah would later claim she didn’t approve the guest list, pointing the finger at Prince Andrew instead. Andrew, who flew on Epstein’s private jet. Andrew, who stayed at Epstein’s Manhattan townhouse. Andrew, who would 15 years later sit for a televised BBC interview about his Epstein association so catastrophically disastrous, it ended his public royal career in a single 45-minute conversation.
But, that’s another video for another day. For Sarah, the Epstein connection becomes, in a word, expensive. In March 2011, the Evening Standard publishes an interview in which she condemns Epstein in the strongest possible terms, telling the paper, “I abhor pedophilia and any sexual abuse of children and know that this was a gigantic error of judgment on my behalf.
” She promises to repay the £15,000. She promises to have nothing further to do with him ever again. The word abhor jumps off the page. Epstein gets arrested in 2019, dies in a Manhattan jail cell that August, officially by taking his own life, which not a single person in the English-speaking world entirely believes.
Court documents start getting unsealed in batches. Emails start getting leaked to journalists and private correspondence becomes public for the first time. One of those leaked emails comes from Sarah Ferguson to Jeffrey Epstein. The date falls shortly after her public condemnation in the Evening Standard. The contents don’t match what you’d expect from someone who had used the word abhor in print weeks earlier.
In that email, Sarah calls Epstein her steadfast, generous, and supreme friend. Her spokesperson, James Henderson, would later try to explain this contradiction to the British press by claiming that Epstein had phoned her after the Evening Standard piece ran. According to Henderson, Epstein threatened to destroy her in what Henderson described on the record in a quote that ran in actual British newspapers as a Hannibal Lecter type voice.
I’m reading that exactly as her own publicist phrased it to real journalists in real newspapers in the actual year 2011. The fallout follows immediately. The Teenage Cancer Trust, which had counted Sarah as a patron for over 30 years and for which she had genuinely worked hard during that time, severs ties permanently.
Other charities follow within weeks. The royal family, which had already kept her at a polite arm’s length for 15 years, pulls back further. Andrew stays loyal throughout. The queen grows privately livid, according to most accounts, and the palace publicly utters nothing at all. But the Epstein business doesn’t even count as her biggest scandal of that era because before the email leak, before Epstein’s death, before any of that emerged into public view, Sarah had already done something that would, for a brief window,
eclipse even her ties to a federal sex offender. She had walked into a hotel suite with a briefcase full of cash. His name on the business card he hands her reads Sheikh Mohammed Salem. He tells her he is an Indian-born businessman with major interests across the Gulf and South Asia, that he wants to do business in the United Kingdom, that he’s willing to pay handsomely for the right introductions to the right people.
The hotel suite he has reserved sits in the Mayfair. His assistants flutter politely in the background, and the briefcase between them on the table contains $40,000 US in clean banded cash. Inside his lapel, inside his shirt pocket, and inside a houseplant on the coffee table, three separate cameras and microphones record every word she utters. His real name is Mazher Mahmood.
At the time, he counts as the most famous undercover reporter in the United Kingdom. The man the British tabloids called the fake Sheikh, and he has run these stings for the News of the World for over a decade by 2010. Sports stars, celebrities, members of Parliament, and various minor royals have all been brought down by his work in previous years.
Sarah Ferguson, walking into that suite in May 2010, has no idea who he really is. She sits down. Charming dinner guest, by every account, not nervous in the slightest. The Sheikh pitches the deal. He wants a one-on-one meeting with Prince Andrew, who at the time serves as the United Kingdom’s special representative for international trade and investment.
A role granting him personal access to government ministers and trade delegations worldwide. In exchange for setting up that meeting, the Sheikh will pay her 500,000 pounds. Sarah’s response lands on camera, perfectly preserved. “That opens up everything you would ever wish for,” she explains, leaning forward. “And I can open any door you want, and I will.
” She accepts a $40,000 down payment on the spot, on camera, in a relaxed tone, she drops the line about how she hasn’t got a pot to piss in, and she calls the 500,000 pounds a lick of the spoon, which I think she meant as a charming British colloquialism, but which, in context, lands approximately as charming as it reads.
She tells the Sheikh, on camera, in plain English, that Andrew had come up with the 500,000 pound figure himself. Andrew said to me, “Tell him 500,000 pounds.” Andrew, when the story breaks, denies knowing anything about it at all. He’s at a state dinner in Paris when the news breaks back home. His staff brings him the newspaper at the table.
By every account I’ve read, Andrew turns pale and utters nothing for the rest of the evening. The News of the World publishes the full video, the full transcript, and the full photographs on May 23, 2010. By the next morning, every newspaper in the United Kingdom carries the story on its front page in 80-point type.
And by the next afternoon, Sarah has issued a statement calling her own conduct a serious lapse in judgment. Within a week, she boards a plane to America for an interview with Oprah Winfrey. The Oprah interview airs in June 2010, and Sarah cries on cue, apologizes through tears, explains she’d been drinking, and pleads that she’d never, ever do something like this if she were sober.
“She needs help,” she tells Oprah, and Oprah, professional that she is, lets her cry, asks the questions, and gives her the air time to make her case. By Sarah’s telling, she has hit rock bottom and is finding her way back to the light. It’s a hell of a performance. Then, 6 years later, in November 2016, she sues the journalists who exposed her.
Her court filings claim the sting played out unfairly, that she’d been tricked, that the journalists used illegal methods to obtain the footage. And she explicitly names two cartoon production deals she insists the scandal ruined. The cartoons go by the names Sophie on Safari and Fergie’s Farm. I’m not inventing those titles, by the way.
Those count as the real names of the cartoon shows whose loss she sues for in a London courtroom in 2016. She also claims in court that the sting cost her a 90 million-pound private equity deal. The lawyers for the news group newspapers request documentation of this deal. The documentation never materializes.
The judge raises an eyebrow, and the case eventually settles quietly, with nobody discussing the terms or how much, if anything, changed hands. Mazher Mahmood himself, the journalist, has by this point been convicted in a separate criminal case for perverting the course of justice in a different sting. And Sarah’s lawyers exploit that fact relentlessly.
Whether her own case carried any merit beyond that procedural angle, the public never learns. But, the optics tell their own story. Six years after weeping on Oprah’s couch about her serious lapse in judgment, Sarah Ferguson stood in a London courtroom arguing she had been wronged by the people who recorded her pocketing $40,000 in cash to sell access to a British prince.
Geez, dude. Now, let’s talk about the house. In 2004, Andrew, long since departed from the Navy, takes a 75-year lease on a 30-room mansion called Royal Lodge. Sitting on the grounds of Windsor Great Park, a few minutes drive from the Queen’s main residence at Windsor Castle. The mansion previously housed the Queen Mother, who lived there until her death in 2002.
And Andrew pays an upfront sum reported at around 1 million pounds for the lease. Committing to a rolling annual sum plus renovations, he moves in. So does his ex-wife, Sarah, moves into Royal Lodge with him in 2004 and never leaves. Okay, so they divorced in 1996, which means by 2026, the divorce has been on the books for 30 years, and the cohabitation at Royal Lodge has been continuous for 22 of those years.
They aren’t, as far as anyone can tell, romantically involved. On the record, Sarah maintains that they remain best friends, and Andrew echoes the same line, while the British public has stayed variously charmed and bewildered by the whole arrangement for two decades. Their daughters grew up at Royal Lodge, Beatrice and Eugenie, both now married women with children of their own, still visit the place regularly, and the parents throw Christmas parties together, walk their dogs around the grounds together, and appear at Royal Ascot together every
June, sitting two seats apart in the royal box. They look, in every visible way, still a couple minus the marriage, minus the title, minus the public approval. The palace, for a long time, treated this arrangement with a kind of cheerful tolerance. The late Queen, who liked Sarah personally despite everything, never made an issue of it.
Charles, who didn’t like Sarah personally and never had, mostly tolerated the situation because his mother liked her. Then, in September 2022, the Queen died. Charles became king and the rules shifted overnight. King Charles has been trying to evict his brother from Royal Lodge for the better part of 3 years now, by most accounts.
The lease still has roughly 50 years left on it, which means Charles cannot legally throw Andrew out. What Charles can do, however, is cut Andrew’s annual royal allowance, stop paying for Andrew’s private security detail, and render Andrew’s life expensive and uncomfortable in ways that don’t make for great press, but which function as effective leverage on a brother running out of money.
By late 2025, the situation at Royal Lodge had hardened into what palace insiders shorthand as a standoff. Charles wanted Andrew and Sarah out. They both refused to leave. The press, sensing blood, ran news stories every other week about the latest tightening of the screws, with some reports claiming Andrew paid nothing for upkeep, that the place crumbled around them, that the roof leaked, while other reports contradicted those accounts and claimed Andrew had quietly fixed everything.
As I record this in May 2026, the pair of them remain inside Royal Lodge. Whether they remain there by Christmas, nobody knows. What we know for certain, a divorced couple has now lived together in a 30-room Royal Lodge for 22 years during a period in which one of them counted Jeffrey Epstein among his friends, and the other got caught on tape selling access to British government ministers.
And somehow, despite all of that, they remain there. There exists, in fairness, no other story quite like this one in modern British royal history. While all of this unfolded in the press, >> >> Sarah, in her own telling, worked very hard. In 2015, she becomes a director of a company called Gate Ventures, a theater investment firm with offices in London and Beijing, which invests in West End shows and carries big plans for a stage musical based on the Tom Hanks film Big.
The company also, it turns out, runs some interesting accounting practices, which would eventually become a problem for everyone involved. In March 2020, high court documents enter the public record showing that Gate Ventures had transferred what the judge called unexplained loans to its director, Sarah, the Duchess of York.
The amounts come in disturbingly specific. The judge reads them out one at a time in open court, while the press scribbles in their notebooks like the courthouse Christmas had arrived early. £287,577 to her personally, 232,003 pounds. To her brand Ginger and Moss, half a million pounds, give or take, sloshing from a publicly traded theater investment firm into the personal accounts and side ventures of one of its directors.
The company collapsed shortly afterward in spectacular fashion. The press feasted, and Sarah, when asked, insisted she had repaid all amounts owed. The matter eventually settled without a criminal finding against her. But the court documents remain public. >> >> The numbers remain real. And the pattern continued.
A long pattern across her entire financial life of money flowing in and money flowing out. And nobody ever quite agreeing on what counted as earned versus given versus borrowed versus due back. Other deals filled the years. The Weight Watchers contract dragged on profitably. A personal investment in a small cosmetics company called Brands Alive came and went.
A long string of partnerships with American daytime networks paid her well into the late 2000s before drying up. An aborted attempt to launch a clothing line in Asia made headlines and then disappeared without product. The cartoon business never quite went away. Budgie the Little Helicopter in the 1980s and then later, after the 2010 sting, the various other animated children’s projects she would sue tabloids over for ruining.
Add it all up, and what emerges is 40 years of relentless commercial activity by a woman the British press has been mocking as a grifter since 1986. Was she a grifter? I don’t know. Maybe. She functioned, at the very least as a hustler. Somebody who rose every morning >> >> and tried to monetize the fact that she had once been married to a prince.
Sometimes the deals worked. Often they didn’t. The press loved a failure and they always found plenty to write about. She turns 66 years old as I record this. Four decades of hustling. You have to admire the persistence even if you can’t quite admire the rest. In the summer of 2023, Sarah received a diagnosis of breast cancer.
She went public with the diagnosis quickly, underwent a mastectomy, and recovered after the doctors caught it early. The interviews afterward focused on the importance of women getting screened, and she used her platform, such as it remained by 2023, to talk about women’s health and early detection in plain English. By all accounts, she handled the diagnosis with grace and a sense of humor.
And the response from the British public, which had stayed mostly cold to her for over a decade, warmed for a moment. Then in January 2024, 6 months later, came a second diagnosis, malignant melanoma, a second cancer unrelated to the first. Two cancers in eight months at age 64. For anyone, regardless of fame or wealth or scandal, that counts as a brutal stretch of life.
For someone whose entire adult existence had played out across the British tabloids, the public response came in complicated. >> >> Some sympathized openly, some cracked jokes online, and some used the news as a chance to revisit old scandals from the 1990s and 2010s. Sarah, for her part, posted on social media that she felt grateful that her family was supporting her and that she would be okay.
She has, >> >> as of this recording in May 2026, beaten both cancers. The skin cancer got excised, the breast cancer remains in remission, and she has been out speaking at women’s health conferences across Britain. Podcast interviews fill her calendar. At 66, she does the same thing she has always done, which is to keep going, to keep talking, to keep telling her version of her own story to anyone who listen.
Beatrice and Eugenie, both now adult women with families of their own, remain publicly devoted to her. Beatrice has two children, Eugenie has two children, and Sarah holds the title of grandmother four times over with grandchildren who, by every account, adore her. Whatever else you make of the woman, her own children remain unambiguously in her corner, which is more than several other former royals can say about their own families.
Thanks for watching everybody. Sources for this video appear in the description below, including contemporary court filings, broadsheet reporting from the 1990s onward, and the verified court transcripts of the 2010 News of the World sting. The Mazher Mahmood quotes all live on tape. The Supreme Friend email lives in unsealed Epstein-related correspondence, and the 15,000 pounds a year versus 2 million pounds settlement remains to this day, a he said palace source said, situation that nobody at Buckingham Palace will ever clarify on
the record for as long as Charles wears the crown. If you’ve got a royal you want me to cover next, drop a name in the comments below. I’m taking suggestions. I’ve done Grace Kelly. Lord Mountbatten sits in the queue, and Kaiser Wilhelm’s children stacked up behind that one. But tell me, which one should I cover next? See you in the next one.
