As imagined by Brian Beacom

JINGLE bells! Thank you for pushing your unconscious racism and bias aside and allowing me to celebrate the build up to Christmas with you folks in Scotland.

And what a great start it’s been. Thanks to Michelle Mone hogging the headlines over PPE, and that old crusty colonialist Lady Susan Fussy being tossed into the Serpentine, it means the British media have been ready for a good news story – like our new Netflix series.

Yes, I know one or two say it’s full of unsubstantiated allegations that are woollier than Bo Peep’s Christmas coat.

That our series is an exercise in tedious content provision rather than a serious argument against institutional racism.

But I know you Scots know the truth. You guys have long known what it’s like to be oppressed.

You’ve also been slaves to the Crown. And if it were not for the block grants, the Barnett Formula, the frigate contracts, new freeports... I’m sure you’d already have sleighed the hell away from the Westminster whip crackers.

All I can say is: get outta that toxic relationship, guys!

What? You’re saying to me ‘How can we take someone seriously who told porkies about being married in secret, who claimed that her baby wasn’t going to be a prince because of race, that the Palace took away your passport?’

Well, yes, some have pointed out the imagery in our wonderful new series has been placed out of context, all that kinda stuff. But everything you see is the truth.

It may be a truth that’s not necessarily THE truth, but let’s not forget the essential truth; that Britain is a swamp half full of Nazi sympathisers.

I’ve witnessed this first hand because don’t forget my Haz has a deep understanding of unconscious racism, thanks to the fact he chose to wear the Nazi uniform while, he says, he was semi-conscious at a party.

What this costume choice was all about was ascertaining the reaction he would receive, to use the experience as an argument against fascism.

Honestly, is there a braver man this side of the Ukraine than my husband?

Honestly, I can’t tell you how happy he makes me, even more than the $100m Netflix are throwing away on us.

But my main aim is to parallel my experience with that of Diana.

What? No, not needy, and determined to stand under the spotlight until burnt, then rushing out to Boots for the aloe vera lotion. Someone who really didn’t know what she was letting herself in for.

Honestly, I thought all that knee-bending and throwing your jacket on the puddle was made-up stuff to sell royalty to the tourists.

I sincerely thought Charles would be high-fiving me, and Kate would take me up Bond Street and then we’d hit the wine bars and be hit on by a couple of guys.

But I know you believe me, the kinda gal who grew up a pauper, even though my dad earned $200k a year.

And thank you for being true to my truth.