When I was told as a little girl that we would be moving to England I asked my mother if England had a king. “No, my darling,” she said. I heaved a sigh of relief, until she added: “but it has a queen”. Upset, I announced: “Then I’m not going”. “Why ever not?” she inquired. “Because I refuse to bow down!”
Years later I decided to live out the ultimate fantasy we women all carry with us long after we cease to be little girls – the dream of being, even for that briefest of moments, the most pampered, powerful woman in the world, the symbol of a vanishing fairytale – being “queen for a day”. And not just any queen, ELIZABETH II.
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