Royal newsflash: One is arrested

In a purely hypothetical Britain — the sort that exists somewhere between constitutional monarchy and late-night panel show — news breaks that Prince Andrew , Duke of York  has been arrested.

Not charged by destiny, mind you. Arrested. The palace corgis are said to be “monitoring the situation,” which is palace code for “chewing something expensive.” The nation reacts in the traditional manner: by refreshing the BBC News app every twelve seconds and pretending it has always had strong constitutional opinions.

There is something almost touching about the image. A man once trailed by equerries and Range Rovers now acquainted with the upholstery of a standard-issue police vehicle. One imagines the officer saying, “Mind your head, sir,” out of habit, before remembering that equality before the law means we all bump our skulls on the same unforgiving doorframe.

Enter Keir Starmer, stage left, with the solemn expression of a man about to explain gravity to a roomful of apples. He assures the country that “no one is above the law” and that “this demonstrates the strength of our institutions.” He says it in the tone of someone reading the side effects of a mild sedative: steady, responsible, faintly anaesthetising.

Everyone is equal, he insists. Equal before the law. Equal in dignity. Equal in accountability.

Of course, equality in Britain has always had a charming, bespoke quality. Some are equal with ancestral homes; others are equal with ancestral damp. Some are equal with offshore investments; others are equal with overdrafts. But yes, in theory, when the handcuffs click, they make the same sound regardless of postcode.

The commentators assemble like ravens in tailored suits. “A watershed moment,” they murmur. “A triumph of transparency.” Somewhere, a constitutional scholar weeps softly into a first edition of Magna Carta, whispering, “I told you it would come to this.”

Meanwhile, Starmer continues, threading the needle between outrage and reassurance, like a man attempting to iron a hurricane. “This is not about status,” he repeats. And for a fleeting, almost cinematic second, the nation considers the possibility that perhaps — just perhaps — the gilded balcony and the bus stop are, in fact, governed by the same rulebook.

Then someone checks the weather forecast for the King’s garden party, and equilibrium is restored.

In this hypothetical Britain, justice is blind, balanced, and impeccably briefed. Everyone is equal. Some simply have better lawyers.