WOMAN: The situation I'm going to tell you about is one in which I could have dropped tons of bricks – and probably did! A few years ago – I'd been a reporter on a national magazine for about two years, I think – I was invited along to one of those big parties in aid of charity. You know the kind – the sort of party where everyone is a celebrity, a 'famous name'. Well, I found myself in conversation with a man who'd been introduced to me, but I hadn't listened to the name. His face was familiar, but the name just wouldn't come. It was exasperating. Anyway, we chatted amicably for twenty minutes or so. He seemed to know my name, asked how things were on the magazine, (and) even asked after my family; although how he knew about my work and my family, I just couldn't think. In return, as you do in polite conversation, I asked him what he did, how his career was going, how his wife was, and so on. All his answers were pretty vague, I thought. I was intrigued to find that he travelled a lot, and asked him if he took his wife when he travelled. On being told that they often travelled separately in Britain, but usually travelled abroad together, 'as I must know', I began to feel somewhat baffled, and also felt that I should know who he was. With a somewhat uncomfortable feeling, and a politely whispered 'It was very nice to meet you', I managed to extricate myself and made for the Ladies' Room. It wasn't until after I reached the haven of the Ladies' Room and closed the door on the buzz of the party that the realisation dawned – I'd been speaking to the Duke of Edinburgh, and had actually asked him how his career was going! and how his wife (the Queen!) was! And of course he knew me! I had had the great fortune to interview him briefly for an article in my first year on the magazine. I could have died! – I didn't, of course. Instead, I collected my coat and slunk away, extremely flushed.