PAUL Burrell is guilty - of being a simpering, forelock-tugging toady with a tiara fixation. He has made subjugation to the unworthy privileged appear a noble and dignified calling. And for that he's a folk hero. Only in Britain.

No self-respecting person would choose a life as a royal bag carrier. Imagine the paucity of ambition that would propel anybody into a career backstairs in Buck House. Paid a pittance, your whole existence determined by the click of a stubby in-bred finger, your only reward would be an occasional whiff of regal body odour.

Those who, by bad luck or ill judgement, find themselves in such bondage must clutch at what straws of self-esteem they can. Perhaps they kick the odd corgi. Perhaps they add their own unique flavourings to the Windsor soup. Perhaps they flog the details of Andrew's sex life to the tabloids.

But not Mr Burrell.

He deluded himself that he wasn't the downtrodden servant of a rotten elite, but its most trusted confidante. He was Diana's advisor and friend. He was - poor dupe! - her equal.

So equal that he had to bow and scrape to her every day and walk a "respectful" distance behind her. Equal enough to struggle to get a mortgage while his mistress languished in palatial luxury.

After Diana died, an exact price was put on Mr Burrell's years of loyal service and discretion: a £3,000 pay-off. And yet he still didn't seem to realise that his years of flunkying had been wasted.

This we can only put down to an obsession with Diana. He stashed away hundreds of Diana-related items, from signed CDs to personal letters to photographs. Anyone else discovered with such a spooky shrine to a public figure would have been considered unstable, a stalker even.

Yet when the trial collapsed, Mr Burrell was portrayed as a saint. He has certainly been exonerated of theft; but his explanations in court as to why he had all this Dianarabilia varied and were sometimes unconvincing. The truth may be rather sad: that he could not bear to give up his links to the princess and the glamorous world she opened up to him.

That would certainly account for those saccharine speeches to has-been Hollywood about the late Diana. Footage of the footman addressing the celebrity cause-aholics of California, that fawning smile dripping off his face, was totally nauseating.

Surprisingly, however, Paul Burrell is not the most obsequious party in this sorry affair. In fact, he's a long way back in the line for that prize.

In front of him are representatives from every part of the establishment. They include the trial judge who continually denied open, honest justice in order to protect the Queen's secrets.

Then there are all the other lawyers who colluded to prop up the incredible idea that Her Majesty's miraculous, last minute (and untested) recollection was grounds enough to collapse the trial - just as Mr Burrell was about to go into the dock and make some very embarrassing revelations.

However, at the front of the queue by a mile is Britain's biggest suck-up: Tony Blair. When it comes to royalty and US presidents, he makes Uriah Heep look like Anne Robinson.

Typically he immediately sprang to the Queen's defence; she acted "entirely properly," the little creep insisted.

In these two men, Paul Burrell and Tony Blair, we have the reason why Britain will never develop a meritocracy. As long as we keep producing people willing to prop up this miserable monarchy, as 'umble servants or even 'umbler Labour Prime Ministers, the republican revolution will remain as distant as ever. And the Queen can do as she likes, gawd bless 'er.

Updated: 13:28 Wednesday, November 06, 2002