‍Well, I did say worse was to come when I wrote about Epstein and his oily chum Mandelson a week ago. And so it came to pass. This odious affair almost brought down a prime minister and may yet, it has forced the Royal Family to break its code of omertà — and about time too — and with any luck might do for Trump and for good measure his friend and fellow rich spiv Farage, mentioned in the files released so far at least 18 times. 

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‍Politically, Mandelson, pictured, will prove a bigger scandal than Profumo. That involved a cabinet minister lying about his sexual away days to his leader Harold Macmillan and then to the House, a capital offence. That was it, and even though a Russian attaché was a bit part player, no secrets were relayed to Moscow

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‍With Mandelson, here was a man who was sending the most sensitive and, in some cases, secret cabinet information by email to Epstein. He knew exactly what he was doing because whatever else he might not be, he is clever.

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‍Mountbatten-Windsor, on the other hand, is not. He is supremely stupid, born to be feted because of his antecedents and his adoring mother who appears to have turned a blind eye to the behaviour of her favourite spoiled son. But even he must have realised that sending Epstein info about the deals (if any) he had done as UK trade envoy might have crossed the line.

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‍Call me vindictive but the police must investigate both Mandelson and Windsor as they would you or me, indeed as they did the two Mirror journalists jailed for insider trading as were others in the City. And as they have in the more serious cases of passing state secrets. There must be no exceptions because of their so-called social standing. And if either is found guilty of charges carrying a custodial sentence, they must be seen to be the plain private citizens they are, they should — must — be jailed. The law must be blind and seen to be. No exceptions.

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‍Windsor wouldn’t be the first royal (through birth) to enjoy the comfort of a prison cell; the Princes in the Tower began the trend in 1483 before they disappeared and were murdered. Then Henry VIII turned it into a steady flow when he wanted to get rid of a wife or two. Two ended up facing the axeman and, tempting though that might be, I draw the line there. 

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‍Twice this year the King has been heckled during walkabouts. Is it that which prompted the Palace to issue this week's bland statement that it will co-operate with the police should they come knocking? So we should hope but the fact that it was said is an indication of the way the royals have been treated in the past. Above the law. 

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‍MPs are still banned from asking questions about the Royal Family and that cannot be right or fair. The police, and in turn the rest of us, must be given access to all emails, not just those between Windsor and Epstein but all of them which mention this dreadful duo. In particular those from David Stern who described himself as, God help; us, 'Epstein's soldier' who was also a director of (Mountbatten-Windsor's) Pitch @ Palace, and his close friend.    

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‍Without pre-empting anything, if the police find that the law has been broken by either Mandelson or Windsor, charges must be brought. And if either is found guilty then they must be dealt with appropriately. Including jail terms.

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‍*****

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‍I spent 35 happy years living in a village called Tatsfield, perched on top of the North Downs and once home to Donald Maclean before his one-way trip to sunny Moscow. I moved to London in 2008 and realised that the capital is made up of a series of villages where the spirit of community is every bit as strong as in Tatsfield.

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‍It certainly is in Gipsy Hill which for the uninitiated is midway between beautiful and uber-pricey Dulwich and slightly edgy Crystal Palace. I was boarding a train at Gipsy Hill station (where the station gardens are looked after by volunteers and are a thing of beauty in the summer) when I heard a scream, followed by a commotion further down the platform. At that moment a youth leapt on the train and bolted past me and into another carriage followed by cries of Stop Him. Instinctively I ran, well hobbled at what for me is pace, through the train and then saw the little scrote jump off and head to the exit.

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‍Unfortunately for him, two large chaps in hi-viz jackets were preparing the platform seats for a repaint and gave chase. He was caught and dragged back to a group of women, all strangers, who were comforting the victim of his assault. She was an attractive 30-something Spaniard who had been in the platform shelter when attacked. The police were called, the driver got out of his cab and walked towards the group, ensured all was being dealt with, and asked if he was in order to move off towards Victoria.

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‍The journey was held up by about 12 minutes and nobody complained; indeed everyone there, all ages, colours and classes, were concerned for the victim. Nobody looked the other way and I believe there would have been the same response anywhere in London where we are said to be unfriendly and uncaring.

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‍And hopefully anywhere else in the country.

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‍*****

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‍WHO HE? 

‍Anyone know this kid who featured on a postcard marking the start of evacuation from Britain's cities in 1939. Clue: He grew up to be one of the most admired Expressmen, loved particularly for his calmness and his mentoring of young reporters. And no it's not Mike Parry.

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‍*****

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‍AND FINALLY

‍I listened to David Frost's Desert Island Discs on Sunday when he was interviewed by Simpering Sue Lawley. I got to know Frost over the years through our shared love of cricket. The last time I saw him was at a cricket charity dinner at the Grosvenor House in 2013. On the way out we were chatting and he asked, as he always did, how I and my family were. I explained that Dad was unwell and in hospital but at almost 91 had enjoyed a good innings. "Oh do give him my very best,” he said. I got home, fell asleep and after an hour the phone rang with a kindly doctor informing me that Dad had died.

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‍The family called it the Curse of Frost. Sadly a month later David died of a heart attack on the QE2, aged just 74. Call it the Curse of Frame.

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‍ALAN FRAME

‍11 February 2026

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