It was difficult when i split with Prince Charles and was thrown out of the Royal Family, not as difficult as explaining to the kids why that Gilbert guy kept referring to me as Squidgy in that telephone call though.
It was not easy learning to cope on my own, for years if i needed something doing Charles would call for the butler or maid to do it and now I had to shout for them myself.
There is a lot to sort out when a family splits up including access to the children, one of us had to see them at the weekends and that was my prime ski-ing time and then there was the question of money and i had to start earning some.
While i was looking for something useful to do to earn some cash it was suggested that there were plenty of marvelous charities around so i asked them but they didn't give me anything.
I went out with some rich men instead but there was one man who just didn't have enough money to attract even me, Donald J Trump, but even after bombarding me with massive bouquets of flowers, him and his itsy bitsy tiny hands were not getting anywhere near this Princess.
After i died in a tunnel under Paris, it was said that the driver of the doomed limousine was on the payroll of some intelligence agency and others maintain that a mysterious white Fiat Uno played a part in the fatal crash.
Others still claim that the driver was deliberately blinded with a bright flash or i was assassinated by the royals to silence me but the truth is the driver was as pickled as a herring and subway walls are hard and the bodies inside fast moving cars are not.
My story therefore is one of finding my Prince, having lots of affairs and living separately from him ever after.
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