The trouble with being a Queen,
is that everything One does will be seen: 
Whether it's selling One's quota of 500 bunches of flowers a day in order to cover the wage bill for the Buck House Gardeners;
Or being obliged to wear a Lamp Shade on One's head to match the latest coat that has been foisted on one by a Committee;

Demonstrating to the Public Gaze that even One's nice but dim son and heir has the peculiar fetish of sniffing the slightly smelly socks One has worn all of the previous day;
Working as Bingo Caller at the Buck House Aged Gentleperson's Club on alternate Friday Afternoons;
Being reduced to leaning on a wall for support while waiting outside Waitrose for the bus back home after putting One's Lottery on - and devoutly praying that the 'Care in the Community' pair behind One aren't waiting for the same bus!
Having to depend on One's occasionally nice but increasingly dim Consort to spot the best escape route from the determined Chuggers who make trips to Waitrose  extremely hazardous;
Wondering which cretin in One's staff was responsible for sitting One beside this Wily Oriental Gentleman for the Buck House Aged Gentleperson's Club outing to A Night At The Opera;

Resenting that One can't even go Dogging in Hyde Park any more without the Papparazzi getting wind of it;

And embarrassed that One's nice but dim son and heir can't resist telling everyone on the Tube about his "Four Times a Night!" sexploits with his bint, the appropriately named Camzilla!