Andrew and Fergie skipping Sandringham is a Christmas gift for the Royals

Good for Fergie. Lord knows what she went through behind the scenes to make it happen, but happen it has. So keen are the Yorks on “home sweet home” that they want to stay exactly where they are to welcome Santa. Prince Andy and loyal ex-wife Sarah Ferguson will likely spend the festive season hunkering down at Royal Lodge.

So contentedly ensconced are they in this 30-room pile that they couldn’t bear to make the arduous trek to Sandringham.

Phew! What a relief.

King Charles must be beaming from ear to ear. Surely none of the Windsors fancied the Christmas morning stroll to church on the estate with as part of the posse. Surely they hadn’t been able to erase the memory of his self-aggrandising conduct at the memorial service for King Constantine of Greece, where Andrew plonked himself front and centre of proceedings, giving the distinct impression that he, alpha male and senior royal presence, was Hannibal at the helm, the rest mere elephants.

Before Fergie apparently worked her magic on her ex, reportedly persuading him that hobnobbing with alleged Chinese “spy” Yang Tengbo had tarnished the royal brand and heaped humiliation on his family, trepidation must have coursed through the King’s veins.

What would his younger brother do to compound his embarrassment? In full view of the paparazzi elbowing each other in their haste to snap the “money shot”, would Andy slip an arm round Queen Camilla, whisper a saucy joke to the Princess Royal and scoop up Prince Louis for a piggyback? Would the monarch watch in horror as Andrew vaulted over him to shake hands with the vicar?

Truly a York no-show at Sandringham is a tiding of royal comfort and joy. The King’s Christmas can unfurl in tranquil serenity, spared the awkwardness of Andrew’s company. Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie are spending the holidays with their in-laws – no prizes for guessing why.

But spare a thought for Royal Lodge staff. Cooks, butlers and maids must having been counting the days until they could wave their bosses off to Sandringham and relax, crack open the bubbly and put their feet up. Now the poor things will be on duty, putting up paper chains, roasting turkey, peeling spuds and doing their utmost to give an empty mansion in which two dejected souls are rattling around a semblance of Christmas cheer.

Chris and Dianne a sight to behold

There were tears of joy at Feltz Towers when charming comic infused the Strictly final with an astounding mixture of talent, grit and courage and justly held the coveted glitterball aloft.

His accomplishment is almost Christmas movie-magical. He achieved the impossible and managed to be modest, amusing and self-deprecating throughout. Pundits predict Chris will make millions and we, his faithful fans, hope they are right.

In the avalanche of enthusiasm for Chris, let’s not overlook the remarkable achievement of his professional partner Dianne Buswell, left with Chris. Her distinguished dance career cannot possibly have prepared her for the complex challenge of coaching a blind novice dancer to national glory.

Her intuitive gift for nurturing confidence, sure-footedness and a torrent of truly exquisite performances from Chris must surely be acknowledged.

I would be fascinated by a documentary detailing her training techniques. She must be credited for coaxing such musicality and graceful poise from a man who cannot see.

How did she support him, both emotionally and literally?

Please will someone who pulls the right strings make sure Dianne ends up with – at the very least – an OBE for teaching Chris, and indeed the entire nation,

so many unforgettable lessons.

Epic fails are a fundamental part of succeeding in in life

Congratulations to independent girls’ school Lady Eleanor Holles for building imperfection into the curriculum and saying that social media gives children the impression that only achievement and status matter.

Failure is part of life. Even the most spectacularly successful people are able to list a litany of disappointments, bad choices, misfortunes and collapsed deals, all of which proved to be vital building blocks.

Raising children to have a bash at a project knowing that failure could be the outcome is vital. Fulfilling our potential demands the resilience to emerge battered and bruised but ready to get back in the ring and give something else a whirl. All schools should emulate this school’s mission to convince young people that perfection is both unattainable and boring beyond belief.

Sir Ian leaves no vroom to doubt he can bounce back

You might have been surprised to hear that Sir Ian McKellen, 85, has risen phoenix-like from a fall off the stage which fractured his wrist and chipped his vertebrae.

He made a stellar appearance alongside Julian Clary in the London Palladium panto, Robin Hood. To the audience’s delight, he hectored Nigel Havers: “Remember real acting, Nigel? Look, watch and listen.”

I wasn’t in the least amazed that Sir Ian, below, has regained his joie de vivre and returned to the stage. I’ll tell you why. We both use Limobike, a motorbike taxi service specialising in whizzing people around the congested capital. They provide helmet, gloves and jacket. Clients must be agile enough to mount the lean, mean purring machine.

Sir Ian is a favourite with the bikers. His antics and anecdotes have won their undying devotion. I belief that anyone with the gusto to leap on and off a motorbike at 85 in the cold British winter can survive anything.

Treat is creme de la ice creme

I’m not sure what made me do it, but I bought a Viennetta for family consumption on Saturday.

Pre-Viennetta, ice cream at home meant a brick of bright yellow vanilla or pink-stippled raspberry ripple. Squashed into the tiny freezer compartment at the top of the family fridge, this tooth-tingling “treat” was always a disappointment. We were thrilled by the idea of ice cream, but a chemical taste let it down.

In 1982, Wall’s transformed our lives and introduced us to sheer sophistication. The Viennetta was a fancy frozen “gateau”: white not yellow, decorated with chocolate and posh in every way.

We savoured every bite. Its deliciousness exceeded our desires. My girls remembered their great grandma Babs serving it as a special treat. Isn’t it delightful when something you remember fondly delivers just what you were looking for?