So Andrew got tugged, and this time not by some teen hoe.

I wonder if the birthday party was scrapped? It was after all a crying shame to be banged up yesterday, because he missed a cracking day on social media.

Oh well, more cake and Asti Spumante for the protection plod.

But for those feeling a frisson of titillation at the prospect of the reamed-out rotter fashioning numberplates from the finest jailhouse acrylic, hold your (ceremonial) horses.

The slick turd has been wriggling on this phat hook for 15 years without being reeled in. Nicked for ‘Misconduct in public office’ and not sex trafficking or rape? Any other ordinary Andrew would have been cuffed and stuffed long ago on the meatiest charge the rozzers could have trumped up.

His crass cringeworthy character aside, Andrew’s current crash has been forged only by political expediency.

Here’s how it’s playing out.

The King had to take action to save the monarchy. ‘Letting the law take its course’ was an apt tool to crush the notion of aloof superiority, which is the Achilles’ heel of the well-heeled nobility.

Shitehawk Starmer’s world is about to go pop, so he needs his own Falkland Islands. Gordon Brown is sitting on a whole heap of files and is gagging to bury the personal spectre of Mandelson as well as having one eye on preempting a shedload of questions about what he knew before everything else hits the fan.

As for Andrew, well, he still has his £1m cottage, which oddly enough is exactly how Mandy used to describe Epstein Island.