It was awesome.
A new Queen was to be announced and no one knew who it was going to be. I had a long, scratchy blue dress on, that felt a bit like it might have been made from a pair of old curtains, and a necklace with a letter J pendant that used to belong to Henry VIII.
My hair had been done professionally and was thick and glossy. I hardly dared move my head for fear of upsetting it, it was so beautiful. Crowds were gathering alongside a red carpet. I ran over to look and see who was coming, then realised it was me and ran back again.
After much peering anxiously from behind a curtain my moment had finally come. I walked up through the audience and took my place on the stage, in my thrown. Everyone started clapping, and then standing up and clapping louder and louder. I was presented with a crisp, new five pound note that had been reprinted to mark my rise to power. It had my face on one side and Hercule Poirot on the other. I was trying to preserve my make-up but was so happy to feel so special that I couldn’t help but cry – tears of joy and relief.
Then I woke up and worried for a little while about my self-esteem.