A Buckingham Palace investiture - or, to use its more formal title, the royal gong show - must be a traumatic experience. How low do you curtsey? Is 'your royal highness' the right form of address, or will a simple 'ma'am' suffice? What small talk do you make with the most powerful woman in the world?

All these thoughts and more must have gone through the Queen's mind as she prepared to meet Elizabeth Taylor yesterday.

Oh to have been a flunky-on-the-wall at that encounter. It's not every day that the planet's two greatest vulgarians come tiara-to-tiara.

How you could dine out on the story. I was there when Dowdy met Pushy, you would tell anyone who listened. I was the one who had to inform Miss Taylor that despite her very generous offer the Crown Jewels were not for sale.

The rest of us were left to goggle at this gaudy encounter on television, before groping for the Neurofen. For, if any one investiture discredited Britain's system of royal patronage, this was it.

Why on earth were Elizabeth Taylor and Julie Andrews made Dame Commanders of the Order of the British Empire? For a start there is no British Empire, unless you count a few South Atlantic rocks covered in sheep droppings. And even if there were, these two star turns have hardly stepped foot in it for years.

Dame Elizabeth was born to American parents and left London for Los Angeles when she was seven. Dame Julie, the Pamela Perfect of Pictures, was honoured for "services to acting and entertainment". Her best known roles include Hollywood movies like Mary Poppins (set in London, although no one told Dick Van Dyke); and Broadway productions like My Fair Lady. And yes, that's Broadway, New York, not Broadway, Fulford.

Not for one moment am I denigrating the dames' ability to entertain. Their talent has thrilled millions, for which they have been amply rewarded both financially and in terms of Oscars, Tonys and - in Dame Elizabeth's case - a particularly persistent Richard.

But they should not be honoured by a country who has not seen hide nor hairdo of them for decades. We might as well make Elvis a posthumous Knight of the Garter because, as York's own Eddie Vee reminded us on Saturday, the aeroplane he was on touched down at Prestwick Airport for refuelling once. Or perhaps Michael Douglas could become an Officer of the British Empire because he has appeared in Empire magazine.

However hypocritical it seems to us, stars cannot stop themselves dashing up the red carpet to grab their prize from Brenda's grasp. Sean Connery will make a rare trip to Scotland from one of his foreign homes to collect his knighthood in July. After being knighted by the Queen, Sir Anthony Hopkins pledged allegiance to the United States to become an American citizen.

The only answer to this corrupting merry-go-round of fame and honours is to end the honours system altogether. But that will never happen because it will leave the royal family looking embarrassingly redundant. Already the British ship-building industry has collapsed leaving the Windsors with crates of champagne and nothing on which to to smash them. If they are robbed of the crucial role of pinning badges on to lapels, their entire point will come into question.

One man who would love to get his hands on a royal bauble is Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen. The flouncy king of kitsch probably dreams about meeting Elizabeth Taylor under the gilt-inlaid ceilings of Buckingham Palace.

Unfortunately, our Laurence is given to flights of fancy. It was reported this week that he has turned down the chance of hosting a BBC quiz show because "he will only work on highbrow programmes". Someone ought to tell our Larry that Changing Rooms ain't exactly The Brains Trust.

If you have any comments you would like to make, contact Chris Titley directly at chris.titley@ycp.co.uk

17/05/00