Shortly after their first meeting, I bumped into Prince Charles. “I had a meeting with Mr. [John] Prescott recently,” he said.“Ah,” I said, “how did it go?”“Fine, fine,” Prince Charles replied with a somewhat distracted air, “except ...”“Yes?” I said encouragingly, knowing some Johnism was about to emerge.“Well,” he said, looking around to see we were undisturbed, “does he ever do that thing with you?”“What thing?” I said.“Er, well, when he’s sitting opposite you, he slides down the seat with his legs apart, his crotch pointing a little menacingly, and balances his teacup and saucer on his tummy. It’s very odd. I’ve never seen someone do that before. What do you think it means?”“I don’t think it means anything really,” I said.“Hmm. You don’t think it’s a sort of gesture or sign of hostility or class enmity or something?”“No,” I said, “he does it with me often.”“Yes,” he replied, clearly unconvinced, “but ...”“You mean,” I interjected, “he’s making a working-class point against you, upper class, and me, middle class?”“Well, it could be,” he said.“No, I think he just likes drinking his tea that way.”“Yes, your’e probably right,” he said, plainly puzzled and unpersuaded, “it’s just I’ve never seen it done before.”So there you have him. A one-off.