When I was a boy, my highest ambition was to be a soldier. I dreamt of a career as a dashing officer in the Life Guards, adorning myself each week with the gleaming cuirass and plumed helmet worn while on mounted guard, making my rapid ascent to become a field marshal, the youngest since Wellington. Alas, reality and my poor eyesight were against me; yet I remain devoted to the fanciful idea of answering my nation’s call in time of war should the opportunity ever exist. What a pleasure, then, to lunch last month among the burnished mahogany and equally burnished members of a London club with Christopher Joll, himself a former Life Guards officer, and Sir Anthony Weldon, late of the Irish Guards. They are the authors of a newly published book called The Drum Horse in the Fountain, an almost indecently entertaining collection of anecdotes about the heroes and rogues of the Household Division from each Regiment’s founding until the present day. Joll told me over the anchovy rarebit that just after leaving the Army he worked on the Queen’s Silver Jubilee committee. One of his less onerous responsibilities was persuading the British Association of Motor Manufacturers to present Her Majesty with a new Rolls-Royce, as a token of their loyal affection for their Sovereign in her anniversary year. Following the Jubilee celebrations, HM gave a cocktail party at Windsor Castle to thank the committee members. On being introduced to Joll, the Queen said: “Ah, you’re the man who got me my new car.” Joll replied that, yes, he had helped, and asked Her Majesty how she liked it. “Oh, it’s very comfortable, thank you.” A moment of silence followed, so, somewhat against protocol, Joll ventured a question: “Tell me, Ma’am, what was your favourite form of transport during the Jubilee year?” “Oh, that’s easy,” replied The Queen vigorously. “Concorde. Champagne at twice the speed of sound: now that’s travel!” “And what was your least favourite?” “Oh, that’s easy, too: the new royal train. None of the windows open and the air conditioning doesn’t work.” Charming as the anecdote is, it caused me a moment of thought to regret that, 42 years on, transport has not improved – indeed, has become markedly worse. Concorde was cast on to the dust heap in 2003 by Mr Blair, one of the most monumentally awful decisions in a premiership not notably short on mistakes. And Britain’s trains are still overheated, under-ventilated and generally uncomfortable. I wonder whether the situation will have improved by the next Royal Jubilee in three years (God willing). Experience suggests the odds should be long.