If, as the Queen tells us, "there are powers at work in this country about which we have no knowledge", how does she know about them? The answer to that conundrum is that there is no answer. Nothing about the monarchy is rational. We inhabit a Ruritanian fantasy in which the parliamentary year begins with the monarch - magnificent at mid-morning in evening dress and tiara - reading the details of the government's legislative programme from a piece of hand-inscribed vellum.  That is the dull routine of royal family life. From time to time it erupts into a demonstration that the notion on which it is built is inherently dangerous as well as absurd. The amount of time and space which has been wasted on a butler who became obsessed with his employer is the direct result of the fiction that there is something special about the royal family. That is only true if, by special, we mean strange. The squalid absurdity of the latest revelations is illustrated by a growing feeling of sympathy for Mohamed Al Fayed. The man who is adjudged unworthy of a British passport must deeply regret that his son became associated with such a disreputable bunch.  Writing about the royal family's foibles is, for me, a novelty. Ten days ago, I was about to resign from the Campaign for an Elected Head of State because of its attitude towards the Windsors' private lives, as revealed in the Panorama investigation of Camilla Parker Bowles's prospects of becoming queen. The simulated meeting of the campaign's committee showed an intolerably cynical approach to the business of promoting a republic. Professor Stephen Haseler, the chairman, announced that the personal conduct of the Prince of Wales must be exploited in the drive to end the hereditary monarchy.  My arguments in favour of an elected head of state have always been built around the inadequacy of the institution, not the shortcomings of the individuals. Of course, I accepted that the heredity principle is based on the notion of a genetically distinct family, with everything that family does - in private as well as public - providing evidence of its suitability to rule.  But I was against the monarchy because it embodied the idea of a social hierarchy and encouraged the nation to look back instead of forward, not because the heir to the throne made childishly prurient telephone calls.  I was wrong. The real objection to a monarchy remains the debilitating effect it has upon society. But the damage done by its public existence is compounded by the private conduct of the monarch and her relations. The Queen's role in the Paul Burrell case makes that clear. It is impossible to believe that Her Majesty only realised the significance of her three-hour meeting with Burrell a couple of days before he was to give evidence in his trial for theft. Her personal conduct was clearly influenced by belief in the constitutional fiction on which her status rests. In private as well as public, she was above the law.  Her first instinct - as mother and sovereign - was to preserve the good name of her (royal) family. Initially, that seemed best achieved by keeping well out of the Burrell affair. She only intervened when abdication (in this limited sense) seemed unlikely to prevent revelations about the home life of our dear Princess of Wales.  The intervention hopelessly failed. But that does not reduce its significance. The personal conduct of the royal family, Diana's estrangement from the Prince of Wales, and her weird relationship with staff, combined with her mother-in-law's determination to protect the Windsors' reputation to produce a legal travesty. In the case of Regina versus Burrell,   the defendant was alleged to have stolen property from Regina's daughter-in-law. Then Regina herself became the star witness.  While the monarchy exists, the deference afforded to them will continue to prejudice everything they touch. As long as the reverence was simply extended to the Duke of York being escorted to the Ministry of Defence each day by motorcycle policemen, no great harm was done. The conduct of the Burrell investigation shows the monarchy is not just a bad joke.  Detectives from a squad that specialised in dealing with celebrities - an arrangement which itself says something about society - knew, or ought to have known, that Burrell had claimed to have spoken of his acquisitions during a royal audience. Yet none of them thought it appropriate to check his claim with the Queen. At best, they were overawed at the thought of cross-examining Her Majesty. Some of them may even have imagined that she was beyond their jurisdiction. Either way, justice might well have been denied because of their obsequiousness. The problems of the hereditary monarchy result from its existence. The only solution to any of the consequent absurdities is a republic.