Today, I signed up to the Carole Middleton Fan Club. I moved from ‘bloody-Carole-Middleton-pushy-mum and I mean seriously those-skinny-jeans and I bet her-breath-was-a-bit-rank-at-the-royal-wedding-because-of-the-Atkins-diet and …’ to ‘Carole Middleton: love her. Nope. Won’t hear a word against’.

Like Debrief Daily on Facebook. 

And here’s why: I think Carole might be just like us after all.

First, there were the images of gorgeous George, all toddly and chubby knee-ed at his sister Charlotte’s christening – and Carole in the background, craning her neck and smiling an indulgent, grandmothery smile at her grandson.

Then this weekend - and this is the clincher -  she was snapped at the Australia vs England rugby match, pouring a Shaz and Trace-like baby bottle of cheeky sav blanc into what looks very much like a plastic wine glass.

... then necking it like a sailor at a 21st.

... then ripping into a packet of chips (she's clearly off the Atkins). Then throwing back another glass.

Which, presumably, was enough to loosen things up to the point where she yelled and despaired and generally wore her heart on her puffer jacket sleeve.

Sweet patron saint of slappers, I've finally found a royal to admire*.

It was easy to believe Carole was a pushy, wannabe posh mum hellbent on snaring a posh prince for her eldest daughter because, well, that's what all those prigged-up toffs put about.

Take this from the Daily Mail in 2007, just after Kate and Prince William split:

I'm kind of delighted those 'Royal sources' might now have to kow-tow to "incredibly middle-class" Caz. That she's perched up near Harry at the footy and that her riff on a scarf looks better than the Queen's or Princess Anne's.

And that for all their bollocks, pin-in-the-mouth disapproval, she's stuck it out.

Here's to you, Carole. You're definitely someone I'd clink a plastic cup with.