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POOR little souls, those princesses Beatrice and Eugenie.

They’ve been cruelly snubbed by their granny in their attempts to become full-time, publicly funded royals, licensed to shake the hands of the sick while smiling sweetly and accept posies from small children – before passing them on to some loitering serf.

Daddy has tried his best to convince the Queen that his girls – aged 28 and 26 respectively – should be allowed the same kind of privileges as their cousins William and Harry (plus that interloper Kate).

Professional princesses are hard to come by, after all. It’s not everyone who can unveil brass plaques on hospital walls or pretend to be interested in the droning chat of visiting dignitaries, you know.

Phew, the very thought could bring on an attack of the vapours in us less regal types who merely have to work long shifts in schools, offices or factories or care for poorly loved ones.

So there they are, left roughing it in a “very unimpressive” four-bed apartment in St James’s Palace when there’s plenty of space in Kensington Palace for their gigantic egos, sorry, wardrobes and all without the financial security of a mention on the civil list.

Honestly, someone should chain themselves to the gates of Buckingham Palace in protest. Eugenie or Beatrice would but they’re probably on holiday. They usually are.

They’ve already lost the round-the-clock, £500,000-a-year police protection, which must make skiing trips to Verbier rather tiresome, despite the security of their parents’ £8million Swiss chalet. They don’t do 18-30 holidays, natch.

Yes, at a time when unaccompanied child refugees sleep on the streets around the emptied Calais jungle because they’ve got nowhere to go, a pair of spoilt, work-shy women are more concerned about which regal residence they will be given to lay their pretty little heads in.

How ironic that the small number of minors who have already arrived on these shores in search of sanctuary are the ones being treated like leeches.

I wonder how many homeless youngsters could be given new lives of safety and optimism for the cost of pandering to the demands of Prince Andrew and his girls?

If Beatrice and Eugenie really are struggling to find meaningful work, how about they use their copious spare time to volunteer with those in genuine need of help.

You know, those who’ve lost everything to war or terrorism, the ones who’ve been fished out of the Mediterranean by the scruff of their necks, the ones waiting to hear whether we’ll let them in without asking them to bear their teeth like animals to prove they’re under 18.

Now that would be a fitting contribution by the seventh and eighth in line to the throne.

Perhaps they could help out at anynone of the 58 Trussell Trust foodbanks near their London des res. That’s called giving, not taking.

Or maybe the princesses could become permanent fixtures on the new £120 million royal yacht that a bunch of Tory MPs have been campaigning for.

One hundred backbenchers – including lily-livered Michael Gove – are convinced that a new floating palace is the way to project the “prestige” of Britain as a sovereign nation, post-Brexit.

One of them, former defence minister Sir Gerald Howarth, actually suggested the diversion of funds from the international aid budget to pay for it.

OK, why not? But only if Beatrice and Eugenie and any number of their ilk have to work their passage and only if it sets sail on a Mediterranean mercy mission, just in time for the treacherous winter seas.

Raise the Union Jack, send a message: Here in Britain, we look after minors – not minor royals.