I am one of those women who loves to have the last word, especially when it comes to dealings with the opposite sex.
I have been described as chatty, sarcastic, witty and downright annoying. What I have never been called is quiet.
Until I met Harry. As in Prince Harry. The one who fights in Afghanistan, does charity work, jumps into pools half-clothed and plays strip billiards. Swoon.
It was after 3am one Sunday morning and I had been out with my flatmates—girls from the Gold Coast and Sydney—celebrating one of their birthdays.
The club we were in had closed for the night and as the crowd had spilled out onto the street in search of kebabs and cabs we were still inside because the birthday girl, Ellen, had lost her coat check ticket.
My flatmate Carly and I were standing by the bar cursing Ellen’s carelessness; we had spent all of our money on cover charge and cocktails so we wanted to get a night bus home.
And then a group of rather attractive guys and girls spilled out of the VIP area.
Carly and I did a double take and realised we were looking at Prince Harry and his band of merry friends. He was absolutely gorgeous; taller than I expected, broad and well-built. No one has ever made a collared shirt and chinos look so good—except Ryan Gosling.
And then there was his signature cheeky grin and eyes that twinkle with trouble. He looked like the kind of guy who could throw you over his shoulder and carry you away for a deliciously wicked adventure.
In that split second, I thought of Mary. No, not the Virgin Mary. Our Princess Mary—Tasmania’s favourite girl-next-door who met a Crown Prince Frederik of Denmark at the pub during the Sydney Olympics.
Was this it? Could I meet a Prince in a club and have my own happy ending? I had certainly kissed enough frogs.
So I’ll admit I am a couple of years older than Harry and while he lived in a palace, I was sharing a four bedroom flat in Putney with five others. But I was working at Harrods and I am blonde and we all know the party-loving prince also fancies fair-haired girls and he has just stumbled upon two blonde, blue-eyed Aussies.
With his minder in tow, Harry headed over to us while he mates all headed to the lift. Carly and I smiled, perhaps like maniacs. He was close enough to touch. He smiled back at us, the glorious grin. He seemed to be waiting for us to say something, anything.
But I had nothing. Not a word. The girl who never shuts up and always has a comeback was speechless. Carly wasn’t any better. It was an epic fail from both of us.
His minder tried to coax some words out of us, laughing with his young charge that he’d left us speechless and in the end Harry chuckled, shrugged and left to join his mates.
The moment they were gone, the words tumbled out in rapid succession.
“Was that? It was! Why didn’t we? I can’t believe it! He approached us! OH MY GOD!”
I’m surprised our families back in Queensland couldn’t hear the squealing across the globe, but just in case we were on the phone within moments.
“Mum. Mum. Prince Harry just came up to us in a bar!” I squealed down the line.
And in the fleeting moment, the Prince had aptly stolen the crown of ‘the biggest celebrity I’d met’ from former NBA basketballer Dennis Rodman, who I had interviewed while he was in Brisbane on a press junket in early 2008.
The heavily tattooed TV star was everything you would expect; loud, brash and almost two hours late for the interview.
He also propositioned me, offering to throw me down in front of the fireplace and have his way with me.
Not on your life, Rodman.
Staring down the beast seemed to work because half an hour later I found myself at dinner in with him and his manager… well, I wasn’t going to sleep with him but who says no to a free feed?
What celebrities have you met and did they live up to your expectations?