Prince William
(June 30, 2003)

It's about time!  Prince William, future King of England, has turned twenty-one thus making him a paparazzi sensation.  Shortly after his mother's death, his father, Prince Charles, asked the media to leave his son alone until William turned twenty-one.   For the most part everyone respected the request.  Afterall, the media was blamed for Princess Diana's death.

Before and during the media ban, the only image of the prince was through highly orstrated public appearances.  The gentle waves to the screaming girls, the shy manner, the look of a teenager being dragged to a family reunion was the image portrayed by the Royal Family.  What is P. Willy really like?  Away from the media, away from the world.

To find the answer I boarded a plane for England.  My first stop was Buckingham Palace.  I camped out front at the gates for a few days with a few other reporters.   We could always tell when school was out because flocks of teenage girls were suddenly stroll by the gates, each one taking a calculated glance up to the palace looking for the Prince.  There had been some rumours of P. Willy sightings but it was all misinformation from the Palace.

I had had enough so I did what any reporter would do - I bribed a guard for information.  I thought it might come down to this tactic when I packed for London so I made sure to include the one thing every non-Canadian craves - a Roots cap.  The guard buckled fast when I showed him the cap that our Olympic athletes made famous at Nagano. 

P. Willy was spending the afternoon at a library on a little side street in the heart of London researching for a speech he would be giving the following week.

I staked out the library from across the street.  The key to P. Willy's security is to have lots of security but not to have the appearance of lots of security.  A little library with fifteen guys in suits and sunglasses roaming in front would be suspicious and would definitely tip off every teenage girl in the area.  No, P. Willy's secret service was all in the inside of the library with only two suits in the front foyer of the building.  Every person entering the building through the front door, had to show photo ID and a valid library card.  Only the front door was open to the public.

I did not have a library card so I did the next best thing.  I bribed (another Roots cap) a pretty college girl who happened to be jogging in the neighbourhood.  I told her to go for a hard run - hard enough for her to sweat, stop at the park across the street from the library and do her cool down stretches.  She was instructed to do her cool down stretches rotating between facing the library and facing away from the library.

Fifteen minutes later, the college girl slowly jogged by the library and set up shop at the bench to do her cool down exercises.  I strolled along the east side of the library, across the street from my pigeon.  It wasn't until she bent over to hold her ankles that she received the attention of every man in the area.  It was at this time that I casually hopped into the bushes along the library wall.  The college girl continued her jog shortly after.

It must have been a long speech P. Willy was writing because I waited five hours and twenty-three minutes in that bush.  Finally, a group of men came out of the front.   In the middle of these extremely big men was the Prince.  He was walking in a calm matter. 

Once my eyes saw him (oh - how I wish my eyes had met his), I understood the the fascination the teenage girls had with him.  He was handsome.  I mean really handsome.  He was literally Prince Charming.  It took every urge in body, not to run out of the bush and propose marriage to him.

Unfortunately, as my Prince, and future husband, left the library, I exposed myself from my hiding spot trying to get a better look at him.  I was in such awe that I didn't notice the big secret service man standing behind me.

"Excuse me!"
"Yeah."  I was still staring at the Prince.
"Up now Miss.  Very slowly."

I turned around and quickly realized the situation.

"Oh, it's okay.  I'm with the media."
"Up now Miss.  Very slowly."

I obeyed and put my hands in the air.  He talked into his wrist, then to me.

"You media disgust me.  I get bloody sick to me stomach just watching your programs on the Tele."
"I know what you mean, there is this show on Fox called the O'Reilly Report, where the guy, I can't remember his name, makes up facts to support his opinion."

There was a pause as the man stared in disgust at me.

"You know, sir, what might help.  Take some demerol before watching TV.   The numbness makes it bearable."

I learned another valuable lesson with that last comment.  Never, ever, mention, even jokingly, about using drugs, when visiting a foreign country.

The rest of the day was spent at a detention centre waiting for my media credentials could be proven.  The secret service kept the story quiet because of the embarrassment factor.  It took some sweet talking via phone from Ham (I'm don't think he promised them Roots caps) for the British to consider the World of Ham as part of the media.  My trip to England ended early the next morning with an escort to the airport.  I made sure not to make any drug jokes while going through customs.