The Prince and Me

The last time that I met a Prince was in Monte Carlo with Lela. She called me up early morning with the irresistible offer of a spare ticket for the Season Opening at Monaco Opera House, followed by 7-course dinner at the fabulous and outrageously posh Louis XV restaurant in Hotel de Paris. Prince Albert would be in attendance. Dress code was Formal Cocktail. Slight issue ... the only formal dress in my wardrobe on this side of the world was a Maid of Honour dress designed by NZ designer, Judith McGaffin, for the Whitianga wedding of my dear friend, Rosanne. With no time to cut the floor skimming hem to above the knee, take out the long sleeves and put in a plunging neckline, I took solace in the knowledge that if Grace Kelly were still alive, she would have approved and instantly encouraged her son, the Prince to marry me.  The fact that I felt like a nun in a room full of supermodels is neither here nor there.

Prince Albert sat at the next table. There was eye contact, but I think that was just him looking over wondering why such a hot chick had become a nun.

Prince Vigen... Australia's only royal barista

So technically I didn’t meet (read: marry) a Prince. This has frustrated me for years. Until yesterday.

Sitting in Gourmet Larder tapping out a blog, when a tattooed, African man with massive smile came up and gave me a hug...then sat down beside me. Even by my standards this is slightly out-there behaviour...Read more...