That’s what I want to be when I grow up. A professional chucker. Used to be an engine driver but now, for me, it’s throwing darts at a board.
If you’re any cop at it, you get into a competition, the BBC screen it prime time with a roomful of pint-swilling punters and other programmes get the elbow.
Just as enthralling as the bingo or the all-in wrestling. Only the chariot race in Ben Hur could whack darts for brain-teasing tension.
Home was the hero. All braveheart, all didn’t-I-show -those-pesky-Taliban- who’s- boss, all I-had-them-running-scared.
Don’t kid yourself, Harry. You’re not kidding us. You are still essentially a student prince.
So save your wild tales of derring-do for your boozy chums in the watering holes of Mayfair and Kensington.
Let’s peruse the papers where his imminent antics spill onto the redtop pages. Grow up, son, just grow up.
The real problem, Harry confesses, is he can’t find himself a bird. Potential princesses are “put off by his position”. Well, try another one, silly boy!
Afterwords . .
. . . My nomination for Commander-in-Chief of British Forces in Afghanistan, haughty Caroline Wyatt, the BBC’s roving correspondent. A voice that would bring the troops smartly to attention.