MY KIND OF PRINCE

It was all rather downplayed and overlooked amidst the fuss over phone hacking, but spare a thought or two for 'Airmiles Andy', dropped and sidelined, no longer 'Special Envoy' for British industry. Where were the lavish tributes from export titans and other heavy hitters? Nicholas Witchell, normally reliably wet and sycophantic on matters royal, contributed a rather bitchy look back at Andy's role. There was snide reference elsewhere to unfortunate friendships and Jeffrey Epstein not being the kind of guy a roving prince should hang out with.

Perhaps the wrong chap for the wrong job? It must be said that quizzed on his role batting for Britain, Andrew did tend to glaze over. You got the impression his heart might not really be in flogging missile systems to potentates or whatever he did. Never mind. I'm sure there are plenty of other openings out there. Perhaps a directorship of a strip club franchise, or a more active role at Norwich City, too much foreign travel having prevented regular attendance at Carrow Road.

While even hardened republicans may concede that the Queen is pretty good at her job, that Charles, albeit in a rather batty way, cares about the planet and Anne has more than done her stuff for Save the Children and other noble causes, the gloves tend to come off when it comes to the younger princes. What can be said in Prince Edward's favour? At least he had the nouse to quit the Marines in the face of his father's contempt and appears to be more naff than nasty. And as for Andy....

Born in 1960, Andrew was the first son born to a reigning monarch in 100 years. For years, wicked tongues have wagged, suggesting he was the product of a tryst between Her Majesty and Harry Porchester, manager ofthe Queen's racing stable. Inexplicably, Prince Phillip made little reference to this in his recent round of 90th birthday interviews.

Long before Harry did his stuff in Afghanistan, Andrew was in a helicopter over the Falklands, part of his 20-year career in the Royal Navy. But even then, the Press always went for the 'Randy Andy' angle, rather than the 'Helicopter Hero'. My favourite punch-line to off-colour royal joke:
"the Argies couldn't blow up Andy 's chopper".

It is fair to say that the 'chopper' in question has seen quite a bit of active service,prompting suggestions that Andy was more interested in trophy escorts that UK exports. Year ago, there was Vicki Hodge, older and naughtier, one time star of 'Confessions of a Sex Maniac'. Better remembered is Koo Stark, who has battled breast cancer and bankruptcy in recent years and sounds to have been ill-treated by the Royals. There has been a Bond girl or two, a Cadbury's Flake model, Robert Maxwell's daughter. Rock diva Courtney Love said Andrew knocked on her door, but to no avail.

Andy may be a double-chinned playboy, but he also seemes to be a devoted dad and a stout friend to the wayward, but unforgettable Fergie, whose goals come in hat-tricks.

I have never met a Royal, but did once attend a rather dour event hosted by Anne, which involved skipping lunch in recognition of gloval hunger. I can't see that being Andrew's kind of caper. But I can imagine a night on the town with him, on th back of some boring export promotion gig. . "Where's the totty round here?" he would enquire and we would head off to a 'Pimps and Hookers' party across town, the booze flowing freely, the conversation getting ever more louche and indiscreet, while Andy assured me I was a "bloody good bloke". You are too,sir. Trebles all round.