Pippa Middleton.
Before I left the land of postcode 2320 my auntie set me a bit of a challenge for my time abroad in London and it involves Pippa the “royal in waiting”.
This challenge, or test if you will, could be classified as a form of request, but it was cleverly weaved into general conversation as we said our fare-thee-wells.
Be careful, stay safe and enjoy yourself ... went the run of the mill message of the protective family member, but it was the grand finale that really caught my attention.
“And bring home a nice overseas girl with you,” she said barely wavering in tone or expression.
The delivery was clinical and had me on the back foot quicker than a Brett Lee bouncer sent down at the WACA.
After getting over the initial shock of the statement I had to quickly decipher the fair dinkum factor at play here.
Was she for real? Was I hearing things? Or was it one of those subtle hints to get a move on and spread the Callinan family further across Maitland than it already was?
I still wasn’t 100 per cent sure of what shot to play but, rather than act flustered or simply letting it go through to the keeper, I decided there was only one way to deal with it.
“I’ve got this covered,” was my reply.
“Pippa Middleton will be waiting for me in London.”
This suggestion, basically the first and most high-profile gorgeous and available Englishwoman who came to mind, was met with a laugh and we continued on our merry ways.
But the seed had been planted and, consequently, challenge accepted from my end.
Now comes the hard part.
Not so much the dating bit – clean shave, chit chat and like Hugh Grant finding a common middle ground between a celebrity and an average Joe – but more so the location part.
Where is Pippa Middleton?
I mean, London is a big place with a lot of people in it at the best of times, but during an Olympic period it is simply off the Richter scale.
I started my search the other day outside the walls of Kensington Palace, apparent resident of Pippa’s sister Kate and another bloke called Will, but to no avail.
So I’ll throw it out there Pippa, like any good single, Aussie bloke would when in old London town, if you are around over the next couple of weeks and would like to catch up for a pint, fish and chips, a West End show, a stroll in Hyde Park or any form of Olympic event, I’m available when you are.
As a frequent reader of the Maitland Mercury and listener of 1233 ABC Newcastle, I’m sure Pippa will have no trouble finding this message, but if anyone does happen to see her in the near future please pass on the invitation.
And finally to my auntie, it’s OK to maintain a faint glimmer of hope about Pippa coming home to the Bolwarra version of Kensington at some stage, but please don’t hold your breath. Let the Games begin.
