The year I turned 26, as the head of my own brokerage firm, I made $49 million, which really pissed me off because it was three shy of a million a week.

Some weeks ago I was a victim of crime within 150 yards of the gates of Leinster House. I was approached or set upon by a little gurrier with a syringe. It is not a pleasant experience to have someone push a syringe against one's face at 12.30 a.m. on the streets of Dublin, particularly when one is within a stone's throw of the seat of Administration.

I'll get out at the end of the road and walk from there.

But if a Prince shall deign to be familiar and to converse with those upon whom he might trample, shall His condescension therefore Unking Him? And His familiarity rob Him of His Royalty?