King Warnie

Whoever first dubbed Shane Warne “the King of Spin” spoke more than they knew. Move over, Will & Kate. No offence intended toward our esteemed constitutional monarchy, but we just don’t need to salivate over a royal wedding on the other side of the world when we now have one in the offing in our own backyard. The Warnie-Hurley caper has everything a royal gossip columnist could want.

A mansion for starters. Not Buck House, granted. But it looks similar enough. And the gaggle of journos out the front would pass for a horde of tourists at the changing of the guard. And then there’s the actress, the rich no-longer-married playboy who seems to get around, the dark luxury car, the golf club, the pursuing paparazzi contingent, the bookmakers’ punts on the nuptials, the wire-tapping. (They call it Twitter these days. I’m sure Charles and Camilla would have used it if it was around then. With 140 characters they’d just have left some bits out.) No corgis sighted yet, but I’m sure they’re out the back.

We’ve got it all. Forget the republic. Monarchy’s much more fun.


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