Look out, Toronto. England’s most cherished probably-prince has landed. The rich man’s Ed Sheeran (sorry) spent Monday morning comparing winning grins with Justin Trudeau, and will be addressing the military before attending a sledge hockey game (??) and meeting Lieutenant-Governer Elizabeth Dowdeswell.
That’s all well and good, very appropriate activities. But Harry is a handsome, single, 31-year-old man on a work trip to one of the coolest cities in the world right now (ask the Raptors, ask Drake, ask anybody). Shouldn’t he be allowed to skip a state visit and hide a beer in a Slurpee cup in Bellwoods with the rest of us? Below, I humbly present an alternate itinerary for Prince Harry’s T.O. visit.
10:30 a.m. Sleep in, Prince Harry, you deserve it! Probably. I mean, you are technically in the military, which seems hard. And the constant scrutiny of your behaviour and personal life must make it difficult to engage in your favourite hobby (high stakes, semi-public nudity) as often as you’d like.
10:45 a.m. Order room service and do a nice face mask. Also do one of those little masks that are just for your mouth, so you can show that smug PM who’s got the softest, poutiest lips in the Commonwealth.
11:30 a.m. Ask someone to get you Drake’s phone number. (You are a prince, you can do this. I think you can just tell anyone and they have to do it for you?) Maybe get your people to say they are calling on behalf of Prince Harry, but murmur the “Harry” part so it sounds like they’re calling on behalf of Prince?
12:00 p.m. Lunch with Drake at the CN Tower’s revolving restaurant. #Views
1:30 p.m. Congratulate all the Raptors and all the Raptors cheerleaders, and finally the Raptors’ mascot (Did you know his name is “The Raptor”?). Slam a few dunks in the ACC. See if they’ll put you on the Jumbotron even though no one else is there to cheer about it.
2:30 p.m. Accept Justin Trudeau’s promise to put a clause in Canadian law stipulating that, constitutionally speaking, your skin is two to three times more supple than his or that of any other Prime Minister, living or dead. Go out and get matching tattoos of questionable taste.
3:30 p.m. Unplanned stop at my house because you finally got that selfie I’ve been tagging you in on Instagram for like three years.
4:00-4:30 p.m. 😉
4:45 p.m. Leave my home, your proposal of marriage brutally rebuffed.
5:00 p.m. Take a pic with that big T O R O N T O sign in front of City Hall. It’s fun!
6:15 p.m. Take a water taxi to Hanlan’s Point so you can watch the sun set over the Toronto skyline as 6 God intended: nude.
7:30 p.m. Amuse yourself by taking a ride on our transit system. We recently re-labelled the lines to make it clearer and easier to use. It has also made it incredibly obvious that we only have two and a half subway lines. It’s all very cute and kind of stupid. Maybe whip out a map of London’s underground system and share a laugh with fellow commuters.
8:00-9:30 p.m. Take a Tinder date to Northwood, the official bar of Toronto Tinderers. Enjoy a cocktail and some small talk with a woman who works in public relations. Stroll through Christie Pitts afterwards and joke about breaking into the pool, before a helpful paparazzo points out there’s no water in there yet. Take your date and the assembled photographers to a karaoke booth in Koreatown, and belt out your fav K-pop hits.
10:00 p.m. Your date reveals she’s an undercover journalist for the Chicago Sun-Times.
11:00 p.m. Stroll dejectedly along Bloor as locals stream out of bars in pairs, feeling lonely and sad. All these Torontonians have such pleasant, full lives. When will it be your turn? England feels like a gilded cage, this city like a whole new world. Imagine your life: you work at a bike repair shop, get your Sam James every morning, stroll pleasantly through Kensington to meet your friends for dumplings after work, bring Bellwood brews into the park for which they’re named, dance the night away at a dance party in a basement, watch the sun come up with a chunky Canadian girl in short shorts…
11:45 p.m. Hold a boombox over your head outside my bedroom window, Cusack-style.
12:00 a.m. 😉