Just when you thought Australia was emerging as some sort of mature nation, along comes the idea of installing a Euro party boy in his mid-twenties as head of state. Prince William, 25, as governor-general?

What is this? Some sort of work-experience project? An extension of his gap year? At least we’re not in line for his little brother, thus sparing us the spectacle of Harry Hewitt mooning about the lawns of Yarralumla half-tanked in Afrikakorps fancy dress. Maybe we should give him New South Wales and his own half-track?  

If it must be William, then we should focus on the positives. This could be our best chance of getting John and Hyacinth to quit Kirribilli (there now being every sign that they will mount some sort of adverse-possession case even in the event of an ALP electoral victory).

How could they bear to stay, if the prince moved in at Admiralty House next door and turned the place in a 24-hour revolving door crash-pad for any passing groaning Gulstream’s of Eurotrash? Screeching tyres, hovering helicopters, platoons of Fleet Street’s finest … not to mention endless doof-doof and the mating cries of addled Hooray Henries skulling their ”treasure chests” and ravaging the hired help. The neighbours would be gone in a week.