Randy Andy

Prince Andrew is all in the news lately….mostly for being an idiot.

Turns out there is a forty year old local karmic connection with Princey Boy.

Sometime in the late 70’s or early ‘80’s the Jolly Prince descended on the Peninsula for golfing and possibly some shooting.

Steve Dart took him for a round at Cypress Point, and Mr Durney (Bill Durney of Durney Vineyard fame) hosted Princey for a visit to the vineyard in Cachagua and some shooting of feathered or clay creatures.

Mr. Durney fancied himself a sportsman, and had visited the Prince and friends for shooting in Scotland, and was anxious to make a good impression. Got to nail down future visits!

The visit was not without its bumps.  Steve Dart described Andrew as “childlike”.  Or….”fuck simple” as another observed.  The round at Cypress went well until the 18^th tee.  A local couple had decided to frolic in the Peninsula sunshine and were having mad monkey sex in a car parked near the tee.  Andrew was fascinated, and it took active measures to move him along.

(Remake of old Bill Clinton joke: Jimmy Carter, Trump and Prince Andrew are on the Titanic.  When it hits the iceberg, Jimmy yells out: "Women and children first!" Trump growls: "Fuck the women and children!" Andrew: "Do we have time?")

The Cypress visit ended badly.  Mr. D was hosting Andy on a guest card he wheedled General Ferguson into giving him.  Mr. D wound up berating the maitre d' and waiter about the poor quality of the lunch. "Not worthy of my club!"  On a guest card.....

Anyway.

The visit to the vineyard was planned out to the detail.  We had to coordinate with his British security and Dignitary Protection Service of the CHP.  Everyone arrived at lunchtime in big Suburbans and a small bus.

Mr. Durney had his charms (I mean, he created a big vineyard in the middle of nowhere long before it was cool), but generosity was not high among them.  We were shocked to hear that he had spent thousands of dollars on a gun dog for the afternoon or season or whatever.  The dog came up from Santa Barbara with her trainer and everyone was all set for a little shooting demo, some RD Bollinger and big tin of Petrossian caviar.

It was a sunny day…..perfect Cachagua spring weather.  We were freaking out about the food and service…..how often does one serve actual royalty? 

My partner Valentine handled all the service. Val was raised in an old money household in Florida, and as our resident Republican golfer, knew all the subtleties of high society service.

As the resident Irish Catholic idiot (who had recently presented Princess Margaret with a live pig upon her visit to The City) I was consigned to the kitchen.

Everything was going great: bubbly guzzled in buckets, the security guys and drivers eating all the caviar, lunch was ready, and it was time for the big demonstration.

Everyone gathered in front of the chapel, by the fountain.  The big house and chapel and pool are up at the top of the vineyard, tucked up against a ravine that cuts down the mountain.

The handler had his dog out and prancing around.  Beautiful dog, of course.  Admired by all, especially Andrew. Mr. D was not a dog guy.

The handler took out his lure, got the pup’s attention, wound up a couple of times, and hurled the lure as far as he could. 

Over the fountain, over the garden shed…..into the ravine.

The pup waited for her command, then took off like a shot.

There was a pause….the lure had gone a long way.

Hmmm. Where did she go?  Nervous looks between Mr. D and the handler.

Finally, we heard some scrabbling, bushes moving….and she re-appeared.

Proudly carrying a funky old Cachagua toilet seat.

I fell on the ground…..literally fell on the ground…..laughing.

No one else laughed.  Embarrassed tut-tutting. Valentine and Mr. D glared at me as I got it together.

“Lunch is served!”

Good dog! 

Cachagua style.