It’s a line I’ve been dining off of for months now: last January, I basically tell anyone who will listen, I was in Barbados for the Sentebale Polo Cup when I ended up in a queue for a buffet at the grand event.

That’s when, pausing dramatically, Laurence Oliver-style, I tell people (again, anyone who will listen) that I found myself “sixth in line behind the third in line to the British Throne.” Giving the recipient of my narration a chance to chuckle, I then emote, “Prince Harry!”

Bragging rights, alas come along with the job of being Canada’s top social-floater, and while I try to be judicious about that as possible (in order to maintain friends), I can’t help it whilst describing my time with the greatest Ginger-Head Of All on the so-splendid island of Barbados.

Held on this particular breeze-filled Caribbean idyll – Harry stopped and had the couscous, did I mention? – it was the inaugural match of its kind. One that combined Bajan brunch and horsey combat plus some good ol’ fashioned dollar-raising for the spare heir’s African charities. People-watching, it was a rare treat too: a chance to mingle with a crowd that was as fancy-pants as it was get-down (that’s Barbados for you), as well as get an up-close look at the late Princess Diana’s youngest. He has the people’s prince’s panache, that’s for sure – plus he can sure rock a pair of white jeans, did I mention?

After a long day of polo-watching, and then post-polo-carousing on the field – one that featured an, um, mechanical bull – my English friend, Jane, so declared, “It was a top-banana day!”

That it was, sweetie. Sign me up for next year.

Read Shinan Govani’s “Scene” column in the National Post.