Some thoughts over pizza at a restaurant in Rome after a 14 hour day on three hours sleep. I'm in Italy reporting on the Pope when another story breaks. Pictures of the royal baby bump appear in an Italian gossip magazine. Back to work for me, I'll never get to finish that pizza now.
The Pope though, he gets to have his pizza and eat it too.
This is how: He is Pope because he was chosen as God's representative on earth, by an infallible power, that wanted only him. And because it was him God chose he has lived the life of a king, his every need catered for, world travel laid on free of charge, an army of adoring fans. Then after eight years he decides he doesn't want to be Gods chosen one any more. He is too old and frail. So he quits.
I'm not saying theres anything wrong with that. It's a very human thing to want your pizza and eat it. I do. its just that it doesnt strike me as particularly Papal.
And so to the Duchess of Cambridge. She lives a life of grace and favour, paid for by taxpayer, as our future Queen. Her every need is catered for, her world travel is free of charge, she too has an army of adoring fans.
What she doesn't want is to be photographed while she's on the beach in her bikini. She has a press secretary to court the kind of publicity she does want and lawyers to prevent the kind she does not.
Unlike the Pope with his pizza, the Duchess of Cambridge may want her cake and eat it, but thanks to everyone else's appetite for her, she is unlikely to get her way on this one. That leaves me, still hungry, reporting from a rooftop in Rome.