Prince Harry in Whanganui. Photo / Lewis Gardner
Many thousands of people are on hand to cheer me on as I continue my New Zealand tour in the remote but beautiful Stuart Island.
It is surrounded by water, which is a curious thing. New Zealand is indeed unique.
A bush ranger is appointed to show me the "sights". He is nervous, like many people are when close to royalty, but I put him at ease with friendly and casual banter.
I point at an object, and say to him, "And what is that?"
"A tree," he replies.
"How fascinating," I respond, with enthusiasm. "Tell me, are there many of these 'trees' on the island?"
"Yes," he says.
"How many would you estimate?"
"I don't know."
"Perhaps," I say wisely, "no one knows."
We round a bend in the track. Pointing out to sea, I ask him, "And is that water?"
Tens of thousands of people line the streets as I conduct a walkabout in the leafy city of Christ alongside a rather demented individual who claims he is the Prime Minister.
"Hey, mate," he titters, "check this out. Haw, haw!"
He winks at me, and tapes a sign reading KICK ME on the back of one of my protection officers.
"Go on," he whispers.
I try to change the subject.
"Tell me, how is the economy faring? Are you surviving this 'downturn', as people have been describing it?"
"Mate," he says, "I don't know where they taught you English, but I can't understand a word you're saying! Haw, haw!"
He is perspiring heavily, his hands shake, and his eyes are wild.
How do these people get elected in the colonies? In the British Isles, we leave it to Mr Murdoch.
"Well," he says, "if you're not game, I am!"
The protection officer reacts very quickly and very effectively. And yet even though the "Prime Minister" is lying on the ground with a foot on his throat, he smiles, and waves.
Father calls.
"And where is one," he inquires.
"Um - New Foundland," I respond.
"Very good. A sound people. Beautiful landscape. Have you met the Premier?"
"Not very sound, I'm afraid."
"Be that as it may, it won't hurt to have a word in his ear that illegal fishing of the Patagonian toothfish ought to be high up on his list of priorities because until that trade is stopped, there is little hope for the poor old albatross."
"I'll be sure to mention it."
"Well," he sighs, "one does what one can."
I row a boat somewhere, and everyone cheers.
Several million people leave their homes to line the streets, look out from office windows, and gain vantage points by climbing trees, church spires and something called "the Sky Tower", as I visit the remote but beautiful Auckland Island.
Everyone is very nice. Tours like this are great fun.
But in between moments of exchanging friendly and casual banter, my thoughts stray to where I am in my life.
Like I said to the reporter from Sky News the other day, it's at a crossroads. I leave the army next month, but where to next? And who will be at my side?
Of course, I would love to have kids right now, but there's a process that one has to go through. I don't think you can force these things. It will happen when it's going to happen. It would be great to have someone else next to me to share the pressure.
At a reception this evening, I turned to the person next to me.
"Mate," he said, frothing at the mouth, his eyes wide and glaring, "what say we hive off, and sink piss at mine? Haw, haw!"
Oh God. One really ought to get a move on about finding someone else to share the pressure.
She never told them the five-course meal was vegan. So a cousin decided to act.