This will be a regular column of scoops and perspective from Bazs London-centric perch.
What better way to start than withSpare, the biting memoir byPrince Harry.
The gossipy revelations have been spilled here and everywhere.
Prince Harry ‘Spare’Ramona Rosales. Bantam-Penguin.
The call came from an editor on the night news desk in London.
The caller said that Randy Andy was headed to the Caribbean with an actress named Koo Stark.
And a rival tabloid, theDaily Express, was on that plane with them.
Prince Andrew and Koo Stark in 1998John Stillwell/PA/Getty Images
That was what they called their photographers back then, but you wouldnt do that now, quite rightly.
There was no reason for my editor to add that I had better scoop the competition.
That was a given, as were the unspoken marching orders: do whatever necessary, without getting arrested.
I scrambled out of my fifth-floor walk-up on Greenwich Avenue, grabbed a taxi and headed for JFK.
The betting was they were headed to the private island of Mustique.
We were told that wed be denied entry if we flew to Mustique.
I decided to pool resources with theDaily Mails U.S. correspondent, whod also taken that red-eye from New York.
It was a tight fit on the yacht we chartered.
We bunked in small quarters, packed like sardines.
I still remember the indescribable odour of theDaily Mailsnappers feet wafting up my nostrils.
But we had to sleep on the yacht.
And stay away from Andrew and the actress.
Well jail you if we catch you, the cops warned, and they werent kidding.
A day or so later, a flotilla of charters bobbed away at Basils hangout.
The place had a high fence and security patrols.
Im not well suited for crawling around in undergrowth.
Im 62 tall, and my hair was long and bushy, like Michael Jackson wore his.
I could feel bugs tagging along to find their way to chew on my scalp.
They just loved the taste of my regal Nigerian blood.
It all seemed for naught, as there was no sign of our quarry.
That little piglet was delicious.
We ate, we drank, told stories, we belched.
But not all of us were doing that.
The other journos at Basils shindig wouldnt notice.
They were all blotto.
Along with theMailreporter, I raced to the jail to try and get our guys released.
My heart was beating because I was praying that hed gotten more of a result than getting arrested.
I asked what it would take to get them released.
Could one of us speak to them?
I nudged theMails chap outta the way and I was escorted to a cell.
TheDaily Mailphotographer kept scratching the front of his shorts.
I had some insect repellent cream in my bag and asked permission to give it to him.
As I withdrew them, I realized hed snuck a roll of film into my hands.
TheMails guy asked if Id been given anything.
Trouble is, it was inmypocket and there was no way I was handing it over.
His guy had given the film to me.
Nonetheless we agreed to share the results.
We concocted a story about needing to go to Barbados to help secure the release of the photographers.
Once there, we found an agency stringer, who developed the film while we stood guard over him.
Wed spent too many thousands of our newspapers dollars to get screwed now.
The photos were not good.
But there was one grainy long-lens shot of Andrew and Koo.
Randy Andy was bare-chested and Koo wore a swimsuit, amid bushes and trees.
The solo photo was wired to theMailand theSuns picture desks and I cobbled together some copy.
TheSuncarried the photo on the front page with the blaring headline: Me Tarzan, You Koo.
TheMaildecided to play it safe and held back.
Not wanting to be accused of stalking, they deliberately waited for theSunto publish.
Extremely generous considering that Id borrowed their exclusive photo.
All hell broke out.
The prince was ordered back to London by the palace and Koo swiftly departed for Miami.
Along with other members of Her Majestys press, I accompanied the prince back to Blighty.
I and other journalists asked Randy Andy if he cared to comment.
Bugger off, came the not so polite response.
I opened my gap-toothed mouth and smiled.
I could weakly justify that it was taxpayer money that enabled Andrew to jet off to Mustique.
Certainly, his security was paid for by us.
I received a nice hero-gram from the news desk and a pat on the back from colleagues.
The managing editor grumbled something about the cost of the yacht.
Couldnt I have booked a row boat to sleep on, he wondered?
I figured he was joking but somehow sensed that he wasnt.
I gave him my best baby Bamigboye gleaming smile which seemed to mollify him.
I can only imagine his reaction when he saw my full expense submission.
Luckily, by then I was mid-air on my way back to NYC.
I did several further tours of duty chasing Andrew as he island-hopped around the Caribbean.
There were trips to Canada and later on, one to Newport.
Dish on Royals sold as many newspapers as dirt on movie and TV stars.
Today the landscape is different.
The internet rules now, click, click, click all day and all night.
Or, Why did Meghan Markle make Kate,Prince Williams wife, burst into tears?
The landscape has changed dramatically in the relationship between Fleet Street and Buckingham Palace.
The comment from Andrews reps in 1982 was I should Bugger off.
In Harrys mind, the book exposes the toxic swirl of Buckingham Palace and the story-planters there.
Sure he insists that he loves them, but hes not very nice about them.
The palace and the press emerge with mere flesh wounds.
They will want revenge.
Peace may not come in our time.
Whats In A Column Name
In a roundabout way, Breaking Baz wasBaz Luhrmanns idea.
For a while Id been searching for the right name for this column that launches today.
My helpful friends, colleagues and other associates offered suggestions like these: Theres no Bazness Like Showbazness.
Um, hell no!
Then, someone came up with Showbaz, which happens to be my Instagram handle.
My wife hates it, so no go.
For my own protection, you understand.
One night I opened a message from my Deadline colleague Damon Wise.
Hey, what about Breaking Baz?
I liked the sound of that.
But what if I came up empty and had zero to write about?
Would the page become Blank with Baz?
His eyes twinkled when I came to Breaking Baz.
Let me mull it over, he said.
Weeks later we bumped into each other in London.
Had I sorted out the name, he asked?
Before I could answer, he said hed been doing some thinking and liked the sound of Breaking Baz.
Its got some…juice, he declared.
Go with Breaking Baz, as endorsed by Baz, he decreed.
And here we are.
