Dear Prince Harry, how about moving to Chicago? I’ll swap you my place for yours.

Dear Harry,

Great news that your grandma is letting you quit the family business.

Meghan is homesick. I get that. I crossed the Pond in the opposite direction in 1983. Not that this isn’t home, but, now that I have kids, I sometimes find myself reminiscing about my childhood.

Like the time I peed my pants in a London antique store because my dad didn’t believe that I really, really had to go. Or when a Devonshire farmer almost shot our German shepherds for terrorizing his sheep.

So let me offer a proposal. Would you consider a house swap?

I know Meghan has her heart set on Canada. But, honestly, it’s not that different from Great Britain. And your grandma is also queen of our neighbors to the north. So you’d still have to deal with her nosy, fawning subjects stopping by unannounced.

If you want a real change of pace, how about Chicago? Unless your name is Daley, Madigan or maybe Pritzker, people don’t care who you are here. And property is cheap — for a big city, anyway. That’s something to consider if you and Meghan are serious about becoming “financially independent.”

And you wouldn’t even have to buy at first. You could live in my house in Portage Park for a year — to test the waters — while the Esposito clan enjoys Frogmore Cottage. We have four bedrooms and a cozy den with a sofa bed for when you patch things up with William and Kate, and they come to visit. We just put in a new fence. So little Archie can explore in the back garden to his heart’s content.

We have a 2013 Hyundai Accent with adjustable child seats, which you are more than welcome to use. Apologies for the foul odor from the back seat, which could be anything.

We have lovely neighbors, by the way. When it snows — and it does quite a lot — George runs his snowblower over my sidewalk, too! We have a quirky, almost British custom here known as “dibs.” If you shovel the snow from your street parking spot, you get to claim it as your own. Just mark it as yours with lawn chairs or plastic crates — whatever you like, actually. It might serve as an amusing icebreaker if you plopped a chair spray-painted a regal gold in the middle of your spot.

Not sure what you’ve heard about Chicago food, but it’s fantastic. And no fussing over which knife or fork to use. An open mouth and one functioning hand are all you need for Italian beef, Chicago-style pizza or a Polish with grilled onions.

Speaking of food, you might want to avoid the drive-thru when you first get here. Or have Meghan order. You could die of thirst trying to order a cup of water with your burger and fries. They pronounce it WAH-der here. And butter is BUH-der.

Whatever you do, don’t lose your accent. Americans love accents. But sometimes they get confused. I wish I had a dime for every time I’ve been asked, “Where are you from, Australia?”

Something else … resist the temptation to make jokes about Chicago and Al Capone. It won’t win you friends. He’s been dead for nearly three-quarters of a century, but some people are still oddly sensitive about the guy who helped put the city on the map.

To a lot of Chicagoans, the Capone thing is as irritating as Yanks asking Brits if they’ve ever met the queen.

But you would probably have fun with that one.

Cheers,

Stefano