In Hong Kong, during his swing through Asia and Australia on a show-the-monarchy tour, Prince Charles bravely tasted curried snake. In the surf in Perth, however, what slithered up to England's future King was a nubile nymph, clearly carrying no concealed weapons, who hugged and kissed an unprotesting Charles. The Prince was also kissed by a young housewife and by an ecstatic elderly lady. Recalling similar smooching on Charles' previous Australian visits, the Melbourne Herald sought explanations from Body Language Expert Desmond (The Naked Ape) Morris, who blamed it on Charles' friendly grin. "If he scowled or showed alarm or just cultivated a blank expression, it wouldn't happen. Queen Victoria did this, and not many kissed her." Not many wanted to, for that matter.

"Three months with Paul Newman can't be all bad," says Actress Jacqueline Bisset.

Agreed, but sometimes it can't be all good either. During the filming in Hawaii of Irwin Allen's ultimate disaster movie, The Day the World Ended, with Newman and William Hoiden, Bisset's reel-life idyl was interrupted by real-life meteorological aberrations. Not only were there earthquakes, but the usually sun-washed Kona coast was lashed by heavy rains that set back filming and added another $2 million to the $20 million budgeted. Bisset and Newman, during one interruption in the shooting, were caught by photographers making comparisons that were more odd than odious.

Doris Kearns Goodwin is a Ph.D., bestselling author (Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream), ex-Harvard professor, baseball nut-and lady. Thus when Kearns' favorite team, the Boston Red Sox, took the unprecedented step of inviting her into their training-camp dressing room, Kearns chose the middle way. She went, but only after the team was on the field. "It was neater than most women's locker rooms I've seen," she reported. "The players' clothes were all neatly hung." Admits Kearns: "I'm willing to let someone else be the first woman in there when players are dressing." Still, as Husband Richard, a former presidential speechwriter, pointed out, "Thirty years from now you'll be a baseball trivia question."

"It looked more interesting than politics," insists thrice-a-week-tongue-in-cheek New York Times Columnist Russell Baker, 53. Between columns. Baker has been scribbling away at a musical, which opens on Broadway next month. Three years of effort, by the author's count, have produced a net loss of $375 for the coffee consumed by himself and "paladins of the Great White Way" while they convinced him that a succession of scripts needed "a lot of work." The end result, Home Again, with music by Cy Coleman and lyrics by Barbara Fried, is a melodic history of an American family from 1925 up to the present time.

Monroe, La., probably has not seen so much unction since the halcyon days of Huey Long. There was smiling Tongsun Park signing autographs and granting interviews. He acted more like a Cajun politician than a disgraced influence peddler turned Government witness in the $213,000 bribery -tax evasion trial of former formidable Congressman Otto Passman, his old friend, in Passman's home town. Park even accepted an invitation to talk to 50 high school journalism students. Samples of their Q. and A.: How did he like Cajun food? Great, especially gumbo and rice. How were morals among young South Koreans? High, since girls were not allowed to date until 21. Pouring on the same snake oil that (along with money) captivated a score or more of U.S. Congressmen, Park saluted the entire class as embryo Cronkites and Walterses and returned to serious business.

Once there were not enough hours in the imperial day for all he sought to accomplish as that political rara avis, a 20th century absolute monarch. Now there are too many. Time hangs heavy for Mohammed Reza Pahlavi, the deposed Shah of Iran, in exile with Empress Farah and their children in a Moroccan palace on the outskirts of Rabat. As the days drag on and the reality of lost power dashes pretense and undermines hope, the Shah has grown irritable, subdued, even morose.

He is reduced to radio broadcasts for his news, most of it bad or even worse, indifferent to his existence. Daily, however, his royal host, King Hassan II, drives over to Dar es Salaam Palace for a tete-a-tete, often chauffeuring himself in a sleek Mercedes 4505E with only a chihuahua lap dog as sentinel. There is an occasional family excursion into the Middle Atlas Mountains, but this involves screaming sirens and two limousine loads of jittery security guards scarcely a soothing outing. At home at the palace, 200 Moroccan troops are on guard duty.

As a result the Shah, 59, spends much of his time, even in the wet and winds of winter, walking with Farah in the 25 acres of parkland that surround the palace. For exercise the onetime king of the ski slopes has taken up golf under the tutelage of Claude Harmon Jr., the American pro who taught Hassan to play. So far the Shah has yet to finish 18 holes at the royal golf club near the palace.

In his seclusion, he receives few guests, and most of these are bankers and businessmen. Many old friends are afraid to come, and the Empress, who in exile has become his rock and his shield, screens out the importunate. One welcome arrival last week, however, was Crown Prince Reza, 18, their oldest son, who had won his pilot's wings after eight months' training at Reese Air Force Base near Lubbock, Texas, and had come to show them off to his father and fellow flyer. Alas for Reza, time may now hang heavy for him too. The wings came too late for the youth who had expected to command the Iranian armed forces and some day the country.

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