Is there anything you cannot do

Not a question but more an exclamation of wonder tinged with vexation . In fact, it is uttered so often to me that it has actually become my aura.

Whether I’m straddling a toboggan, smiling and drinking from a can of Coke while tearing down some slope in Zermatt (yes! a l l at once), finessing (not to mention savaging the English language) chapters of my new self-help guide, or creating an exclusive and sensational line of organic lingerie, perfumes, soaps and lotions, there IS absolutely not one thing that I cannot do.

I am presently sportin’ a white lab coat and enormous spectacle frames sans lens as I type (‘anything she cannot do’ I hear you Murmur in Wonder). I have just added some essence of crepe myrtle to a concoction of oignon and cumin which forms the basis of my new parfum, Cretin d’estate - an homahge to those fools who sport jumpers and cardies on overcast and rainy days in summer despite the humidite being over 80%. (Oh MIW to you too! However I am ,of course, humouring you).

Consequently I have a legion of admirers, copycats (just step on board the superficial information highway and you'll find more rip-offs than that series of K-tel record covers from the mid 70's - from stealing bums to buns of steel) and, of course, detractors.

Maggie T often bemoaned the tall poppy syndrome in Australia. Even more ridiculously Slapper Faithfull cited the term and applied it to herself in her bio, which I foolishly read (I was multi-tasking though so not a minute was wasted). However, I believe it is just the Price one pays for being a high achieving, goal driven super competent.

No time for tickets in this day and age.  Pass me that Pluravit multivitamin would you.

Furthermore,  I am in good company. Cast your sweet, feeble minds to Sting, Kyle Sandilands, Simon Cowell, Jessica Mauboy, every celebrity chef who has graced a cucina  and you’ll realise that you, my sweet NSRs, are plum smack bang (I told you I could savage the English language!) in the middle of another R E N A I S S A N C E!

And angels, there is someone else who we really, really must add to this pantheon, I’m talking of he who heads the vanguard

Ronnie Wood.

Lord love that talented artiste. Sure he has been diddled out of song writing credits big time;still Renee Geyer did record a cover of “I can feel the fire burning” and I ‘m sure that the royalties rocked on in then. Musician, talented painter, rooter of young Russian hostesses, sorry, hookers, and wordsmith extra-ordinaire. Please read his bio and the collection of brilliant letters between him and Rod Stewart (compiled by one of the Mitford/Mosley great-grandchildren – they’ve run out of correspondence between hons and vons). Matt Moran is a huge fan.

Charlie Watts said that Ronnie had brought nothing musically to the Rolling Stones but he brought a whole lot of bonhomie. I should receive such testimony.

What really has triggered my new found respect for the Ronster, well , this epiphany about his being the Renaissance man of this our fabulous 21st century was a bit of cyber research yesterday.

I read that Ronster had just been ditched by his latest Russian lady and that he had bestowed upon her a scarf from his collection of designs for Liberty!! (not that the ditching happened because of the latter.)

M.I.W. ad infinitum!!! Ronnie’s grand designs are the toast of fashionistas from Jerrys Plains to Dagestan.

Baby boomer royals and hons and vons,  who feel like being hip and rockin' , are wild about the collection. C. Parker Bowles has a set of PJs and Chilla a scarf he dons for polo matches plus a glorious kerchief for the breast pocket of his blue blazer. Prince Al-bear of Monaco has a startling matching g-string and singlet. The list of sexy jetsettin’ fans just goes on but I must stop for I have to lecture a Motor Mechanics class for beginners at midday.