Happy, fortunate, thrice-blessed females of Australia! At last you have a role model of what true Australian womanhood should be (ever decoratively pretty, ever-smiling and bubbly, serially-child-producing, dutifully husband propping-up, never expressing an opinion on anything) in Mary Donaldson, this week proclaimed Queen of Denmark.

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"She has carried herself in a way that I think brings enormous pride to all Australians" our prime minister has gushed this week, expressing the feelings of us all.

Well, almost all of us.

Closely following the intoxicated national mood, your sober columnist found himself wishing, wistfully, that feminism (its heyday from the 1960s to the early 1980s) was not dead after all and that there were still some strong feminists among us to offer an alternative view of these Danish-Australian things.

How they would have bristled, those fine women, perhaps with Germaine Greer their bristler-in-chief, at the very idea (voiced by a male prime minister) that a woman somehow has a duty to carry herself and that when she does this carrying responsibly well (the judges of how well she does it always men) it is a source of pride for a nation.

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Oh dear. What........

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