One Elle of a Life

The paparazzi surge. Cameras snap. Flashes dazzle. A gorgeous, long-legged woman steps free of the crush, flashing that trademark, stunning smile.

That’s my Elle Macpherson. Yes, you heard me right – my Elle Macpherson. So you can all get your grubby little fingers off.

Boy do I remember Elle’s first big break. It seems so long ago that it may have been a different world. That red bikini. The beach. The cans of Tab. All plastered across our television screens and massive billboards all around the country. I fell completely, utterly and irretrievably in love. I even contemplated actually buying a can of Tab in the hope of Elle magically appearing, still fresh from the beach. What self-respecting bloke back then would have considered buying diet soft drink unless he was hopelessly in love?

Come the late 1980s Elle was a magnificent cover for Time magazine – not quite their usual fare. Those shots really got to me. That white-enamelled smile seemed to be lifting up out of the page, beaming just for me. Back then I considered myself an aspiring photographer. Sadly a maggot on the downside of a bad acid trip could have taken better happy snaps than me. Still I fantasised about photographing that smile and being able to keep it just for myself.

Yeah – like that was ever going to happen.

It was big news when Elle did a calendar. In those days, a calendar job was a huge deal. Not like today when just about any jumped up Neville Nobody seems to get one for doing a voiceless, two-second walk-on slot in Neighbours ten years ago. But Elle’s calendar – that was something else. I hate to think how many hours I wasted staring at those magnificent, glorious pictures on my wall – teasing me, taunting me. Oh Elle – you fiend!

You could be forgiven for thinking it is just The Body’s body that I lust after. Not so. Well maybe that had a bit to do with it in the beginning, but no longer. This is a woman who didn’t just conquer her chosen profession, but kicked the living hell out of it on the way. Then started her own lingerie line, making the most out of unconventional advertising on a budget of next to nothing. The lady’s smart as well as a genuine feminine bombshell.

A little while back I saw Elle being interviewed on a current affairs program.

Is there anything else you’d like to say,’ asked the male reporter.

Elle leaned forward with her trademark, cheeky, dimpled and slightly flirty smile. ‘That depends if you have anything else you want to ask me,’ she replied in a throaty voice followed by a tinkling laugh.

That was my Elle he was flirting with! I saw red. I yelled. I spat the dummy and kicked the cat (relax – it is a cardboard cat because starving writers cannot afford cat food and it saves me from the tender attentions of the RSCPA). Sluggish testosterone surged into life, bursting through the hormonal cobwebs. Watch it fella!

In more recent times, Elle has been romantically linked to a much younger man. Well I doubt that anybody would be blaming the youngster for falling for her. But come on Elle – some of us have been desperately in love with you from before the kid was a glint in the milkman’s eye! (sob)

I was in hospital a couple of years ago when Elle split with her long-time partner. I had little else to do but lay back, think about things and avoid the attentions of a particularly neurotic nurse (but that’s another story).

That is when I hit on it – a brilliant, winning pitch guaranteed to sweep Elle off of her feet. An absolute sure-fire winner of an ironclad argument! It goes a bit like this.

Elle – we should be an item because…

We’re both Aussies.

We’re the same age.

We both have Scot’s heritage.

We’re both intelligent (well that’s my story and I’m sticking to it).

You are one of the world’s most beautiful and glamorous women, and I have been told that my left elbow is rather appealing!

How could Elle resist that? I can see the future already. A red carpet event in the USA. Celebs and photographers everywhere. Joan Rivers doing a red carpet commentary.

‘Look – there’s Elle looking magnificent in a red Vercaci gown. And yes – Mr Drivel’s elbow should just be coming into camera shot next to Elle. What a lovely couple they make – Elle and the elbow.’

So what do you reckon Elle?

What a pity that the rest of me is short, unattractive and hitting the dreaded middle age spread.

Perhaps I should just stick to the first idea and start looking for an old can of Tab.