I'm good in a reading emergency. I can read quick and hard and with feeling, although I forget it all straight away. I'm also awesome with alliteration, the wonder woman of alphabetically assonant words. I can ride pretty well, come to that, and wear a jaunty hat like a pro.
But chiefly I've been content to play the part of the decorative dilettante, well versed in fantasy and diabolically equipped for the real world. There ain't much call for rhyming bibliophile equestriennes in fur-trimmed toppers, after all.
But as I listened to the inestimable Scott Gould talk at an event a couple of weeks ago about how brands need to be less slick, less marketing-focused, less inward-looking and simply more useful to people, a little twitch of excitement clenched my buttocks under their new mouse-grey Asos jersey harems.
Logs and specks, my girl, thought I. Why expect whole organisations to fall in line when your first thought in any situation is 'how can I get out of here with some of those free biscuits in my bag', not 'how can I be utile?'
Now there's a vision. There's a mission, there's a plan. To simply enter into the scene aiming to be as useful as I can, whether I'm meeting a crony, shopping for unnecessarily weird-shaped trousers, or answering an email.
There's freedom, there's simplicity, there's some serious ego deshacklement. Along with all the interior stuff, I have an outward aim, and it feels tingly.
I'm starting with a gesture, offering to read to some elderly Londoners through The Dorcas Project (I hope they like Charlotte Roche). But it'll be the little stuff that tells. How many times can I be useful today? Pass me my hat.