Wendyl Nissen: No, but did you know that ...

Once upon a time I edited some women's magazines. I put Fergie on the cover having her toes sucked. I put Di on the cover working out at the gym.

And I arranged for large cheques to be written out for celebrities or newsmakers to tell me their stories of personal triumph, tragedy or baby joy.

That was 11 years ago, but mud sticks, it would seem. I had a message from a reporter on my phone. He said "please" and "thank you", so I decided to reward him for good behaviour and ring him back.

"He'll be wanting to talk about how well my book is doing," I said to my husband as I dialled the number. "I'm one of their columnists, they're obviously very proud."

Instead, I got: "Can you tell me how much the editor of the New Zealand Woman's Weekly got paid to defect to Woman's Day?"

"No, but I can tell you how to clean your toilet with nothing but baking soda and vinegar," I trilled.

"I haven't edited magazines for years. I have no idea."

"Oh, you must have a fair idea," he continued. "What would you do it for?"

"Not for all the tea in China," I responded. "By the way did you know that tea is a natural sunscreen and great for puffy eyes?"

I put down the phone and wandered off to investigate how you make sauerkraut before heading to the caravan where I planned to make linoleum polish out of turps and linseed oil.

My phone rang as I was gazing across azure water at a shag which looked like a penguin.

Another reporter introduced herself and then asked if I had a moment. "All the time in the world," I sang into the phone, "thanks to my new life as a green goddess Nana," giving her a nice lead into what I assumed would be an interview about my book.

"How much would Paul Henry have been paid to do his exclusive with New Idea?" she asked.

"I really have no idea, but I can tell you that in the second spread, in the photo of him in his office, there is a thick layer of dust on his shelves. I shall be sending him some of my lemon dusters. So easy to make and such great gifts."

"Oh, it's just someone in the newsroom said you were the one to talk to about these things. Apparently you used to edit women's magazines."

Bless her. "Darling girl, I'm so out of touch with that nasty world of cheque book journalism I couldn't possibly hazard a guess. Ask me how to get red wine stains out of a carpet."

"What about in your day? What would you have paid?" she persisted.

"White vinegar, rub it on neat. But remember the secret to stain removal is to act promptly. Don't go to bed thinking you'll deal with it in the morning."

I hung up, disappointed once again.

"I only spent five years editing women's magazines, yet that is all anyone can remember.

"Honestly, I have moved on," I said to my husband, who consulted his iPhone and then announced he knew Paul Henry better than I did and it should be him they were asking.

"Oh, so you know how much he got, do you?"

"No, but I'd have a better idea than you. I leave the house occasionally and talk to people."

"I'll have you know I'm the former women's magazine editor in this caravan, not you."

The next morning my phone beeped by my bed at 6.15am. I shuddered awake and opened it, expecting a new family drama. There was none.

"Are you awake?" it said.

"I am now," I replied, noting that it was Mike Hosking's radio producer. Finally, I thought, he's read my book and can't put it down.

"Do you have any contacts in England from your magazine days who could talk to Mike about Prince William's engagement?" she asked.

"It's been years since I talked to anyone in England about the Royals. I do have a book in the top-10 non-fiction bestsellers, however."

"No worries, sorry to wake you," said the radio producer before she hung up.

"What? Who? How?" said my husband waking with a start.

"Prince William and Kate engaged, not about my book."

"Will they call her Lady Kate or Princess Kate?" he asked enthusiastically.

"I don't know, why don't you ring a women's mag and ask them."