Miranda Devine, Malcolm Turnbull, and time for a narcissist vision of Napoleonic Camelot splendour ...

(Above: a dream of Camelot. Heroin helps. Brett Whiteley's Balcony 2).

Way back when, Miranda the Devine wrote an incisive, insightful insight into Malcolm Turnbull and narcissism, under the header Face it, we are all narcissists now.

I keed, I keed, it was the usual guff, lashing up a column by whacking a topic with chook feathers. It was a chance to do a little abuse of this sordid day and age, under the guise of giving Malcolm Turnbull a psychiatric analysis:

Let's play a game: who doesn't have narcissistic personality disorder in our self-obsessed age? A surfeit of self-love is almost a prerequisite for success now, and the proliferation of egomaniac sites, from Twitter and MySpace to Facebook and YouTube, make the peer pressure to be grandiose and irrationally self-confident almost irresistible.

Rather like the preening, posturing, posing and babbling of commentariat columnists.

Then the Devine picked up on Brendan Nelson's farewell to the man who did an "et tu Big Mal" on him:

When Brendan Nelson so deliciously diagnosed his leader, Malcolm Turnbull, last week as being afflicted with the disorder, he spoke not just as a trained medical doctor but as a former Opposition leader with an axe to grind; or, as one internet wag described it, "post-traumatic embitterment syndrome".

Ah so long ago, but hardly a calling card for Turnbull's character:

After all, Turnbull never gave Nelson a chance. He abused him to his face and undermined him behind his back, as Nelson tells it. He used poor opinion poll ratings to depose Nelson, and then polled lower himself.

Turnbull has "narcissistic personality disorder," Nelson told Peter Hartcher last week. "He says the most appalling things and can't understand why people get upset. He has no empathy.''

Nelson also told me Turnbull was a narcissist, as demonstrated by the yes-men surrounding him. "Whatever judgments he makes, he appears not to make good judgments about people. He can't read people. It's part of his narcissism … There's a risk he'll blow up one day."

Lordy, surrounded by yes-men, unable to make good judgments about people, a risk he'll blow up one day?

What's the next best thing for big Mal then? Surely it's to be premier of NSW. And so now the Devine is scribbling A worthy assignment for Turnbull - saviour of NSW.

It seems there's a role for preening narcissists in governing the lost state. Naturally she gives big Mal a mission statement for the job which is positively Napoleonic:

That is the beauty of the job for Turnbull. If he were premier he could work on his pet projects of the republic and an emissions trading scheme in NSW. Those opposed to such ideas would give him the benefit of the doubt because, well, what could be worse than what we've had? It would be a way of winning over the rest of the country to his ideas by proving they could work in miniature.

Far from being a job beneath his talents, he would have a far greater impact on the nation by fixing the NSW basket case. It could be the experimental laboratory for his grand plans and visions and boundless energy. He could have an immediate impact on the environment, if that were his desire.

He could create Sydney in his own image, with reforms to state finances, public transport, power generation, taxes, property development, and greenness. He could build museums, art galleries, roads and rail.

By golly, he could also cure poverty, banish homelessness, discover a cure for cancer, astonish the world by establishing a fountain of youth at Parramatta, and if that doesn't increase tourism enough, re-build the Taj Mahal or a decent pyramid somewhere near Goulburn on the Hume highway.

On and on the Devine raves about the wonders of Malcolm

Just by being Malcolm, he would attract new talent and investment to the state and get sullen business on board. As the state began to shine, we would worship at his feet. The bipartisanship he was so good at would serve him well, as Kevin Rudd would be happy to lavish largesse on an invigorated NSW government cranking up the engine of the national economy.

Turnbull would singlehandedly raise the prestige of state governments around the country, restoring the federation to its rightful place. After a series of mediocrities and under-achievers, the office of premier would once again have the status it enjoyed under some of the great premiers like Sir Henry Parkes, who served five terms and was considered the father of Federation.

By this time in the read, I began to wonder. Does she really believe this guff? Or did she drop a tab of acid before settling down to the keyboard? Or is it just another form of devious snidery, whereby big Mal's failings and Napoleonic ambitions can be satirised?

Who knows, but as I read on, I began to think it was just a rich fantasy, a conjuring of lovely phantasms, an essential relief valve for a commentariat columnist always given to strange dreams. The clue?

He and his wife Lucy would have fun creating their own little Camelot in the Emerald City he loves, his lifestyle would barely change and the commute to Macquarie Street would be a pleasure.

Camelot! Just like the Kennedys. We could have a big round table, and swill chardonnay for hours on end, and one day a year could be dedicated to latte sipping by the gleaming light bouncing from the emerald waves of the harbour. We'd call it State Latte Sipping day and Gerard Henderson could launch it at Ultimo.

But wait, you say, the grudges and grinds of the commentariat hate Malcolm for his liberal Liberal ways. There was the Devine berating him for his stand on the ETS in Fine feathered factional friends (and never mind what David Clarke might think of the new saviour landing in Macquarie street), and there was the Devine way back in 2007 getting agitated at Going like Turnbull at a gate, wherein the noble liberal warrior was compared to a shark in a tank of fish as he began his mad scramble to head the party.

Settle back, enjoy your latte, all will now be well, and NSW will be transformed, and in transforming NSW, Malcolm will transform himself, and then he will go on to transform Australia.

Turnbull would singlehandedly raise the prestige of state governments around the country, restoring the federation to its rightful place. After a series of mediocrities and under-achievers, the office of premier would once again have the status it enjoyed under some of the great premiers like Sir Henry Parkes, who served five terms and was considered the father of Federation.

Turnbull loves to be loved. His greatest political achievement so far has been to burnish his reputation in his milieus of business and media, at the expense, really, of his own electoral advancement. If he were to become premier he would have the gratitude of a desperate electorate fed up with 15 years of Labor rule.

When the moment was right, he could parachute into federal politics if he were needed, having served the political apprenticeship he previously lacked, but having done a lot more good than hanging around the backbenches reading his Kindle.

By then he would have proven - to party and electorate - whether he is capable of self-restraint, in a contained context.

Dearie me, that's not Malcolm in the middle, that's Malcolm rampant, that's Malcolm showing to Napoleon and Caesar that they were underdone. That's Malcolm in Alexander the Great mode, or perhaps, on an off day in a bad mood, Ghengis Khan.

Tremble, oh tremble, you City Rail ne'er do wells, Malcolm is on his way to sort you out.

Now for a little surface dressing of realism. There's only one fly in the ointment, one obstacle to the grand vision. That's poor old Barry O'Farrell. Dull, lacklustre, failing to excite. According to one school, according to the Devine, Bazza wouldn't step aside, and Turnbull would lose the leadership ballot, but then according to the Devine, we should also remember the way Bob Hawke took down Bill Hayden, and became the ultimate drover's dog just a month out from the election.

Salivate at the prospect. Go for it big Mal:

All that remains is a groundswell of public opinion to appeal to Turnbull's natural civic mindedness. But, so far, the Facebook page "Malcolm Turnbull for NSW premier" has only nine fans.

Sheesh, nine fans. All this orgiastic, onanistic, narcissist, oneiric fantasy for nine fans.

Now you might think you've wasted your time reading the Devine, and her transformative fantasy, but surely you now know a little more about narcissism, and the condition known colloquially as the Napoleon complex. You might have thought that the complex involved men of shorter height, but not so:

The Napoleon complex is named after French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte. The conventional wisdom is that Napoleon overcompensated for his short height by seeking power, war and conquest. However, Napoleon was actually of average height for his time period and misconceptions may have been due to an incorrect conversion of his height. Historians have now suggested Napoleon was 5'6 (1.68 m) tall. Napoleon was often seen with his Imperial Guard, which contributed to the perception of him being short because the Imperial Guards were above average height. In psychology, the Napoleon complex is regarded as a derogatory social stereotype.

You see, the Devine has produced a derogatory social stereotype, a demonic vision of Turnbull as Napoleon, turning Sydney into a city of sweeping boulevards, driving out the poor so that the emerald city can once again reign supreme, and socking it to those lesser, minor, puppet states, who in time will come to worship the emperor of the middle kingdom.

This slavish adherence to Turnbull's narcissism is most likely a deep and dark double play, designed to send tremors through the state Liberal party and ensure Malcolm never gets near Macquarie street. It's the ultimate grift in a party of grifters.

Or else it was just a tab of acid.

Whatever, it's tremendous fun, and an exciting vision, and now I must go have my third latte in the hour ...

(Below: please, oh please rush off to the Malcolm Turnbull for NSW Premier page, and become a fan. Now not with just 9 fans, but with 99 fans, and rising! Rising fast! Camelot is coming to Sydney. Free latte for all. Chardonnay running like rivers of gold in the streets - or was that a drunk having a piss in Chinatown. And remember, it's the only way to get rid of that wretched Opera House and build a decent Camelot on the emerald harbour).