"Jenny and I spoke last night," he said. "And she said to me ...."

"FFS Twinkie (or whatever cute little name she calls our Prime Minister), you just don't get it do you?"

This is the conversation I hope went down in the Morrison's lounge room at Kirribilli House earlier in the week. Or perhaps they were cleaning their teeth, getting ready for bed, decompressing at the end of the day. How was work? Anything happen? There was this rape thing. How was your day? Did the driver get the girls to school on time? Speaking of the girls ...

"Jenny has a way of clarifying things; she always has."

I wonder if she's been speaking to him that way for the entirety of their 31-year marriage. Or even before that. The Morrisons were just 16 when they began dating. About the same age as my children. And sometimes I find myself talking to them like that.

And to be honest I mainly talk to my son like that. He's a good kid. But he's a teenage boy with a developing frontal lobe (or whatever part of the brain it is), sometimes he needs guidance when it comes to making wise decisions. He gets it when I remind him, if say, he's on the way to a party, to keep an eye out for his female friends. "Would you want anyone treating your sister that way?"

But I am never going to do that again. That's been my big wake-up call of the week. No woman's worth should be measured by their relationship to someone else. No man's should be either. Remember that old saying, something about treating others as you want to be treated? I think the origins are somewhere in the bible. Matthew 7:12 maybe? I'm sure the Morrisons would be familiar with that. It's about knowing what behaviours are right and wrong. Teenage boys are still working that out. Prime Ministers shouldn't be.

I wonder what the conversations between Serena Williams and her husband Alexis Ohanian are like. They're probably housed up in some luxurious Melbourne apartment with their tennis entourage. There they are, Serena's working out which outfit to wear tomorrow, Alexis is getting Olympia off to bed.

"You got that t-shirt to wear tomorrow babe?" "Sure do my GOAT." "And you'll cheer loud?" "You know I will, babe. Loud and clear."

I love, too, all the conversations that t-shirt has provoked. Is she the greatest athlete of all time? Even the greatest female athlete of all time? How can you compare across sports, or generations, or even the sexes? You can't but I love people who do try to compare Serena to Margaret Court, or Jack Nicklaus to Tiger Woods, or Billy Slater to Darren Lockyer, or Steve Smith to Don Bradman. It's always a good party starter.

Serena turns to Alexis, "Who's the greatest, babe?" What else can he say?

Imagine, too, the conversations between Harry and Meghan. Perhaps she's face-down in the toilet, you know how morning sickness can be.

"Hazza, have you checked in with Oprah?" Puke. "What about Netflix?" Puke. "Spotify?" Puke. "Is that really the paparazzi hiding out in the bushes there? Don't they know we want to live a private life?" Puke.

Perhaps the young prince is thinking about Granny and whether or not she'll completely strip him of every last remnant of royalty. Or maybe he's wondering where he put his shoes and how much easier it was when he was living in the palace and he had someone to sort out his shoes for him.

"Megsy," he says. "Have you seen my shoes? Here, let me hold your hair back ... what do you mean you're waiting to hear back from Amadeo Testoni? I wonder what Mummy would make of all this?"

I wonder what we should think about conversations that have happened this week. At least people are talking. Is anyone listening?