Such are the ripples of lifelong hurt, it is unwise to start a conversation about suicide with people you don’t know very well. Nevertheless, the subject is bursting to be talked about.
It’s over… sort of. Yet something seems missing, something so boring it wouldn’t make it to the debates about the pressing issues of homeless, inequality and the other depressing social indicators.
It’s not so much a policy as a theory which has guided this and other Government’s policy since the Reagan-Thatcher years. A time so brainless it ran on the empty slogan of ‘there is no alternative’.
Man starts to shave. Sees his reading glasses on the basin shelf. Wonders why. Wife tells him breakfast is getting cold. Hurries to the table. Spoons down porridge. She gives him a peck on the cheek (when did they stop kissing the way they used to? ) and rushes off to work the way he once did.
I woke up to a gloomy, wet weekend morning in Auckland. It had been a busier than usual week when extra attention and output was required. Just as I was mulling that I needed to chill this day before attending to the many ‘must do’s’, I stumbled on this piece.
From Max Cryer’s CURIOUS English words and phrases – the truth behind the expressions we use:
(Out for a) duck
Cricket usually has a visual scoreboard and if a player leaves the field having made no runs, a great big zero stands next to his or her name on the scoreboard. A practice arose many years ago of referring to this zero – because of its shape- as a duck’s egg, and this was shortened to just a duck. So if he or she was out for a duck, it means there was no score.