Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom.

This duck has seen better days. Geilston Bay, November 2010.

Yesterday, circumstances compelled me to break routine and catch a couple of buses in the middle of the day, rather than my usual ‘commuter rush’ times. In terms of heading into the city from the eastern shore, the bus was sparsely populated.

The (relative) absence of people – coupled with the fact that I forgot my book – meant that I was fortunate enough to experience one side of a delightful telephone conversation. The delightful young women at my end appeared to be suffering from a terrible affliction that meant she only had access to six words. Tragically, one of the words started with ‘f’; another, ‘s’; but her favourite word began with ‘c’.

Unfortunately for the other passengers, despite her proficiency as a first-rate conversationalist, those words her brain permitted her to use were not “foudroyant”, “sempiternal” or “chiaroscuro”.

Perhaps this might explain her extreme agitation (bordering on rage) at what seemed to be her significant other. Indeed, much of the discussion revolved around a child, a sweet little angel named “Shar-nay-a”. It seems that Sharnaya told grandma the night before to “go and get f…..d”. Regrettably, for grandma, Sharnaya was not wanting granny to “go and get focused for the big game on Friday”.

However, my favourite aspect of the tête-à-tête was its dénouement. There is something magical about a relationship if one can tell someone (multiple times) to “f….n kill yourself then c..t”, but sign off with a tender “I love you babe”.

Love indeed is grand.