A few years ago, I got into a lift with a former colleague I knew a little but wouldn’t exactly describe as a close friend. In the way that we all have done hundreds of times, I asked how he was, expecting a variant of the standard response: “Yeah, not bad thanks, mate. How are you?”
Instead, this colleague said flatly: “My wife wants a divorce.”
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I can’t really remember how the rest of the conversation went in the short but excruciating journey to our floor, so paralysed by awkwardness was I. Did I offer sympathy, constructive advice, compassion? I hope so, but I can’t guarantee it. My colleague was merely
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