Crying is awesome as the antithesis to our manicured, screened, onscreen lives, Liz Breslin writes.
They say, whoever they are, that learning new things keeps you younger. Which has Liz Breslin hovering, this summer, somewhere in her heady 20s.
As the fabric of society shows fatigue, it's time to wind the bobbin and thread the needle, Liz Breslin writes.
The Donald. He loves the women. Though you wouldn't think it. Because he's not actually all about them as people. More as arm candy. Or property. But where's the harm, right?, Liz Breslin asks.
I have long wanted to wring the neck of the person or people who intimated that life should be fair. Because, reality check, it isn't and never will be, so get over it, Librans and egalitarians.
As our beings and doings are more publicly exposed by the speeding social rotations of the world, I find it increasingly hard to be sincere, to hold a conversational opinion that matters without the equivalent of a flippant emoticon at the end of each tentative statement, Liz Breslin writes.
Having exhausted every other angle on rugby this week, Liz Breslin's family started chatting about concussion tests.
At the end of the day, my wise Irish friend used to say, there is always the night, Liz Breslin writes.
In the years I spent tefling - teaching English as a foreign language - there were plenty of memorable times, mostly arising from linguistic mix-ups or sudden moments of clarity, especially when tefling in English-speaking countries with a whole range of cultures sorted according to how well they could conjugate and idiomise.
Over the school holidays, now drawing to an exhausted close, I have given up Facebook and taken up skiing.