One way tickets to Wellington were booked; we were leaving 6 December 2002. I hadn’t told DM and nor was I going to. Not until I had everything lined up, and my ducks weren’t just in a row, but ready to fly.
The boxes had arrived, and nothing was said. Not by me, nor by DM. They sat in the tiny foyer of the two-up, two-down prison we inhabited, in the co…