What is the difference between a comma and a semi-colon? It’s one of those questions that can, temporarily, stump one; batsman-like — caught on the crease, brain addled, neither here nor there, having a rough idea, but not knowing how to articulate it, like spotting the googly but not executing the stroke such a delivery demands; playing for the leg break, in other words.

The difference? Frankly, I don’t know and, truthfully, I don’t care. Shock! Horror! Is that the utterance of a writer? It is indeed, rest assured. This writer is more than convinced that readers (of his meagre meanderings, as well as readers of others’ more cogent arguments) don’t peruse the article/story/novel from beginning to end excitedly holding their breath in the hope that somewhere, anytime soon, they will happen upon that delightful break, that effervescent pause, in an author’s garrulousness: The semi-colon.

It is true that in the 16th century, Oxford and Cambridge dons were likely to return essays to be rewritten purely on the strength that they hadn’t been properly punctuated — commas being introduced where semi-colons ought to have resided and vice-versa. These days one hardly even says vice-versa. Vice, yes. Versa, no.

The semi-colon lent itself admirably to long-windedness. It was invented, I may even be tempted into believing, for that very purpose: To give the loquacious pause for breath. In this day and age of abbreviated thinking and utterance, ‘Mr Semi Colon’ has been bid a long-overdue farewell, its usefulness relegated to separating mass email addresses or in constructing an emoticon.

The wily comma has, however, survived, because even today we are wont to list items in our writing or in our speech, e.g., I’ve had a cough, cold, flu, headaches, pneumonia, backaches, jaundice, measles, whooping cough, mumps and after all that somehow thank my lucky stars narrowly avoided turning into a hypochondriac!

So the difference between the comma and the semi-colon, one may say, is in the former’s robust survival skills or in the latter’s devolution on account of the evolution of expression, in keeping with the changing times. Difference. That is, in a sense, another word for ‘change’. Back in the 1960s, music bands named themselves after animals, birds and other creatures. In fact one group was indeed called ‘The Animals’ (they of the famous House of the Rising Sun), while another called themselves ‘The Byrds’, stylistically bending the rules of spelling in the process (an act that would have given the aforementioned 16th century dons apoplexy). Then there were the ‘Beatles’, the ‘Partridge Family’, the ‘Chipmunks’, the ‘Turtles’, the ‘Monkees’ (they weren’t concerned about being ‘Spelling Bees’ as well). By the 1970s, when punk was making very emphatic moves away from mainstream with grungy guitars and lyrics spat out with raucous intensity; when New Wave was waiting in the wings to segue away from punk, the names of bands in some way typified the times, so we had the ‘Jam’, the ‘Clash’, the ‘Banshees’, ‘Wire’, the ‘Buzzcocks’, the ‘Stranglers’, the ‘Damned’, ‘Misfits’.

As with punctuation, I’m convinced fans of music of the times didn’t rock up to a gig because the name of the band appealed to them. They did so because: a) The band was making relevant music or (b) The band had something to say through its music/lyrics.

Mr Dylan (Bob, that is,) had, after all, way back in the 1960s, showed how poetry could be wedded to folk and that marriage used to comment on the politics and social events of the time. Punk changed the poetry, the meter and the form of delivery, but kept the commentary. And so it is with life. We like things — books, music or people — for special reasons. There’s more to art than a mere semi-colon, which is often admirably served by the comma. We shall retain the comma, however, if only to remind ourselves that life like art has a way of quietly pausing before moving on.

Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.