My normal Sunday morning routine is to sort out my week's medications. I have a plastic box in which they live and I laboriously transfer individual tablets into a handy pack with seven compartments, each named for a day of the week. I bet I'm not alone in carrying out this routine and I don't find it a chore. However, last week Marilyn commented, "Why don't you get the chemist to do that for you? Sensible people get their Webster packs done for them and it will save you all the bother."
I must have been suffering from a weak moment so I agreed. I happened to be seeing the doctor the next day so he gave me the official list of medications, the pharmacist accepted it, as if it was nothing unusual, and I picked up my first fortnight's supply yesterday. It looks alright so I've taken the first dose this morning.
It's just one more change I will have to get used to but this one might not be too difficult.
FRIEND NOT FOE OCTOBER 7, 2022
You know what it’s like when you’re a kid: you think the world revolves around you and, once an idea gets into your head, it’s hard to shift it. It was like that with me when I started at a new school. My previous school was a tiny one-classroom arrangement in a country town but we had now moved to the city where my father had taken a job at a big factory
Our new house was bigger than the one we had in the country but the yard seemed tiny, surrounded as it was by high wooden fences. I had to leave my pony behind, too. Dad often played Eric Bogle records and the words of one of his favourite songs came back to me:
There’s no drought or starving stock
On a sewered suburban block …
And I thought, no room for a pony either.
I started at school on a Monday morning, neat and tidy in my new uniform. I was terrified. I had in my head that everyone would pick on me, the new boy, and especially as I had come from the bush and didn’t know how things worked in the city.
All the kids in my class were about the same age which was a new thing for me. At my old school, there were only two boys who were 11 and everybody else was younger. I don’t know how many were in the class but we sat in rows with the desks set out in pairs. The boy sitting next to me didn’t speak. He wore glasses and one side was covered with brown paper. He looked a bit strange to me but I didn’t say anything.
The teacher, who was a tall man wearing a tie and a jumper said, “Good morning, everyone. We have a new student today. His name is Blake and I hope you will all make him welcome. He’s come to us from the bush so he might take some time to get used to our ways.”
I felt like an outsider already. Miss Mills at Eungarie was young and pretty and smiled all the time. The students in her class all loved her and we would never have done anything to upset her. I couldn’t imagine ever liking Mr Buckley. I didn’t like it when he said I came from the bush; everyone would think I was a country bumpkin.
At morning break, I hung back in the classroom when everyone else ran outside. Mr Buckley growled at me, “Off you go to the playground. This is my break too and I don’t want kids hanging around.”
As I expected, there was a gang waiting for me when I went outside: three or four of the bigger boys. I suppose they wanted to make sure I understood who were the bosses in this school and that I would have to learn to know my place. There were a couple of girls hanging around too and they looked just as unwelcoming.
The one who seemed to be the leader said, “So, your name’s Blake? What sort of name’s that? Did your mother get it from a movie or something?”
They all laughed at that so he carried on, “You’re not a cow cocky now and you’ll have to learn how things work in the big city. First of all, what’s your footy team?”
What? I wondered. Why do they want to know my footie team? If I say the wrong one, will they give me a hard time?
“Melbourne,” I said. “The Demons.”
“Oh, that’s all right, you’ll be in Mitch’s gang. He’s the fellow with the funny glasses that you sit beside. Don’t worry about his glasses, he’s got a lazy eye. His gang has the Demons, the Swans, the Bulldogs and bloody Collingwood. Where do you live?”
I drew in a big breath.
Perhaps it was going to be alright.
It looks like I might have found a friend rather than a foe.
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