Editor’s Note

The first week back at work is not really the first week back at work. The first week back at work really starts with the opening of schools and the commencement of the school run. That first harrowing journey, jostling a veritable wall of taxis to squash into a spot on Carse O’Gowrie Road only big enough for one of Bolt’s bright yellow Bajajs, is a trial by fire into the new year.

Traffic lights don’t work and roads are potholed, but at least tempers are mercifully still in check (I speak for myself) and the unauthorised traffic controllers — usually enterprising homeless people — do an ok, though life-threatening, job at giving everyone a chance to go. Also, I get to discuss geopolitics with my son as he’s a captive audience for that half an hour or so. For the past few weeks I’ve been shooed out of his room for interrupting his computer game whenever I’ve tried to have a conversation with him.

None of the teenagers I know are happy about going back to school, which is a shame. In contrast, posted on our family group chat were pictures of my nephews and nieces — ages five to nine — floating into school on smiles broader than their faces. They radiated excitement. In fact, one of my nephews, who started “big school” (Grade 0) this week, has refused to take off his school uniform since it was bought for him in November last year.

“It’s a wonderful idea to love school from the very first day,” wrote his granny on the group. True, but it’s unlikely this will last into high school. It’s always bothered me that school seems to knock the enthusiasm out of kids.

Like I told mine on their first day back: School is like toilet paper. Essential, shitty, but you’ll miss it when it’s gone.