I used to hate leaving Ballarat. The bus ride into town was half an hour long, and it was a walk of a kilometre wieghed down with two heavy bags and in bad shoes from the bus terminal to the train station. Then I caught another bus at the train station and sat in it for six hour while it toured around the country-side visiting farming communities. On one trip I got stuck sitting near a group of school kids talking about sex, bragging while putting down other kids who they thought inferior. I wanted to say something to them because I knew what it felt like to be the person wearing the criticism. I usually tried to sleep through the trip.