In the bowels of the Federal Magistrates Court

Today I went to the Federal Magistrates Court in Melb to help (boss around) my little brother with an affidavit for a court case he has with the CSA as he hasn't got a solicitor.

My brother is 37, but looks younger, he has long hair, a bit of a scruffy goatee and he wears black T shirts and denim jeans. We went into the Post shop to get some envelopes, I told him which ones to get and he went up to the counter while I browsed around at the displays. While he was there, he politely asked the lady for 10 $1 coins in the change. She handed them to him but made a huge point of saying in a superior voice something to the effect of "we don't always have them, so consider yourself lucky this time and be aware of this next time". I felt like smashing her. Nasty bitch. I am sure if I had gone to the counter, she would have just handed them over. Mark says that is because I am scary.

Paul and I went on to do the rest of the things we needed to do and he said to me "its easier having you here, people are more helpful." Last time he went in, he was given the run around. I really believe he was judged on the way he looked. He is pretty shy, he doesn't say a lot but he is not rude or aggressive.

We had to get his affidavit witnessed and we went into the office for the resident Justice of the Peace. A lovely older man greeted us with a big cheery smile and welcomed us to sit down. I said to him "you are the nicest person we have come across today". We had a long chat about being of Irish descent and after spending time with him I felt uplifted and really positive.

He is a great grandfather of 10 children and he volunteers at the court half a day a couple of times a week. He has lived in Broadmeadows all his life, he moved there in 1956, the day of the Melbourne Olympics started.

After we left him, we went into the service area to use the photocopier, it was full of suited, well groomed secretarial types, efficiently going about their business. We started using the copier (20 cents a copy) and it jammed.

Luckily I was a secretary in another life, so with my huge bum up in the air, I opened up the bottom draw, removed the jam, fanned the paper, put the draw back in and re-set the copier.

When I stood up, my brother gestured behind me, our JP had followed us in to give me his business card and a funny Irish joke to read. I thanked him and gave him a big hug. What an amazing man buried away in that sad building.