Mind the Gap!

As many people who have had the unfortunate experience of seeing a loved one die of a terminal illness will agree, even though a death is expected, it's still a shock when it comes.  If readers find it insensitive of me to refer to this truism in the circumstances I'm about to describe, then I apologise; it happens to describe for me what I felt last Friday evening when I returned home from the garage.

My van had been difficult to start all afternoon, and I called at the garage on my way home from my last delivery in Norwich, to get an opinion on what might be wrong, and how easy it might be to fix.  After listening both to my observation of warning lights and of the van's behaviour, and to the engine itself, running smoothly but noticeably louder than usual, the engineer pronounced, "I think your timing chain is going."  We discussed the next move briefly, and agreed that the van would rest over the weekend and then make one last trip to enable me to collect the car I'd already arranged to be its successor.

I outlined here a couple of weeks ago how my original phased retirement plan had gradually been curtailed, firstly only in vague and undefined terms, then to mid January, and finally to the weekend before Christmas. But that wasn't to be the final curtailment.  Last weekend was one of making some plans and changing others.  A phone call to the dealer was inconclusive because the salesman was on holiday, so I couldn't be sure how far advanced the pre-delivery routines were, given that as far as they were concerned they had two more weeks to get her ready.  An e-mail was left, supplemented by a text message, and bright and early on Monday morning came the confirming call.  Only one thing more was left to do, and I could collect the car that afternoon.

I'd had to wait until Monday to call the insurance broker to see if a parallel advancement could be arranged there.  Luckily it would take a matter of minutes to cancel one policy and complete another, so I called the dealer back to say, "It's all systems 'go!'"  Finally what had seemed all weekend to be very indefinite and unsatisfactory was now happening.  My prayers were answered, and the van started first time, both at home as I set out, and more importantly, perhaps, when the salesman started it to drive it to the rear of the showroom.  Documentation was completed, and within an hour of my arrival, I was on my way home.

On Friday evening, in my state of shock, I realised that while - as I opened this post by stating - there is a fine line between life and death, and yet the two are so different, so there are many other fine line distinctions in my present situation.  The gap between work and retirement turned out to be only a weekend; as this week has progressed, I've realised the gap that exists between the semi-retirement I've been living this last year and the real thing. I'm coming to understand that there is no urgency to get done this week all the things on my To-Do list ... there will be another week next week ... and the week after, and so on.

There is a fine gap between doubt and certainty ... as I've already described in relation to the car, but I found another example during the week, when the letting agent came for her quarterly inspection of my flat.  For some months now there has been a rumbling concern about the redecoration of my living space.  It was always going to be difficult while I'm living in it, and even more so now that I'm no longer working ... even some weeks.  Apparently, the designated tradesman was very reluctant even to consider such a piecemeal assignment as had been put to him, so the landlord has decided that, since I have no concerns at all about having the job done, it being perfectly satisfactory as it is for my unassuming needs, the matter will be left in abeyance until such time as I request something to be done.  Doubt has given way to certainty.

This afternoon I discovered a more practical gap as I did my weekly supermarket shopping.  With the van it was simplicity itself.  I pushed my trolley up to the rear of the van, opened the door and tossed the bags inside. Given the prevailing rain, I wasn't prepared to go through the automated slowness of opening the boot, getting the contents wet, then unloading the bags and following up with the equally slow automated closing.  These operations might be gentle and dignified in sunshine; in rain they simply afford the opportunity for an unwelcome soaking.  I opted for the swift opening of the passenger door and putting the bags quickly into the footwell ... an impossibility under the former regime because of all the 'clutter' kept there for ready use.

And finally - nothing to do with retirement - I must share with my gentle reader a more intimate gap that I discovered yesterday afternoon.  I decided that the time had come for a pre-festive tidying of my appearance, and visited the hairdresser.  I explained that I wanted minimal adjustment to the length of my hair, merely a thinning out where it was growing too thickly to be easily managed (in itself a blessing at my age!), along with a neatening of the edges.  There was a distinct gap between my explanation and his co-operation; or between his hearing and his understanding of my requirements.  I emerged in growing levels of anger, feeling like a freshly-cropped schoolboy!

Most of these gaps are, or will be, resolved by the disappearance of one party.  What will define the future for me, I think, is the extent to which I am able to resolve others - many of which have yet to emerge - by a gradual rapprochement of one side to the other.

Hitting the Target: a Problem of Habit

When I started writing this blog nearly five years ago, I didn't aim for it to be just a diary.  I didn't even aim for it to be extracts from a diary.  I thought it would be interesting to provide an insight for others into what I had found a fascinating, but unexpectedly intrusive way for an ex-accountant to earn a living.  From time to time I've digressed completely from tales of the courier life to provide the odd observation about life in general, to comment on pet grouses, and so on ... even bravely to dip the occasional toe into politics!  On balance, I suppose I've met that original aim about forty percent of the time, but I hope you, dear reader, have found the end result interesting whatever its diary-like divergence from its purpose.

I intend to keep writing it in permanent retirement ... for a few more months at least.  If I find I'm running out of topics to cover, then I hope I have the courage to kill it while it's still healthy, rather than let it stagger to an ungainly demise.  As to its diary-like qualities, this decline has perhaps been inevitable since, in order to fuel a portrait of a courier's life, examples have to be drawn from the ... diary!  It has become a habit to look first at the week's job-list to remind me of what I've done during the week and hence to pick up any commonality or running theme that may have developed.

It's amazing how easily habits form, not only in connection with the blog, but also in the life it has portrayed.  I remember in the early years, for example, there seemed always to be problems resulting from the roadworks to widen one section after another of the M25, there was a constant battle to avoid the delays, and one had only to mutter 'M25 ... roadworks' to be excused for any and every delay. More recently, the same has been true of a long swathe of the M1, from Northampton up to the M6, although this week I was pleased to discover that it's now clear and free-flowing up to junction 18!

During the course of my courier career I've used a total of six vans, in addition to the car I used for the first few weeks.  Of these, five have been Vauxhall Combos, and the other a Renault Kangoo.  The first days in the Kangoo were strange; the cab was so much bigger compared to the old Mark I Combo, because of the storage space behind the seat, and although the van was rated to carry a heavier payload, there wasn't enough space to make full use of this facility, because the body of the van was so much shorter.  The habit of fitting large items into the Combo had to go.

The next change, into a Mark II Combo, brought its own difficulties.  The space behind the seat, that I'd then got used to in the Kangoo, had reduced once more, while the overhead 'pod' of the Mark I had been sacrificed for the new streamlined shape.  Even the most recent van change was awkward when, for the first time,  I acquired a Combo with a solid, steel bulkhead, so there was now nowhere to fasten my trolley.  I took the bold step of giving it away, since I rarely used it, and haven't really missed it in the last four years.

The biggest batch of habits to be changed is yet to come; in a few days I shall say farewell to this van that has served more than a quarter of my career, and which I have nursed beyond the not insignificant 300,000 mile mark.  I shall acquire in its place a small saloon whose dashboard will bear that same familiar format I've worked with for nearly ten of those courier years.  But that's where the similarity will (have to) end.  From the start, I must learn to keep my 'bits and pieces' in the boot!

Perhaps the biggest upset will be losing the box from the passenger footwell. As well as restraining certain hidden items (like a hard hat ... what will become of that?!) this has acted as a 'table' for all the paraphernalia I might want to utilise during a journey.  In this case, definitely a bad habit to be expunged as soon as possible!

By contrast, one thing this new phase of life will not easily give up will be the driving style.  I'm sure I shall - for a while, at least - still be impatient with slow deciders, cautious drivers and learners, although I hope I'll always allow space for delivery vehicles of all sizes, being sympathetically aware of the many challenges they face.

But, even when greater all-round visibility will make it less essential, I'm sure I'll always extol the virtues of reversing into a parking space!

The End is Nigh!

I remember when, many years ago now, I got engaged.  I wasn't sure how it had happened, but happen it had, and I was now living with the con- sequences.  Similar considerations apply to two later events in my life, and this week brought with it another one for the collection.  It all started on Saturday morning, when I took my van to the tyre centre to have the pressures checked.  It was noted that the front tyres were showing signs of uneven wear, and the forecast was that they would probably only last another few thousand miles.  On Monday I had the van serviced, and asked for a second opinion.  They decided that to swap front for rear would be a good idea, since the forces are different, and envisaged a further 10,000 miles from them.

For a number of weeks now, I've been toying with the idea of curtailing my phased retirement plan, but had come up with no firm decision.  From the outset the plan had been circumscribed with the caveat that it would only be fulfilled so long as the van should last, but the question has thus far been unanswered, 'how - apart from an almighty explosion - can one tell when the van has had enough?'  A further complication was that, whenever I were to stop work, I should need the van to be still roadworthy enough to effect an exchange with a replacement vehicle.  After paying the garage bill - hefty, the same as last time, because other bits had needed to be replaced - my future course suddenly seemed clear.  I would bring forward my planned two weeks' work in January, and finish for good on the 15th.

Next day, I followed up recent investigations into the availability of a suitable car, and arranged a test drive.  I had a family engagement to fulfil on Wednesday, so it was Thursday morning when I got to try out my chosen car.  Being basically the same controls and layout as the vans I've been driving for many years, the outcome was virtually predictable.  I loved it, and we began filling in forms and making arrangements.

The big snag came when I asked for a completion date in the middle of January.  The vendors didn't like the idea of a sold vehicle clogging up their yard for nearly a couple of months, but would entertain it provided I paid for it up front, and agreed to a hefty penalty clause should I change my mind in that time and ask for a refund.  From their viewpoint, this made sense, but I said that, if I had to pay for it, then I'd take it before Christmas, thank you very much!

This was much more acceptable on both sides, so in Suetonius' words to Julius Caesar, 'iacta alea est' - the die is cast.  I have three more weeks to work, and then on 21st December I shall collect the true symbol of my retirement ... the first saloon car I've owned for over ten years.  Yesterday was our church's monthly day of prayer and fasting so, in between three gatherings there, I spent the day tying up loose ends.  I re-arranged my finances, and made a payment to the car showroom; organised the insurance for the car and instructed the cancellation of the policy on the van ... timed to allow me to use it on the day for the exchange.

Today has offered a distinct contrast to the high excitement that has gone before, helping to clear the fallen leaves from around the church, and this afternoon gets the Advent and Christmas season under way as we see the decoration of the tree in the church hall, accompanied by the singing of the first Christmas carols.

More Interest!

I described last week as 'interesting'.  This week was possibly more so; I leave it to my readers to decide which meaning they apply to the word this time.  Monday was a good day.  When I received a mail order delivery on Tuesday evening, the driver saw my uniform as I answered the door and asked me about working for CitySprint.  'How many jobs do you get in a day?' he asked.  He has to take well over 100, as a multi-drop driver, and only gets paid for the ones he actually delivers.  I told him 'anything from one to eight', and used Monday's experience as an 'average' illustration.

I began with a visit to a tiny village near Oundle, where all the houses are in 'Main Street', and have names instead of numbers.  As usual, I found the right one on my way back through the village, and delivered to the man who had waved to me as I went past on my first pass.  On then, to Grantham and District Hospital, a neat and modern place, much of which is on a single floor.  By late morning I was almost home again, and given two more jobs, one from Letchworth to Welwyn Garden City, and the other from Stevenage to High Wycombe.  I think it was while driving round the M25, that I was asked to collect some white goods in Hemel Hempstead on my way home, for delivery in Hereford for 8.0 the next morning.  I had nearly got to High Wycombe when a change of plan was announced.  In my present location, I was the only chance, the controller decided, of achieving a collection that afternoon from the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford, to be returned that evening to our depot in Letchworth.  Any fear of an early start the next morning was cast aside, and I went to bellringing practice as usual, where there were many old faces, some of whom hadn't been there for a considerable time.

Tuesday started off in fine form, as I hoped for a long job to make up for losing Hereford.  A collection from Bedford for Milton Keynes was complemented by a pick-up in Flitwick on the way back for exchange at Elstree film studios, and return to our customer.  Now, Tuesday morning was subject to sporadic but heavy rain showers, and as I passed Toddington Services on my way back to Flitwick, my windscreen wipers decided to take a holiday.  In fact one part beneath the surface had had enough, after going to and fro for a quarter of a million miles.  I completed my delivery and then made my way to the garage, seeking restoration of rain-shifting services. Sadly, the required part couldn't be delivered until the following morning, but one of the staff was able to arrange a temporary 'fix', using the wiper mechanism from his own car to keep me going.  Wednesday, therefore started on time in the morning, but consisted only of a handful of very local jobs, until I attended the garage in mid-afternoon for the job to be completed.

As I reported to the office my status as once more available, I was asked if I'd like an 8.0 am collection in Letchworth on Thursday.  This was a job to Gloucester that had been requested by the Swindon office.  I accepted this, and duly presented myself at a factory opposite my home at the required hour.  Unfortunately (the job having been arranged by their customer), they weren't aware that I would be calling so early for the goods; these were already packed, but I had to wait some while for the paperwork to be completed.  Once this job had been delivered, I called Swindon, with a fair hope, I thought, of getting more work from them.  I wasn't disappointed, and a few minutes later they called me back with a pick-up in Bishop's Cleeve near Cheltenham, for central Birmingham.  In the afternoon, the triangle was completed by a job from the Warwick office, collecting in Nuneaton, for delivery in Harlow.

I had called the office on my way home to explain my situation, because this delivery couldn't be made until the following morning.  However, the message wasn't passed on in its entirety, because when I received a call about an hour later, it was to ask if I fancied a trip to Wales ... that evening! I pointed out that, while this would be quite acceptable (it would compensate nicely for the work I'd lost through the wiper malfunction earlier in the week), I wouldn't be home early enough to contemplate an 8.0 delivery almost thirty miles from home the next morning!  "Leave it with me." I was told.

When there's a willing driver to do a potentially awkward job, there's usually a way, and someone was coerced to make the Harlow delivery yesterday morning.  I took the goods to the depot and made my way to our customer in Hitchin.  Since venturing to North Wales in my motorhome in June, I've decided to pick up once more the Welsh tutorial that I'd abandoned some forty-five years ago and, as I drove up to the customer's premises, I realised that I could now form an appropriate sentence.  There are building works going on in the yard, so I stopped where I could be seen some distance from the door, and got out of the van.  As the customer walked over with the expected lightweight parcel, I greeted him with "Yr wyf i yn mynd i Gymru!"  I had to stifle my smile at the man's face: something between shock and amusement.  "Are you Welsh, then?" he asked.  I explained, but decided not to translate, leaving him to think that it was something more elaborate than 'I'm going to Wales.'

The job itself was not difficult, although it would have been easier in daylight.  It was to a private house in a one-street village, where a group of new houses have been given a separate name.  SatNav - misguidedly helpful as ever - decided that this was another street, running parallel to the real one.  It tried to find me the right lane to use to get there, as a result of which I now have an intimate knowledge of several inapplicable garage drives. Fortunately the parcel's recipient had heard a slow-moving van passing to and fro, and opened her door!  The rest echoes the history of many previous late-night jobs; I was home and snug in bed by about 3.30 am.

The protracted nature of Thursday meant that Friday began at lunchtime, and I confess I was not expecting anything exciting.  Au contraire, the controller was most relieved to take my call.  He was runned off his feet, and didn't even need to call me back to request a collection in Hitchin for a hospital in Nottingham, and a pick-up in Biggleswade for a factory in Newark on the way.  A leisurely drive to places I'm familiar with, on a sunny afternoon at the end of the week was ... delightful!

Today has seen a bit of tidying up, before going to watch a football match. We all stood in silence for a minute before the start in memory of players Matt Grimstone and Jacob Schilt of Worthing Utd. and the others killed in the Shoreham Airshow tragedy last weekend.  In keeping with the last match I saw, two weeks ago, the team I support - in this case Biggleswade Town - was one goal down soon after the start, but on this occasion things livened up in the second half.  There were four more goals, at least three yellow cards, two sendings-off, one saved penalty, and the result was a 3-2 home win.  Oh, and the man sitting next to me won a prize in the raffle ... the nearest I've been to a prize in years!

Now for another 'retired week', beginning with a family visit for the Bank Holiday.

An 'Interesting' Week

I use the word 'interesting' in the sense I first discovered in the words of an erstwhile Rhodesian colleague, who applied it to the sort of incident that was unforseen, and the resolution of which would require some ingenuity.  And, in that sense, I have to confess to some exaggeration, too; for most of the week did not fall into that category.

And so to the detail.  Monday got off to a slow, but triumphant start.  I related last week the problems associated with the aquisition of the laptop computer.  This was delivered on Monday morning, but not until an hour or so before the actual event did I know precisely when this would be, so I was uncertain whether I would be doing any work that day or not.  In the event, it was so conveniently early that I was able to achieve a most acceptable job to the hospital at Cosham, just outside Portsmouth, and be home in time for bell-ringing practice.

Tuesday saw the first of three jobs this week to the Manchester area.  Before making this delivery I had already been spotted and given a collection 'just round the corner' (in fact about five miles away) to take to a private address in Maidenhead.  It was then that the week's 'interesting' elements began, because to cover those five miles took an absolute age owing to a hole having appeared just before the evening rush-hour (so I was told) in one of the city's key through routes.  Certainly the traffic on the south side of centre was gridlocked!

I made my pick-up about 6.30, and stopped at a filling station to collect something for tea.  In my excitement, I must have omitted to set the handbrake for, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my van moving as I walked away from it.  I wasn't quick enough to stop it, and it rolled gently into the back of the taxi parked in front of it.  Fortunately, there was no apparent damage to either vehicle, and I was most relieved when the driver, emerging from the store, agreed with me, clasped me by the shoulder and went on his way.  I then discovered that SatNav - not for the first time - was working on its internal battery rather than from the lead plugged into the van.  If left unheeded, the eventual outcome of this would have been a complete lack of power, and no directions so, once I had established the best route across country, I switched it off until I neared my target.  The remedy to this unfortunate state, I have discovered, is to plug it into the computer to update it, which I did next day.

After this administrative chore Wednesday was, by contrast, almost uneventful with a local collection to start, and then deliveries to Aldershot and Alton.  Once more my presence was noticed by another office, and I collected fourth job in Bordon to bring me halfway home.  At this point it was discovered that the Alton job also involved a return leg, so I had to divert to pick this up on my way back.  By then it was too late to deliver this before the end of the working day, so it had to be taken to our customer in Hertford the following morning.

Thursday followed that same pattern, with a local collection, followed by two deliveries, this time to Leicester and Salford.  After picking up the second of these in Hitchin, I set SatNav to take me to the first delivery point ... Leicester.  When I realised that, in order to get to my target, I was being taken out of the city towards Peterborough, I began to lose faith in my electronic 'friend' once again.  Surely, in this instance, it would have been quicker to avoid Leicester itself, and go via Peterborough, than to be tormented by the continuing miles of roadworks and speed restrictions on the M1?

I'm not sure whether it was the lingering frustration at this apparent lack of judgement, or the test match commentary, or simply the flow of traffic that cause me to be in the wrong lane for my motorway exit.  Whatever the cause, I therefore had to take a cross-country route to get to Manchester.  It was beautiful, but took at least half an hour more.  Fortunately the recipient was willing to wait for me to arrive ... and there were no holes to delay me this time!  With no return job, I was able to enjoy a much needed leisurely break and meal on my way home.

Today, when I eventually declared myself 'fully turned around' after the late night return from Salford, I was surprised - nay astonished - to discover that the first job I was given was from nearby Melbourn to Stockport!  I decided there and then that I wouldn't be looking for anything else, but that a leisurely drive there and back would round off the week nicely.  So I was making my way up the A14, with the cricket commentary for company when I noticed that the image in the mirror by my side was unsteady.  In what seemed to be quite a long moment, I remember thinking to myself, 'Uh oh, I know what's going to happen in a minute ...' and by the time I'd managed to cross the intervening traffic lane and get onto the verge, it had happened. The glass from my offside mirror was laying on the road some distance behind me, and I was sitting in a vehicle that I could no longer drive!

I called the office to arrange another driver to take my job off me, and the AA for rescue.  Meanwhile I had been spotted by a passing police patrolman, whose main concerns - given that there is no hard shoulder there, and about a fifth of my van's width was still actually on the carriageway - were to get it and me to a place of safety, and to remove the risk of an accident being caused as passing traffic might swerve to avoid me.  He explained the strategy that we would adopt, which seemed quite straightforward.  I would drive slowly along the road the quarter-mile or so to the next exit, keeping to the extreme edge of the carriageway.  Meanwhile, he would be a short but safe distance behind me, blue lights flashing, keeping well over to the other side of the lane, as a shield.  I would then park in the layby just off the roundabout.

It seemed so simple, and was quickly executed; but at the end of it, I was shaking.  As I said to the officer when he walked up to make sure all was well, "You have no idea how scarey that was!"  Actually, he probably did have, but ...  After assuring me that to remain there, in what was actually a bus stop, would be OK, he was on his way.  My load was transferred to an Aberdeen driver who had been delivering nearby and was embarking on an empty journey home, and as we were discussing his best route out of England via Stockport, the AA man arrived.  After completing formalities, he went to collect a replacement mirror, and later duly returned to fit it and arrange payment.  Although, once home again, I presented myself as once more available for work, I was rather glad not to be called.

The weekend has started a little early this week, and I'm hoping it will lack the 'interest' of the week it follows.

New Year ... Same old Life!

I find this every year.  As the summer fades into autumn, I realise that instead of - in this case - 2014 feeling new while 2013 is still familiar, my outlook has gradually transformed so that 2014 is the familiar one, and this new prospect, 2015, is being felt just over the horizon.  So, as the 'old year' has drawn to its close, the image of the new one has become stronger until at last, with a great cheer, the sound of the pipers, and copious amounts of alcohol - not forgetting a lump of coal, if you can find one - it's HERE!

Now it has become reality and, having spent my first week back on the road, I can say that it feels little different from the old one; I expect it's the same for most working people.  For a start, I'd forgotten just how slack the first proper week of the new year is for the courier industry.  After the first few years I'd been doing the work, it was expected, and the big question would be 'how long before it picks up?'  Somehow, in 2015, this phenomenon had slipped my mind.  It wasn't until I looked back from Wednesday morning that I realised that this week is just like other years, and by the end of it, I find I've earned less than four days' income in five days.  How long, I wonder, will it last in this year of gradual recovery?

Other things, too, haven't changed.  There was a good slice of hospital confusion to mirror the same from before Christmas.  I was asked to take something from Lister in Stevenage to Addenbrooke's in Cambridge; this combination comes up quite often and, although not having the precise detail, I went out of habit to the ward where I usually collect specimens for the laboratory in Cambridge.  After quite a wait, I learned that they had nothing for me.  Whilst waiting, I reflected how - unlike my work - the 'feel' of this workplace has changed ... in complete accord with the current news bulletins.  No longer are there two or three nurses (I use the term in my ignorance to include various other grades on the ward) at the ward desk, beavering away, and exchanging the odd word of conversation.  One person only was present, and she busily engaged on the phone.  Others pass quickly to and fro, far too intent on what they're doing to divert their attention to resolve my presence.

I sought clarification of my mission from the office, was eventually called back by another depot, who had taken the job in the first place, with the bald comment, "have you tried pathology?"  I hadn't, of course, so did so, only to find two other drivers there, each apparently quite clear what they were doing, and the laboratory staff scratching around (or so it seemed to me) to find something that I might be expected to take.  It was most unsatisfactory, and unsatisfying.

Another thing that has been by no means uncommon in the past, was an evening collection that could be transformed into an overnight job.  It was 8.0 pm when I was called by the night controller and offered a job to Trowbridge.  It could be collected in nearby Royston at 10.0 pm, and had to be at its destination by 7.30 the next morning.  In the intervening hour or so, I calculated that, by the time I were to get back home it would be 10.30, and I should have to set the alarm for 4.30 if I were to avoid the early morning traffic and be sure of meeting the deadline.  I could remember going to Trowbridge for this customer before; I googled the likely consignee, hoping that I would recognise a name from the results of my search of the industry and the town's name.  I was in luck, and it took only a phone call to establish that they did run a 24-hour operation, and that the night shift personnel would be able to receive the goods.  So, once loaded, I made my way straight there, delivered, and was home and in bed by 5.0 am.  Though short, my sleep was uninterrupted by fears of missing the alarm, and any anxiety about the job to be done, and I surprised myself by the length of time later in the day that I was able to keep driving without getting drowsy.

Just to make me feel at home in the new year, it seemed, there was an evening when I delivered a vanload of drinks to a public house, albeit on Thursday instead of Friday.  And to round things off there was a job that was too big for the van.  In this case, that wasn't strictly true, but the pallet that had been used only had loading holes down the long sides, which meant that the length of the pallet would have to fit across the width of the van ... which it didn't.  Apparently this particular establishment only have pallets of this design, but I usually only collect from them in individual units, so the problem hadn't arisen before.  At least I hadn't remembered the one previous occasion, until the fork truck driver asked me to watch out that he didn't touch the door steadies of the van with the pallet as he offered it up to see if there were room for it between the wheel-arches.  It was then that I recalled that earlier experience, my resulting anger and the furious attempts I'd made to straighten the bent article sufficiently for the door of the van to close!

But it hasn't been a week without some good points.  I've been able to make good use of the gaps between jobs, even down to the minute, measuring all sorts of aspects of the interior of my newly-acquired motorhome, and making appropriate plans for an extended shopping expedition today to get some of the necessary items to equip it for more adventurous use than seeing it parked outside my window!

On Stage, in Hospital, Finding the Wing, and a Bath . . . Nearly!

He's still around, that Repeating Genie.  He raised his head a number of times this week.  Although I lost most of Monday because I had the van serviced, it turned out quite a good week over all, through a couple of nicely full days running on from one job straight on to the next, and an attractive invitation for yesterday morning - more of that anon.

I've enjoyed a much deeper insight into Pinewood Studios this week.  Usually my visits there are for the firm across the road from my home, who liaise with a particular office in a corner of the site, access to which doesn't involve more adventure than crossing the car park next to the main gate.  On Tuesday morning, however, I made a delivery for another of our customers to the opposite corner of the Pinewood complex.  These items were taken to one of their 'Stages', and nothing could have prepared me for the amazing difference from any stage I've seen before.  No elevated performance area here, let alone a proscenium arch; just a big - and I mean BIG - brick shell with a wooden floor.

As I walked through the doorway, past a notice which read 'Closed stage - no entry without authorisation', it was like going into an assembly workshop.  A few men were working on a model behind a wall of mobile screens, but I could hear other voices, too.  I lifted my gaze, realising just how high was this place and there, among the girders that support the roof, spotted another team, installing lighting to suit whatever production would eventually make use of the props being constructed below.  Feeling somewhat lost in this strange and spacious realm, I was glad to see the approaching orange safety jacket of the security officer who was to meet me and find a home for my delivery.  And then on Thursday, came the same thing again, though more familiar by then.

Tuesday also took me to the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital at Stanmore, where I discovered the remote location of the theatre stores, and on to a health firm in Tilehurst for the first of two visits there during the week.  Wednesday brought the other 'excitement' of the week.  I'm sure some would find it exciting, anyway.  I was summoned to one of our regular customers to collect 'something urgent for Northamptonshire'.  Our normal cargo for this company is secure documentation for their directors, so I wasn't surprised to be given a fat envelope.  What did surprise me - not to say confuse me a little, too - was the address: 'The Wing, Silverstone', which turned out to be the massive admin. building on Silverstone Grand Prix circuit.  To reach it I must have driven all the way round the outside of the actual racetrack on its ring road: quite a distance, at least; and that was after getting through the main gate!

What I've described above as 'nicely full days' can comprise either one or two jobs some way away, where most of the fullness of the day lies in the getting there and getting back, or else, as this week, lots of what I would call local work.  Nothing was more than 100 miles away, and the two jobs that came closest to this milepost were on Friday.  In the morning I had an enjoyable ride in the sunshine to Thurmaston near Leicester, after collecting four boxes of accounting paperwork from St. Albans.  With scarcely a break upon my return, I was despatched up the M1 again, with two containers of parts for a motor plant in Birmingham.  This was somewhere I've been to before, and I was aware of the need to ignore the post code and ask SatNav to go to the road name, or else one is simply 'dumped' on the M6!

And then came the weekend.  On Friday evening, as I drove home, I was asked if I'd be available to do a collection on Saturday morning.  After Monday's activities, which had involved the replacement of my windscreen wiper motor, the recalcitrant behaviour of which had been driving me quite mad, I decided that the right answer would be 'yes'.  So yesterday I set off to collect a bath from an industrial and retail park on the outskirts of Clacton-on-Sea, where I'd delivered to a nearby factory only last week.  "The bath is in two parts," I was told, "so it should go in your van."  Famous last words!

"Can't you squeeze it?"

I was puzzled in the first place, because I couldn't see how a bath could be in two parts, presumably to be assembled on site, and still be reliably watertight.  I was given a clue when, as a first instalment, I was presented with an oval of ceramic, duly shrink-wrapped for protection, with the words, "here's the plinth."  The bath itself was quite complete, and impressive both in size and style.  Its sweeping curves ended in broad horizontal surfaces that could hardly be described as a rim, and a hole midway along one side determined the position of the taps.  This bath was luxury.  It was also too big for my van, as you can see, and there followed a wealth of telephone negotiation, and even verbal pressure on me to authorise the removal of the bulkhead from my van in order to accommodate it!

None of this changed things one iota, and I returned home with an empty but intact van, confident that right had prevailed, and encouraged that I had the complete support of the firm I work with.

Water, water everywhere ... and lots more besides!

I began this month by thinking about twos, and followed up last week with two hospitals.  This week, apart from another hospital to add to my collection, I can bring you tidings from no less than three airports, with their varying stories.

The week began with a fairly undemanding Monday: a regular collection from Daventry for a customer in Royston, another from Bedford, and a couple more local jobs to Luton and Cambridge, and the joy in the evening to go bellringing for the first time in about three weeks.  By Tuesday morning it was my privilege to be top of the list.

Called at about 9.30, I was despatched with a box of equipment to the theatre of Hereford County General Hospital.  The journey was straightforward, and in places quite spectacular, with only one closed road to delay me, and superb views of the flooding around Worcester and Hereford, where the Teme and Lugg respectively had covered a number of fields in each direction.  Respect for those suffering from this tragic situation combined with consideration for other road users to preclude the taking of any photos and, having left so early in the day, I was home again in time to be given a job for Wednesday morning.

On the face of it, this ought to have been a routine job.  I was sent to Heathrow airport to collect some items for our customer in Hitchin.  I'd been given the name of a contact and his phone no. - what could go wrong?  My suspicions were aroused when I examined the address on the computer the previous evening.  It appeared that terminal 2B is still under construction, and it was by no means clear where would be the point of access.  I decided that I would phone my contact while still on the M25.  It was well that I did, for instead of turning towards the airport, I was told that I needed to leave the motorway and head west!  A subsequent U-turn then brought me to a control area adjacent to the motorway, where things began to liven up.

The problem was that the point of collection was 'airside', in other words I was subject to all the normal constraints that apply to passengers travelling on an aircraft . . . and not only me, but my van as well!  After all the scanning - including the removal of boots - inspection and examination (I still haven't worked out why the contents of three bottles of plain water had to be poured out, while I was allowed to retain a container of screenwash!) I was given a sheet of driving instructions and, followed by a security vehicle, drove to another location on the airport where the same searches were carried out, this time including a body search!  Eventually the security vehicle led me to the collection point which was, as I'd expected, on a building site.  Minutes later the escorted journey was reversed, and soon I was heading back to home territory, some three-and-a-half hours after my arrival!

The week's excitement was just beginning; once this collection had been delivered (during that day's allotted downpour!), I was sent to Stansted airport, where disciplines were only a little less severe, to collect a pallet of goods that had arrived for one of our customers in Stevenage.  Once these had been delivered, some of the boxes were labelled, prepared for despatch to their customer, and re-loaded onto my van, to be taken to Rochdale for 6.0 am delivery the next day.

During the course of this journey and the two local jobs that followed, I had become aware of an intermittent noise.  Experience has taught me that noises can be expensive and shouldn't be ingored.  So, after delivering a cooker this morning to a building site on the outskirts of Oxford, I phoned the garage. The staff there have always been understanding of my situation, and the immediate reaction was, yes, bring it in and we'll have a listen.  Sadly, new brake parts were called for, but these were rapidly obtained and fitted, and I was back on the road - happily silent - within a couple of hours.  Two local jobs completed my day, including a visit to the third airport of the week, at Cambridge, the co-operation of whose security and goods-in staff was a welcome contrast to the heavier formality of recent days.

After I'd exchanged the van for the comfortable surroundings of my lounge, I realised how tiring the week had been, with only five hours' unsettled sleep on Wednesday night, and the need for another early start this morning in order to make the requested 8.0 delivery.  When the phone rang an hour later to enquire whether I'd like to match this week's hospital count to last week's, with a trip to Bristol this evening, I decided enough is enough, and echoed last Friday's positive 'No thanks.'

Now the weekend is off to a good start!

It Never Rains but ... and it's Still Raining!

In the town where I grew up there was a soft drinks company named Doubleday.  Where that name came from I have no idea, but it comes back to me now as I review a few days of distinct ups and downs.  Best, as always, to begin at the beginning.  On Monday I had the usual enquiries from my friends at breakfast as to what I would be doing today, and unusually I was able to answer them positively.  Normally if there's a definite answer, then I'm already on the road, and not there to give it.  This Monday, however, I knew exactly where I'd be for most of the day, since the van was booked in for a service and MOT.  A couple of years ago I had an argument with a bollard on one of Tesco's car parks and come off second best, with the result that I've been driving around with a headlight that was fully functioning but with a cracked glass.  Gradually since that assault the interior has been gathering dust and damp, and has grown ever dimmer so, deciding that now should be the time to have a replacement, I was fairly sure that the whole sequence would take up most of the day . . . a day easily absorbed by my current family history project, once I'd completed my January accounts and submitted a VAT Return.

Tuesday and Wednesday were both good days, and went some way to compensating for the loss of income on Monday.  Tuesday began early with a local collection for Northampton, and goods to bring back to our customer in Letchworth, followed after only a brief interlude by a couple of local jobs.  I was nearly back from the second of these when I was diverted to collect from our office, where there is a small medical warehouse facility.  Three items were then taken to the Russell Hall Hospital in Dudley - another journey made easier by having done the exact same job five months ago - resulting in a return home about 9.45 pm.  I made straight for bed, resolving to do the daily admin when I got up.

As soon as I'd finished breakfast on Wednesday I rang in as available.  It was about 8.30, and I anticipated having an hour or more to record the doings of the past day and read through the e-mails and social media that had accumulated since Tuesday morning.  Not so.  Within about five minutes came a call asking me to collect something urgent for Oxford from a healthcare firm in town.  By the time I'd collected this, another job had come in for something to be taken from Welwyn Garden City to Didcot.  The visit to John Radclife Hospital in Oxford resolved a doubt I'd expressed a couple of weeks ago as to whether or not I'd been there before.  Clearly I hadn't, for I'm sure I should have remembered it, if only for the difficulty in finding the main entrance.

My goods were designated for the theatre, so having once found a reception desk and placed my enquiry I was distressed to learn that they had at least two operating theatres.  Since I had no indication which one I needed, it was agreed that I should be sent to 'main theatre', and followed the directions to the main entrance, which I had already bypassed in ignorance in my original search.  Once there, the staff were very helpful, and examined the goods I'd brought, in order to determine their application.  On discovering that these bore the critical word 'paediatric', they sent me further afield to the Children's Theatre, escorted for convenience by a member of staff, whose swipe card could gain access through the otherwise securely closed doors.  Once the delivery had been completed, I was then escorted in the opposite direction to recover my van at the main entrance.  Taking into consideration the length of the corridors, and the speed and energy of my escort, I felt I'd had this week's workout by the time I set off for Didcot!

After negotiating an alternative route to avoid a road closed owing to floods, I had almost reached home when the almost dreaded call came, sending me immediately onto another job.  This involved collecting a small bundle of timber from Hitchin for a public house just outside Nottingham.  I'd just picked this up when another call announced that a customer in Letchworth had a small parcel for Leicester (which turned out to be a large box of plastic trays - bulky but lightweight).  This was definitely two days in one, and by now the rain had settled in for the night, although it was still only about 3.0 pm.  An accident on the M1 caused a diversion on the way up, and the road conditions made it slow going anyway, so I was getting a little anxious that all the staff would have gone home by the time I arrived at my destination.  In the event the manager was looking out for me; the door opened just as I pulled up outside and, by the time I'd completed my paperwork after making the delivery, he had secured the premises and driven off himself!

On then to Arnold, where the Greyhound Inn is being refurbished.  By good fortune I had the phone number for someone involved in the operation, and a quick call resulted in a door opening to indicate how access was to be obtained.  Another late night ensued, and at 10.30, it was time for bed when I got home.  When I got up on Friday morning I already felt tired, and decided that a couple of local jobs would satisfy me quite nicely to end the week.  So this time, I didn't ring in after breakfast to say I was available.  In fact, I didn't need to, because the phone had already rung before I'd finished my cereal!

Friday was already under way.  I managed to squeeze in a little essential admin before I was sent to Luton, following which I was summoned once more for the next job before returning home.  This time I collected from Stevenage for Rochford, to deliver to badly-identified premises on an industrial estate behind Southend airport.  I confess, I didn't hurry home, was then conveniently given a job to start off next week, and felt confident in beginning my weekend routines.  When the controller rang at 5.45, to ask if I would be able to do another job that evening, I was pleased at the way I confined my response to a polite but firm 'No,' following this with the advice that, since two late nights had robbed me of two evenings, I needed to catch myself up before embarking on a busy weekend.

And so it is; my busy weekend has already begun with a follow-up to that MOT: a tyre check that reveals the need for a new set of four!

Along the Ridge

After all the reflection and anticipation, the new van is here!  On Thursday morning, instead of going in to work as usual, I had a leisurely breakfast and then drove the van to the parking space that's nearest to my door.  I then made several passes from van to bedroom, and succeeded (I thought) in getting all my stuff out of the van, ready to drive the sixteen miles or so to the showroom where my new acquisition had been serviced and MOT'd, and was now awaiting the proximity of the other van to undergo a radio transfusion. 

... like moving house!

I took a final look at the bedroom, where there were boxes all over floor and bed, and bigger items strewn nearby - and hoped that I'd be back in time to remove all the clutter before the inspection lady should arrive.

The need for the radio transfusion stems from the discovery a couple of years ago that the mp3-player app on my new mobile phone could use the radio I'd bought for the last van, using a simple cable and the 'auxiliary input' socket.  I then changed my music/podcast software from iTunes to Media Go, gave away my iPod, and thenceforward have used one item instead of two.  In point of fact that should read 'instead of three', for on occasion I had forgotten to switch on my hands-free device in the van, and didn't realise until I went to switch it off at the end of a journey, and found that I switched it on instead!  After two or three such discoveries, I left it off deliberately, and have since removed it.  I can hear what people are saying to me through the radio, and they can hear me because the microphone of the phone is strong enough to hear my voice directly if I lean slightly towards it.

I had been advised the previous day that the showroom could accommodate me at 11.0 am.  As I drove there on Thursday morning I encountered unexpected roadworks, and the resulting delay made me a few minutes late.  I needn't have worried, for they weren't exactly ready for me, and there was a delay for a passage to be cleared through the yard before ever the van could get to the workshop, let alone have the work done.  I can't fault their service, however.  Not only did they offer to transfer the radio instead of leaving me to either find a new one with the same capabilities or pay someone for the transfer, but they also provided me with a new MOT, despite there being several months remaining on the old one. 

When the subject of taxing the vehicle came up, and I mentioned that my broker had e-mailed the cover note to me (and said what good job that was, because the original, posted first class in Wigan on Wednesday, hadn't arrived), he explained that the Post Office wouldn't accept an e-mailed copy (or photocopy) cover note - it had to be the original, and he offered to tax the van for me.  That meant that, once the radio transfer was complete, I could be on my way.

While I was waiting, I thought it would be a good idea to contact the recovery people and get my cover updated for the new vehicle.  Normally it's simply a case of noting the new registration no. and the type and colour of the vehicle, but this time there was an additional enquiry.  'Tell me, sir, will you be using this van for business?' 'Yes.' 'And what is the nature of the business?' 'Courier.'  'Ah! Sorry, we won't be able to cover you in that case.'  My protestations that, not only had I been covered by them for the past ten years, but had actually been recovered twice while actually on my way to make deliveries and had to get someone else to collect the goods from me, counted for nothing.  As a gesture of great magnanimity, it seemed, they took the details of the new van and said they'd 'honour the terms of the policy' up to its expiry date, but wouldn't renew it. And I was supposed to be grateful?

By the time this conversation was over, the van was ready and I departed.  Not that all was plain sailing, however.  With no SatNav, I wasn't sure how to get home again whilst avoiding those roadworks - and then I noticed a darling little pink light flashing at me from the dashboard - I was virtually out of fuel!  The nearest filling station wasn't one that would accept my fuel cards, so I had to pay the higher price for all of the 51 litres it took to fill it up!

I noted above that I thought I'd got all my stuff out of the old van.  Whilst driving to the showroom I happened to start off on a slope; the motion jerked my sunglasses out of their hidey hole, and I popped them into my coat pocket.  While I was waiting to be loaded for the only job I did that afternoon, I realised that I'd also left a set of four securing straps in the back of the old van.  I rang the showroom and arranged to visit them this morning to exchange the spare key (which I'd also forgotten) for the straps, and explained where they were.  When I got there this morning, I was told that they'd hunted all round the van and couldn't find the straps.  I went to the van and got them out straight away - from the one place they hadn't looked: the back of the van; they'd only searched the cab!

Apart from the few differences that are to be expected between one model and another that's three or four years newer, this van has a smaller engine, and is therefore expected to be less heavy on fuel.  On the one decent trip I've done so far - up to Wallsend yesterday - that seems to be the case, but not so pleasantly economical as I'd been led to believe. 

Time alone will reveal how representative that is; I can't wait to find out!

Ridges and Valleys

Surprisingly, I'm not talking about beautiful countryside that I've been privileged to visit.  No, I'm using these terms metaphorically today, as I reflect on the ups and downs of my courier career.  It's almost ten years since I responded to a newspaper advert which 'looked interesting.'  I had been looking for work, and decided that, while eagerly following up every likely lead, I might supplement my benefits by the odd day's driving.  I had no idea what was involved ... but I soon found out!

The people were helpful and the work interesting.  Above all, it was varied - both for nature and location!  Frankly, I was enjoying myself.  Two days a week quickly expanded to three, and then I got to a point where, as I drove to yet another interview, I said to myself, 'If I don't get this one, I'm going to give up job-hunting and buy a van.'  It would be poetic to say that, from that time on, the only looking back I've done has been in my mirror.  However that wouldn't quite be correct.  I have utilised my accounting skills, for example, in keeping my own records (almost) immaculately.  And my general experience of the management side of business has enabled me often to see the underlying stories behind some of the jobs I've been called upon to do.  I think overall it's made me more useful and sympathetic than the average time-served courier.

So, why this reflective mode - or mood - today?  Quite simply, I'm on the crest of a ridge, as it were, looking over to the next valley.  I've done my last journey in the van that has been my business home for the last 34 months, and tomorrow I shall exchange it for its successor: still white, still Vauxhall, but with a much lower mileage to build upon in the coming months.  Over the (let's call it ten) years, I have had four previous vans, and tomorrow's will be the sixth one.  That's in addition to the initial use of my car for nearly two months, the loan of a van from the firm for a few weeks following an accident, while I waited for the insurance people to settle things so I could get a new van, and the occasional use of a variety of others for single jobs as the need should arise.

In that time, it won't surprise you to know, I've covered just over three-quarters of a million miles, at an average of almost 6,400 per month.  The van I'm now exchanging is the one I've had longest, and in which I've driven the most miles, with its immediate predecessor coming a fairly close second in both aspects, and together these two vehicles account for just over half of the total time and miles.  I have to say that I've felt quite comfortable in both of them, perhaps more so than in some of the earlier ones - but then, you would expect vehicles - even bog-standard commercial vans - to improve over the years.

So, am I celebrating?  It's exciting, certainly, but the excitement will be drowned by the work involved, carting all my equipment and assorted paraphernalia [I do love that word!] into my tiny flat tomorrow morning, going off to complete the formalities and get my radio transferred into the new van, and then home once more to reverse the unloading ready to go off and do my first job.  And to crown the day, my landlord's agent has chosen tomorrow to make her quarterly inspection of the flat, so I'm hoping all the clutter will have been removed (or else successfully hidden!) before she arrives.

Regulars, Repeats and a Return ... with bookends!

My last post ended with the annoyances generated by my visit to Melksham on Wednesday morning.  The day finished with a couple of semi-local jobs, one to St Neots, and the other to a Northamptonshire village I'd never heard of, let alone been to before.  It's called Wappenham, and it's very small, but it boasts a small industrial estate as well as church and chapel - I didn't notice a pub!  This rounded off the day nicely, and I was able to divert on my way home to get a meal at Jacks Hill Cafe.  I hadn't been there for quite a while and I was pleased to discover that it has been noticeably brightened up in the interim.

Thursday morning I was sent to an engineering firm in Hitchin, to do what has lately become a regular run for them, to a treatment firm in Shoeburyness.  The job consists of delivering their products to the cleansing department on one industrial estate, and then collecting finished goods from the paintshop about five miles away on the other side of the town.  It takes just over four hours, there and back, and I returned about 2.30pm.  I made coffee, collected my book from the van and sat down to what I felt would be a long wait until jobs were allocated for the next morning.  I had just taken the bookmark from its lodging place when my name was called, and I was sent back to the same firm in Hitchin, this time to deliver some of their finished products to an aerospace firm at Luton Airport.

At last convinced that the day had finished, I returned, read a few pages of my book, and eventually was asked to be at the Pathology department of the West Suffolk Hospital at 9.0 am on Friday for an exact repeat of the job I'd done on Tuesday afternoon.  After only a short wait upon my return, I was summoned to collect a small package which formed the repeat to that tiny Northamptonshire village I'd visited on Wednesday.  Along with this I was asked to collect a small pallet of specialist metals for Red Bull Racing in Milton Keynes, which meant that this time I arrived at Wappenham along the A5, and realised just how close it is to Towcester.

When I got back to the office I became one of several who were waiting for the end of the day to come.  Realising that I was too far down the list for a Monday morning job, I approached the controller's desk and suggested that I should go and do my weekend shopping.  He was unwilling simply to say 'All right,' and pretended to make it a condition of my departure that I should accept the 'burden' of a job this morning - having first interrogated me as to whether I would be available for it.

So it was that, at 7.30 am, as we recovered from what was described as the coldest night of the winter, I scraped my van and drove off to a flower firm in Chatteris.  My assignment was not to collect flowers, but a batch of plastic lids to go to our customer, another flower firm in Sandy.  These lids were sealed on pallets three high in the yard, and over the last couple of days had acquired a covering of four or five inches of snow, which had thawed a little and was now frozen into the top layers of lids.  We quickly realised that the stacks of lids were too tall for my van, so two of us spent a very chilling half-hour in the yard loading as many of the lids as we could loose into the van.

Bishopshalt School

I was home after this experience soon after 11.0, and set about warming myself up.  After checking that the event was on, I set off soon after an early lunch to a place which, three times a year, is one of my favourite locations.

Bishopshalt School in Hillingdon was originally built in the mid 19th century as a private house, and the school itself now extends greatly beyond the original building, which now serves as its administrative offices. 

This is the venue for the regular meetings of the Suffolk Family History Society - West London Branch.  The sun made the grounds look so beautiful, with the melting snow, and squirrels romping around the trees, I couldn't resist attempting an impromptu picture with my mobile phone.  The meeting went very well, and the speaker demonstrated selections from his amazing collection of ephemera - ranging from wartime propaganda to recycling instructions, and a draft constitution for the European Union - if it's in paper, he stands a chance of having a copy!

Incidentally, if all goes well, this will be the last picture of this van, since I should be able to collect its successor sometime next week, following an unexpectedly successful visit to a suitable establishment yesterday afternoon.  Now all I have to do is work out how I'm going to pay for it!

Two by Two

I know it's not strictly true, but this week seems to have reflected the general sense of things being in pairs.  On Monday, I had only one job, a return journey of the one I made last week with the awkward machine that needed strapping into place.  I went all prepared to strap this one from the outset ... but ended up with a box containing some jars of oil instead.  Tuesday's pair was two jobs to Cobham just a couple of miles from each other, and in the afternoon I went to Milton Keynes with one job, and on to Buckingham with another.

On Sunday, I had chatted after the church service with the leader of the Wednesday evening house group that I (loosely) belong to.  We touched on the fact that I hadn't been to many meetings lately, and I covered the well-rehearsed explanations - either I'm late back from a job, or need to be up early the next morning for one.  I can't honestly recall whether I mentioned or just thought of reason no. 3 - sometimes I get home after a boring or tiring day (especially if it's cold) and I just can't be bothered to turn out again.  After a 'pair' of fairly local jobs during the day, it looked as if I might actually make the meeting this week - or else have to apply that third excuse - when I was assigned a 7.30 am collection at a white goods warehouse in Hemel Hempstead.

These two boxes were to be delivered to a building site in Cirencester.  They weren't particularly heavy, but were big and awkward enough that, after taking them one at a time up to the site office (on the second level of portacabins) I was gasping for breath.  I called in empty, as I'd been requested, and was sent to that place in Thatcham again.  This time it wasn't an awkward machine I had to collect; instead it neatly paired up with the Monday delivery, another small box: this time containing a little motor.

I had been asked during the week if I'd be able to collect a piece of furniture for a friend from her mother in Woking, and I'd arranged to do this today (Saturday).  Then, when I was assigned a 'blind' metal delivery in Woking for yesterday morning, phone calls were made, and the personal job was rearranged to pair up with it, since the collection point was less than two miles from where I was to deliver.

[At this point I ought to explain that a 'blind' delivery is where the goods never touch the premises of our customer.  We collect from his supplier, and deliver directly to his customer.  It doesn't happen often; sometimes we are provided with the necessary delivery note to accompany the goods once we've collected them; otherwise - and I always feel a little vulnerable here - we simply deliver with no paperwork at all, and hope that the receiving people aren't insistent.]

These two jobs done, I returned to the office for an almost four-hour wait.  Then came a pairing that I could well have done without.  I was sent off for a final job that would have neatly rounded off the day but, as I pulled out of the yard, I noticed that a warning light in the van hadn't gone out.  Deciding discretion to be the better part of valour, I rang in to the office, asked the controller to send someone else on this job, and drove round to the garage.  Here cooperation was at the usual high level, and diagnosis matched it in its rapidity.  I needed a new alternator.  Matters were put in hand to obtain the appropriate model, and the work began.  Today, I stayed in until lunchtime, and then walked round to get the van back, paying out more than twice as much as I had only a couple of weeks ago to get the mirror replaced!

I have to be grateful for the possibility of re-arranging the furniture collection; had this not been the case, I would have had to disappoint a friend, which is much less palatable than disappointing the boss, for two reasons.  One, he can always find someone else to do the job; and two, he seems to be of the disposition that forgets these things almost immediately - fortunately!

Today, I have simply had to battle with the cold weather.  More and more clothes get piled on, until I feel like Michelin man.  Added to which, I think I got too cold last night, and woke up with a headache.  Matters are in hand to avoid this possibility tonight!

Now ... what will next week have to delight me?

Second half winner

They say football is a game of two halves - so is a courier's week.  After last Friday's expedition to south Wales, Monday was a dead loss.  I started at #11, got my wing mirror replaced during the middle of the day - Saturday's carwash visit had finalised a demolition job that began on a parking lot somewhere unknown to me - and the day finished with me getting a pre-booked job for Tuesday, which took me no further than south Oxfordshire.  What started out as two decent jobs on Wednesday morning got fouled up when I discovered that the second one was to a pedestrianised city centre, with no access until after 4.30pm.  I wasn't home until mid-evening, so another late start was in prospect for Thursday.

When I rang to get onto the list, I discovered that I should be only third, instead of at the foot of a long list, so I went straight along to the office, whence I was sent on a local 'trek' to Watford and Bedford.  I returned just before lunch and had time for half a cup of coffee before being sent to collect something for Reading.  I'd just delivered this and was in the middle of the town, when I was diverted from my homeward journey to collect a piece of machinery just down the A4 in Thatcham.  Although not too heavy, this was mounted on a fibre 'pallet', which had quite a narrow base.  I quickly found it wasn't very stable, and had to stop to strap it tightly fore and aft, to prevent damage either to it or to the sides of the van.  This was going to a research establishment on a former airfield at Cranfield, Beds, and by the time I'd found the site in the dark and completed the delivery, it was after 7.0pm when I returned to the office.  My resulting place on the scheme of things for Friday was therefore #8.  I announced my intention of staying at home until mid-morning. 

When morning came, I rose in leisurely fashion.  I bathed, prayed, breakfasted, and sat at the computer to carry on work on a particular family history project which I've been nibbling at for a couple of weeks.  To my surprise, it was not yet 9.45 when I was summoned.  Deployed to a local healthcare company, I was presented with a small box and told that the contents were wanted at a Portsmouth hospital to be 'put into a patient this afternoon'.  Given such a graphic mission, I went off without further delay, completing the task just before midday.  I returned a little more slowly than I'd gone, taking time to savour the journey through the newly-opened Hindhead Tunnel, 1.2 miles of luxury, compared to the endless queues that formerly adorned the journey past the famous 'Devil's Punchbowl'. 

Back at the depot, I found myself in another short-list-and-half-drink situation.  I was asked to collect a drinks order for Norwich, and was all too soon laden with four kegs of beer for a hotel just outside Norfolk's 'Fine City'.  The plan was that I should then wait until a further order could be collected for Newmarket and deliver that en route.  In the event this didn't work out because the combined weight of the two jobs would have been too much for my van, and anyway there wouldn't have been room for them both on board.

Despite this final setback, the week hasn't been too bad, overall.  It's a noteworthy statistic, however, that the average daily earnings for Monday to Wednesday is little more than half the average for Thursday and Friday: truly a week of two halves!  Now I've caught myself up, I can look forward to a more leisurely weekend.

A Question of Balance

If anyone dares to claim that the work of a courier is not seasonal, don't listen to him!  This is the week I usually take as a winter holiday - see this earlier blog, and often during the week I've wished I had done so after all.  Apart from the working part of the week consisting of only four 'proper' days, my financial rewards have to show the lowest weekly total on record - holidays excepted.  The proceeds will total between one and two days' normal earnings.  Fortunately, I was able to find other satisfactions than financial ones with which to measure the success of the week.

Monday was, of course, the New Year Bank Holiday, and the office was closed.  I had elected to be available for work, but I decided that I wouldn't phone in first thing to let whoever was manning the phones know I was still alive.  This might have been favourable, but the pseudo-Quaker in me said that if I did so, I should be making a complete irrelevance of the list upon which I had declared my availability in the first place.  Consequently, perhaps, and certainly without causing me great surprise, my phone was silent and the van remained unused.

Instead, my Bank Holiday was apportioned between two tasks.  I spent the afternoon and early evening playing an audio tape through the USB converter I bought last year, and storing the product on the computer.  This was the first of a 'double tape' product, and its fellow was similarly dealt with later in the week.  The other task on Monday was to identify an internet mailing list for Co Fermanagh, and subscribe to it with a view to finding out something more about the great family I'd located for my great-uncle George, who had been discharged from the army in 1876, and settled in Enniskillen (sorry if I've mentioned this before, but it has rather overshadowed my thoughts recently, since I'd long since decided that I would never know what had happened to him.)

Tuesday began with a number of necessary phone calls, made while waiting for my van to be serviced.  I needed to order a new inhaler, and also to make an appointment for an eye test.  Just as I was beginning to feel cold and rescued my coat from the van, I noticed the rain sheeting down outside and was glad I didn't have to be out in it.  At that point the van was almost finished, but when he took it for a road test, the engineer decided there was a problem with the tracking.  By the time this had been put right, the sun was out, and it was something of a pleasure soon afterwards to be sent to Leicester and see a magnificent double rainbow as I drove up the motorway.  I'd just finished my evening meal when a phone call sent me off to Shoeburyness, so I was out until 10.40pm, and late on parade the next day.

Wednesday brought no work at all, and by 2.30 I decided to be realistic and come home.  I discovered that someone else had usurped my post to the Fermanagh mailing list and answered with what was, in effect, a completely new enquiry about something totally different, with the result that, out of eight messages headed 'Evans - Enniskillen', one was a not-very-helpful reply to me, and the others totally irrelevant.  I hastily responded caustically to this 'identity theft' as I described it, but the following day realised the error of such an action, and apologised.  I think this was much more effective, for as a result I then received lots of encouragement and some very helpful general advice and details of websites that have opened my eyes to the intricacies of Irish research.

Yesterday I did a single job to a charming village in the west of Bedfordshire, delivering hygiene materials to a 'college' which seemed to cater solely for disabled students.  Once more I took the afternoon off, since it seemed pointless to sit there at the bottom of a long list,  when the phones were hardly ringing, and the few jobs coming in were for the big vans.  Once more family history and the tape conversion took centre stage.

Numerically, today has been more productive, but the first of the two jobs was only a very local one, and the other only 50 miles away, so the excitement was little.  I returned to find that one of my colleagues was researching a job he'd just been given to deliver tomorrow morning in Falkirk.  This is the sort of job I'd normally have given my eye teeth for, but somehow I just didn't have the energy to get excited about it.  I had departed and was just returning home from my shopping expedition when I realised that, even if I had been offered it, I should have had to turn it down anyway, because of the optician's appointment tomorrow morning.

So my week has been a true balance, and has felt all the better for it, with this evening spent exploring some of those fascinating Irish websites!

Was yesterday a waste of time?

I do like to keep on top of things - it seriously irks me if circumstances beyond my control prevent me from doing so.  Just recently that is just what has happened.  A few Saturdays now have been clogged up by one thing after another, the precise details of which would require intensive research in my diary, and don't belong here anyway.  Suffice it to say that one or two matters of mechanical importance have been neglected.

Last week I realised that my van was due for yet another service - it's every 20,000 miles, but in this business such intervals come round with monotonous frequency - so I booked it in at my usual garage for attention yesterday morning.  I used to take a book with me, and sit and read or chat to the proprietor until the job was done, but now I tend to walk home and attack some task there, repeating the exercise to collect the van later on.  This time there were one or two other jobs that needed attention, in addition to the usual oil change and replacement of various filters here and there, so I said that, if I'd heard nothing to the contrary, I would go back at around 2.30.

Returning home, I settled down to a morning poring over some old family photos, trying yet again to puzzle out to whom some of the 'unknown' faces from eighty years ago might have belonged.  I became engrossed, and before long it was time for a bowl of soup, before fulfilling my promise to get back to the garage.  They had phoned me soon after I'd left them to observe that certain bits of the steering were either worn or broken, so would need replacement - oh, and at least one tyre would have to be changed, too.  I told them to do all except replace the tyre: I would deal with that elsewhere.  On my way back to them, I had a call to say that the work was done, so the only further delay was the time for me to pay the bill.

Even the quarter-mile drive along the road was sufficient for me to appreciate how bad things had become.  It now drove smoothly, without that anticipated 'hiccup' at each unevenness in the road surface.  I turned with some confidence into the tyre depot.  "I've just had the van serviced," I announced, "and attention was drawn to one tyre that is said to be illegal, and another that is unevenly worn; so would you please examine them, replace if necessary, and check the alignment."

The great benefit of going to this particular establishment for my tyres is that they operate an insurance policy, that covers everything above normal wear and tear, and has proved very beneficial to me in the past.  It's a nice comfortable place (I know that we customers have to pay for that, but ...), and it is my habit to pop along there on a Saturday morning every few weeks to have the alignment checked.  If there's nothing wrong, it's free, and it places the van regularly under professional scrutiny as well as giving me the confidence that tyre wear is kept to the minimum.  Yesterday's situation was, in my opinion, the penalty of neglecting these regular checks.  In addition to doing what I had asked, the operative also made one or two constructive suggestions, such as varying my usual tyre pressures in an attempt to prevent excessive wear to the new tyres he was fitting.  I was very grateful for this care, and shall make a point of going back in a couple of weeks or so (2,000-3,000 miles) to see whether the change is proving beneficial.

Workwise, yesterday was a write-off.  By the time I got to our depot, there was little over an hour to go before the office closed, and work was being given out for today.  Today, I did two jobs, which added up to just over 300 miles, and they went like a dream.  I hadn't realised just how much that lumping and bumping had been a subconscious strain.  Now I have to re-direct my attention to keeping the speed down to an economic - not to say legal - level!

Strange week

This is really a strange week, the sort that comes around only a few times in a year.  It's been all beginnings and endings, and virtually no middle.  On Monday I had my van serviced, and spent all the morning and most of the afternoon at home, catching up on all sorts of admin that hadn't been attended to lately.  Once the van was finished I got to the office too late to do any actual work, so the week proper didn't begin until Tuesday.

Tuesday itself was a good day, despite having what felt like a long wait in the middle (although it was actually only about three hours)  I had an early pick-up for my first job, and then after that wait, a longer job with a late finish, but after getting a meal on the way home, I was still home a little after 9.0pm, so had no real need to complain.

As a result, this morning I had what we call a standing start: in other words I turned up at the office and added my name to the many others who had already booked in for work.  I did a local job in the morning, and a couple of not-much-more-than-local jobs in the afternoon.  It was a less than full day, and I was home quite early, but for once I didn't worry, because this was the end of the working week for me - tomorrow I'm off on my holidays!  That's meant that this evening has been a time of tidying up loose ends, closing things down, and packing.  I'm glad I'm going in the van because, in addition to a suitcase, I have two other bags and three boxes of sundry 'stuff'.  I never was one to travel light; when I go away even the tiniest kitchen sink has to look out for itself!

I have a business appointment a few miles down the road in the morning, but once I get back from that I shall feel the freedom of the open road; I can load all my clutter into the van, pop it through the car wash, and be on my way.  There may well be a blog while I'm away though ... and it could be illustrated - that would be yet another beginning!

Little things mean a lot!

Yesterday was a hot day.  So was Sunday, but at least I could sit in my lounge with the windows open.  Yesterday was a hot working day!  After my arrival at the office, I found I faced quite a long wait until I was likely to be sent out on a job, so I tried to keep cool by sitting inside, reading a book, or attacking a newspaper crossword.  Drinking lots of water seemed a good idea as well.  Around 11.30, I was despatched with a parcel for an Italian café on a retail park in Ellesmere Port.

As I drove down the road from the office, I felt desperately hot.  I knew that this was partly because there is nowhere there to park our vans in shade, so it had been sitting in the full sun for over three hours.  Although I knew that this extreme heat was only temporary, and that it would ease as I drove along with the windows ajar and the fan on, I still wasn't satisfied, so - despite the adverse effect on being able to hear my radio - I switched on the 'emergency cooling apparatus': a cheap clip-on fan that I'd bought long ago in a supermarket.

This fan has been clipped to the shelf above the passenger door since I've had this van, and ever since the rotating mechanism ceased operating after only a few weeks that first summer, it has been skillfully trained on my head and neck.  As I switched it on yesterday, its refreshing cool blast was most welcome.  But then it stopped, and my comfort level plummeted.

After I'd gone a few miles, I realised that my SatNav was still working from its internal battery instead of from the feed from the van.  I pulled over when it was convenient, to find out why.  Now, when I bought this van, I had promptly installed a four-way adaptor for the cigar-lighter (Thinks: no-one smokes cigars in vans - thank goodness - so why should it have such a ridiculous name?) socket.  Many people have since commented about the range of switches and the cables that wander across my dashboard from this, and to be fair, they do look much more impressive than they ought.  The four sockets were used for i) the reversing sensors (another self-fitted accessory upon the van's acquisition), ii) the SatNav, iii) the charger for the mobile phone's hands-free device, clipped on the passenger sun-visor, and iv) that fan.

I decided that the unusual fact that I had had all four of these items switched on at once had been just too much for the adaptor unit, so I unplugged this, plugged SatNav in directly, and proceded to my delivery, thinking that I should have to get a new fuse this morning.  Consequently, first thing today, I went in search of the appropriate fuse and found some at a well-known motor spares chain with an orange-and-black livery. (Why should I advertise Halfords?)  I quickly replaced the offending item, and then by way of a test I tried the fan once more.  It worked ... but for a couple of seconds only, and when I disassembled the plug again, I found the new fuse neatly blown!  What a good job I had had to buy a pack of three; at least there was thus a reserve supply.  Another replacement was fitted, and this time I didn't try the fan again!  When I got back to the office, I carefully removed it, unthreaded its wiring, and awarded it pride of place in the official rubbish skip.  After two years, and having cost me only £9.99, I felt it owed me nothing, and certainly wasn't worth attempting to get it fixed. 

Today was cooler, but after surviving yesterday's heat without it, I don't think I shall hurry to replace that fan - the fuss over the fuses was quite enough, thank you!

Pear-shaped

The courier life isn't 100% enjoyment.  I have to admit that, while for the most part I do find it most pleasant, there are times when I could do with things turning out differently.  Take this week, for example.  It started off well, with a job to Manchester on Monday, and I enjoyed a nice chat with the trucker who shared my table for a meal on my way back.  Tuesday started off quietly, but that wasn't uncommon, and early in the afternoon I set off with jobs for Northampton and Mansfield.

It was just on 6.0pm when disaster struck.  I was just leaving a motorway service area when the van made it quite clear it wasn't going anywhere.  My clutch pedal was firmly on the floor and not shifting.  First of all, I called the office to get another driver on the way to me to complete the delivery, and then called out the breakdown service.  Their care was faultless.  I was told they would be with me within 45 mins to an hour - the recovery vehicle arrived before half an hour had elapsed,  and by the time his arrival had been guaranteed, my van was loaded up and we were already on our way to his depot.

By the time my colleague had turned up and we had transferred the boxes I was to have delivered to his van, arrangements had been made to bring me home, and I was into bed by 11.0, having left the van with my maintenance garage, whom I visited when they opened yesterday morning to explain what was going on.  They too pulled out all the stops to help me, knowing that while the van is off the road I earn nothing.  By 4.30 pm, the problem had been identified - a broken clutch pedal - the part obtained, and replacement carried out.  Several pounds worse off, I was back in the office, waiting for more work.

This morning, loaded with jobs for Milton Keynes and Carlisle, I had set off on my journey when my agonies were revived - the engine management light came on!  It was a hard choice to make.  Do I ignore it and press on to recover some of my losses, or abort and return to base?  I took the wise course, and once more saw my work fed into someone else's vehicle.  I then returned to the garage, where the wonders of computer technology indicated no definite answer.  Certainly nothing serious was shown to be amiss, and the presumed explanation was a switch possibly adjusted differently from how it had been before the pedal replacement.

This afternoon has at least produced some work that I was able to execute hitch-free, and now I'm loaded again, this time for an early morning journey to Worcester, in the hope of keeping the time lost to the minimum for the remainder of the week.

It just goes to show that life on the road isn't always plain sailing (or driving!)

On the Edge!

Imagine you are driving along a small cliff-top road.  On one side is a broad swathe of pleasant countryside, while on the other is a narrow meadow, beyond which you know there's a sheer drop to the rocky sea below.  Suddenly, an unseen hand removes both the meadow and its boundary hedge.  Imagine your feelings as you realise that, if you stray from the little lane you're following, you'll be over the edge and onto the rocks.  Something akin to these emotions has been swirling among us in recent days.

It all started when Martin, one of my fellow-drivers, received an advice through the post that he'd been caught speeding.  Not one to lay down easily, he asked for photographic evidence, and learned that he'd been doing 57mph on a de-restricted single carriageway.  Thinking that this was quite permissible, and that there must have been some mistake, he protested.  Through doing so, he opened up - and shared with the rest of us - a whole can of worms.

Now, most of us were aware that the big (i.e. Transit or Sprinter) vans are subject to lower speed limits than cars, and have to keep to 60 on dual carriageways and 50 on single carriageways.  We did, however, believe that, as small van drivers, we came under the same classification as cars.  Martin's experience has taught us otherwise.  He had received a little poster showing lots of pictures: vans of all shapes and sizes, and in pretty colours to make it 'pallatable'.  The narrative explained that such vehicles were all subject to these lower speed limits.  A number of us noticed that there was no picture of our particular van there, and we wondered why.

Someone was diligent and sought clarification on the internet.  It appears that the speed limits for goods vehicles are detailed  in the Road Traffic Regulation Act, 1984, which includes an exemption from the lower speed limits for a 'Car-derived Van', defined as 'a van derived from a car chassis, and having a maximum laden weight no more than 2 tonnes'.  This sent us racing for our registration documents, and finding with some relief that our particular vans have a maximum laden weight of 1,995 kg.  Uncertainty prevails, however, with the confusion of body type (car-derived van) and taxation class (light goods vehicle); and doubt as to whether or not it is officially accepted that - despite this declaration of body type - the chassis of our vehicle is in fact the same as a saloon.

Meanwhile some of us are learning afresh how to drive 'within the speed limit'!