Two incidents in my almost ten-year courier career came to mind today as I mused upon the day's news. On the only occasion, a couple of years ago, that I took someone with me when I made a collection of a customer's goods, we both understood without it ever being spoken, that that person would be quite willing to stay in the front of the van while I did my business. Then, after only a minimal delay, we continued our bank holiday sightseeing journey.
One of my former colleagues one day made the fatal mistake of passing a parcel to an acquaintance for him to deliver on my friend's behalf. This faux pas was discovered when the parcel never got delivered! As a result, the man is no longer one of my fellow-drivers. Because we are self-employed, he couldn't be dismissed, but he was told in no uncertain terms that there would be no more work for him, so it would be pointless for him ever to show his face in our office again!
I think it was on Wednesday afternoon that I muttered to myself, after hearing the latest news bulletin, 'he'll be gone by the weekend.' It gives me no feeling of elation to be proved right - just a kind of bitter sadness. By all accounts, our former Defence Minister was doing a very good job, and professionally he'll be a hard act to follow. But what kind of mind does a man have when he can't see clearly where it is incorrect for his friend to be found, and on what trips his friend should not accompany him? And as for all those who were interviewed this afternoon, and were apparently unable to see any more clearly than he whether what he had done was wrong or not ... are they just as blind? Or are they scared of being on record as being decisive, but 'getting it wrong'?
And then there is this business about letters being put in public litter bins. Mr Letwin 'wanted to make sure they didn't weigh him down'. What a ridiculous comment. Surely the best way to ensure that outcome would be to have left them in his office! In days gone by, when in a former life I worked in an office, and occasionally had to deal with correspondence, I would either jot a draft reply by hand and attach it to the original for the typist to deal with, or if dictating, I would leave the original correspondence with the tape for reference when the reply was being typed.
Now, I know technology has moved on since then, so my meagre experience in this field can count for little, but such advances are surely in directions which would mean that it is more, rather than less difficult to deal with correspondence while walking in the park? At least, I should have thought it unlikely to be able to do so with a degree of completeness that would enable one to dispose so permanently of the original documents! So again, I have to ask, 'what kind of mind does a man have to act in such a way?'
After the seemingly interminable revelations of the expenses scandal, when to my disciplined mind it seems totally impossible not to realise what is an expense of one's business, and what isn't, I thought I'd heard it all. Now I'm wondering whether all political candidates, in advance of ever standing for election, should be forced to take the eleven-plus exam (or modern equivalent) to prove that they have the necessary common sense and understanding that we hitherto took for granted in our leaders!
Words - apart from the above paragraphs - fail me!
Friday, 14 October 2011
Wednesday, 12 October 2011
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!
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!
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