This week has been interesting, but a bit of a chain. Many times one job has led on to another, but there hasn't been a proper 'double' all week, i.e. two jobs going together to the same area, which is much more profitable. I won't bore you with the details, but here's a single highlight from each day.
On Monday afternoon I rescued a gas engineer who was locked out of his van in Windsor High Street. These vans have an unforgiving security feature in that, once slammed shut, the back portion can only be opened with the key, and if the key is inside at the time, e.g. in your coat pocket ... oh dear! Tuesday found me in the depths of the massive BT establishment at Martlesham Heath in Suffolk, while Wednesday began by taking a load of bread to an Essex dairy (echoes of the breakfast of a former age here!)
After a none-too-sleepful night, Thursday's excitements included a visit to Yeovil, and I needed to stop for a snooze at Andover on the way back. I was woken by a phone call, asking me to be in Bedford at 7.0 the following morning to take a small - and very light - box to a railway engineer at Brighton station. The week ended in a haze of headache and bewilderment.
During the week, I'd volunteered along with others for a Saturday evening job in connection with the new Sunday paper, but I realised in time that I was already committed to a Church Barn Dance event last night. So while my colleagues were taking hot-off-the-press newsprint to 'specific destinations', I was enjoying being told what to do by a most proficient caller. For the most part these affairs are straightforward, even if enjoyably chaotic, but inevitably there are more women than men (as expertly articulated by Joyce Grenfell) and it does get a trifle complicated when the 'man' is sporting a large bosom and wearing a dress, while her (sorry - his!) partner is in jeans!
A good time was had by all, however, and waking to another bright spring day, all I really have to complain about is the aches and pains in muscles I'd forgotten ever existed!
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Saturday, 18 February 2012
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.
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!
 |
| ... like moving house! |
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!
Wednesday, 15 February 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, 11 February 2012
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.
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!
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 |
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!
Wednesday, 8 February 2012
In all their Glory
Monday gave me the opportunity to firm up my idea of where Redcar is. When I was given the job in the late morning I thought, 'somewhere in Yorkshire - I should be back in good time to go ringing tonight.' Now I admit I felt that a little optimistic, but when I discovered that a) it was quite near Middlesbrough, and if not actually in Teesside, it has a TS postcode, and b) on the seaside, I was not only surprised but also neatly provided with a good excuse for not going to the weekly bellringing practice after all. I got a meal on the way home, and was back about 9.15.
This gave me the opportunity to ring the office at 8.0 am yesterday, and then stay home for a while. I managed to finish the microfiche catalogue that I've been struggling with for the last couple of years or so. Now all I have to do is print it out to go with me to the Suffolk Family History Society meeting on Saturday. I'd just finished the viewing stage of the last batch of fiche when the phone rang. I dropped everything, shut down the computer and went off on an urgent job to the bright new Broomfield Hospital in Chelmsford. When I returned I was still nowhere near the top of the list, so was sent out again on a less urgent job to the West Suffolk Hospital in Bury St Edmunds. By the time I was on my way back from there, jobs were being allocated for this morning, and I was sent to Stevenage to what is probably our biggest customer.
When I looked at what I had collected, I confess to some reflection about 'how the mighty are fallen'. Notwithstanding their ranking in the list of firms using our services, I have to say that their professionalism leaves a lot to be desired. I was presented with a delivery document addressed to their customer, with the correct street details but no town name, the county name mis-spelled - "Wilkshire" - and a postcode. When I got home I had to spend some while sorting out exactly where I should be going, and then, after the minimum of admin, went to bed, since delivery had been requested for 7.0am in what I discovered to be Melksham, Wiltshire.
When I arrived (about one minute late) it was just getting light, and I was pleased to see that one of the windows of the bungalow showed a light inside, indicating that the householder was at least up and about. In answer to my knock, a figure approached along the hall and having confirmed that there was someone at the door, turned and went back for the door key. The figure returned, there was a rattling and the sound of the key in the door, and then it was opened on the safety chain. A hesitant voice said, "Yes?" I explained my mission, the door closed and then re-opened with the chain removed. I was confronted by a lady of about seventy, clad in her dressing gown.
"Oh," she said, "are they coming back today?" It seems that an installation team had visited on a previous occasion, been unable to complete the job for want of whatever additional parts that were packed in the box I was delivering, and disappeared. The poor lady had been given no idea when they might return, and no warning at all that I should be arriving with the parts today, let alone at 7.0 in the morning! And then, when she acceded to my request for a signature, it became apparent that the firm had got her name wrong into the bargain! I felt quite sorry for having disturbed her breakfast, and wondered what would have happened had she not been the sort to be up at that hour.
Money talks, they say. But seldom, it seems, does it express consideration for the common man - or in this case, woman!
This gave me the opportunity to ring the office at 8.0 am yesterday, and then stay home for a while. I managed to finish the microfiche catalogue that I've been struggling with for the last couple of years or so. Now all I have to do is print it out to go with me to the Suffolk Family History Society meeting on Saturday. I'd just finished the viewing stage of the last batch of fiche when the phone rang. I dropped everything, shut down the computer and went off on an urgent job to the bright new Broomfield Hospital in Chelmsford. When I returned I was still nowhere near the top of the list, so was sent out again on a less urgent job to the West Suffolk Hospital in Bury St Edmunds. By the time I was on my way back from there, jobs were being allocated for this morning, and I was sent to Stevenage to what is probably our biggest customer.
When I looked at what I had collected, I confess to some reflection about 'how the mighty are fallen'. Notwithstanding their ranking in the list of firms using our services, I have to say that their professionalism leaves a lot to be desired. I was presented with a delivery document addressed to their customer, with the correct street details but no town name, the county name mis-spelled - "Wilkshire" - and a postcode. When I got home I had to spend some while sorting out exactly where I should be going, and then, after the minimum of admin, went to bed, since delivery had been requested for 7.0am in what I discovered to be Melksham, Wiltshire.
When I arrived (about one minute late) it was just getting light, and I was pleased to see that one of the windows of the bungalow showed a light inside, indicating that the householder was at least up and about. In answer to my knock, a figure approached along the hall and having confirmed that there was someone at the door, turned and went back for the door key. The figure returned, there was a rattling and the sound of the key in the door, and then it was opened on the safety chain. A hesitant voice said, "Yes?" I explained my mission, the door closed and then re-opened with the chain removed. I was confronted by a lady of about seventy, clad in her dressing gown.
"Oh," she said, "are they coming back today?" It seems that an installation team had visited on a previous occasion, been unable to complete the job for want of whatever additional parts that were packed in the box I was delivering, and disappeared. The poor lady had been given no idea when they might return, and no warning at all that I should be arriving with the parts today, let alone at 7.0 in the morning! And then, when she acceded to my request for a signature, it became apparent that the firm had got her name wrong into the bargain! I felt quite sorry for having disturbed her breakfast, and wondered what would have happened had she not been the sort to be up at that hour.
Money talks, they say. But seldom, it seems, does it express consideration for the common man - or in this case, woman!
Saturday, 4 February 2012
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?
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?
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