Up, down and sideways!

After a good weekend, which saw the usual 'chores' of getting my bookkeeping up to date, making bread (well, encouraging the bread maker to do so, anyway) and doing the barest amount of cleaning, this week began with a leisurely session in the armchair on Monday morning, reading the latest edition of Suffolk Roots, the quarterly magazine of the Suffolk Family History Society.  Eventually the phone rang, but only to offer me a couple of fairly local jobs, and my demeanour was hardly made any better when I called in at the office later.  With all the grousing and niggling going on just as it had in the old place, I suddenly realised what an advantage it is working from home now!  I was relieved to be asked to spend the evening delivering bread rolls to two Waitrose distribution depots - although not exactly pleased to be caught in the tail-back of an accident as I travelled to collect them!

Tuesday saw me do battle with central Canterbury, where I had to deliver some equipment for a McDonalds restaurant.  On the way back I stopped for a meal at a Little Chef, where I was so pleased with the service and friendly atmosphere that I said I'd report them, and when I got home I filed a feedback report on their website.  Whether it will make any difference I doubt, but at least I felt I'd done something to express my appreciation.

The joy of Wednesday was found in Oxfordshire.  I was sent to Station Yard in Adderbury.  SatNav didn't recognise the postcode I'd been given, and there was no sign of a nearby railway to have inspired the name.  I headed for the centre of the village and tossed a virtual coin as I came to the junction.  I turned left, and had all but got out into open country again when a roadside sign indicated that I'd found my target!  I uttered a word of thanks to the Almighty, made my delivery and was on my way home again within minutes.

On Thursday, I took advantage of the fine weather to clean the van windows, top up the screen wash, check the oil, and so on, before being sent to Bristol.  Frenchay Hospital - at least the bits I saw - is a relic from a bygone age.  I followed signs at the entrance for 'deliveries', but these had disappeared before I had seen any sign of a receiving bay. This is not an uncommon occurrence, but its frequency doesn't add to its popularity in my opinion!  Once inside, I found myself in a long straight corridor.  The unplastered brick walls were painted a bright canary yellow; the ceiling was so low I would almost have been able to touch it if I hadn't been carrying a couple of parcels, and it disappeared into the far distance in both directions.  I found it later on Google maps and measured that corridor: it was in excess of 360 yards long!  That's over three quarters of the circuit of an athletics track (note the topical Olympic allusion!)

Yesterday almost finished the week on a low note, with two jobs well into the 'grumble' category.  One was the daily delivery to a Suffolk health centre that is known to be underpaid, and the other was said to be Cambridge, but was actually to a modern industrial park in a village over nine miles on the far side.  I returned to the office in high dudgeon, and having said my piece, I was placated by being given a quite decent job for Monday morning.  It was still not yet 5.0, and I thought I'd hang about in case there was more work.  Before I'd had time to make a drink, one of the controllers covered his phone and, before completing his call, made sure that I'd be willing to go up to Peterborough with a computer hard drive.

Realising how close I was, I decided to go to the Diner on the A1 afterwards for a meal before going back home.  While I was eating my meal and watching the Euro 2012 match on TV, a scene unfolded before me that reminded me why I don't have much time for children.  Father and son arrived and sat on the far side of the room.  The boy must have been about eight or nine, certainly not a young child, but clearly not the shiniest button in the box.  He had eaten his burger, and as his father was coming to the end of his meal, this youngster asked if he might have another drink.  Dad doled out the money and the boy went to the counter, coming back waving a bottle of pop. 

He sat down and unscrewed the cap.  Fizzzzzzzzzzzzz - about half of the contents spread themselves liberally over table, chairs, father and son!  Father, embarrasssed, speedily obtained a cloth and mopped up what he could.  Amidst comments like 'can I have another one?'  'I'm all wet!' etc., he led the way to a dry table near the exit and, as soon as he'd finished his coffee, they departed.  Soon, however, the boy was back again, to visit the gents in a futile attempt to dry himself.  Unsuccessful in this, instead of returning to the car, he came and sat in the corner of the room, sulking, and after some while his father had to come and round him up.  Finally the performance was ended, and by the time I'd finished my own meal, they'd disappeared from the car park.

Today I have been taking time out.  Instead of anything more personally productive, I've been exercising my family history skills digging out the story of the folks my family and I used to stay with on our annual seaside holidays to Great Yarmouth in my childhood.  Within only a few hours, I was able to note their several generations back to the time of Waterloo!  All this as sunshine gave way to rain outside, but now it's bright and sunny again, a perfect early summer evening with no sign of the wind that rattled the door earlier.  Now I have to decide what, if anything, to do with four pages of useless jottings!