I don't think it's down to the hot weather (at last!), but I can't help wondering how swiftly one weekend succeeds the previous one, even though there were five days in between: I know there were five - I counted them one by one as they sped past!
Though, now I come to think of it, Monday certainly didn't do any speeding. I had one job, for which I waited almost until lunchtime, and then I had to go down to Hertford to get it! It only went as far as Bracknell, so I was back to the office by 4.0pm. Compensation came on Tuesday, however. As I settled down with a cup of coffee to check off last week's invoice, I was called in to be given instructions. Collect a tender in Hitchin to be in Leicester by 11.0, and then go home. Tomorrow morning, go to a customer in Letchworth at 7.0, and collect another job for Leicester. That sounded fine, but then it got better. I was on my way to the pick-up when I had a call to say that the morning collection was now for a big van. When I got the tender, I discovered that this was not for Leicester but Loughborough. It was another case of 'post-code generalisation', which I explained a few weeks ago here. It has a Leicester post-code, therefore it must be going to Leicester .... or not!
When I rang in, according to standing instructions, to advise of this discrepancy, I was told to get this to its destination as soon as I could, and then go to an address in Warrington, which I ought to reach by the required 11.0. Here I was to meet a certain lady and 'collect' something for a customer in Letchworth. Collection, I discovered, was a polite euphemism for what was actually required. I put two and two together and assumed that this customer was dispensing with the services of their local rep in that area, whom I was to meet at the given address, a safe storage facility. Once inside, I was introduced to the particular cabinet and, while the lady was sitting in the office completing the formalities to discontinue using it, I emptied the contents of the room into the van. I have rarely seen my van more full than on Tuesday afternoon, although I have often been surprised just how much it will hold. Eventually, all was secure and I set off for a smooth and - amazingly - non-stop journey home.
The snag came when I went to collect a job for delivery in Suffolk on Wednesday morning. This consisted of two heavy boxes and a reel of cable which was greater in diameter than the space between the wheel-arches of the van. As I made to get in the side door to help ease this monster into position, I found my way hindered by the fact of the door being locked - even though the back doors were not only unlocked, but wide open! It transpired that, in that smooth journey home from Warrington, one item had slipped from its perch and fallen on the lock button, pushing it firmly inside the door assembly.
That job was the first of six on Wednesday - only the third time this year that this figure has been reached. None of the others was spectacular and, between the first three and the last, I managed to visit the garage with this door-locked problem. It's lovely when you see someone who knows how a thing is put together. It must have been the work of two minutes at most to tweak the knob off with a small screwdriver and then release the connecting rod with a pair of fine, angled pliers. The only lingering weakness is that the knob is re-fitted very loosely, and shouldn't actually be used. Since the only time I ever open the door is with the radio-controlled key from the outside, this causes me no problem whatsoever.
The highlight of Thursday came as SatNav directed me to Basingstoke along a narrow Hampshire lane. At one point it seemed to go through a kind of gorge, with the earthen walls stretching at least 20 feet above me and, as I sped past, I could see projecting from them the roots of the trees above. If only there had been time to stop and somewhere to park the car, it would have made a wonderful picture. And so to Friday, when first the Repeating Genie sent me on a routine job back to Basingstoke, and then back to that narrow main street at Coddenham of which I wrote last week, this time for a medical delivery to a modern health centre which required little imagination to place it in an alpine village, rather than only a few miles from the Suffolk coast.
Today has been pleasantly warm and sunny, apart from the 90 minutes of the football match I attended in the afternoon, when an obstinate black cloud sent the whole ground into an autumnal shiver, while Hitchin Town beat Oxford City 2-1. And now I'm wondering what delights next week will hold for me - whatever they are, I'm sure they will be shared next weekend!
Saturday 28 July 2012
Sunday 22 July 2012
All a Matter of Balance
The hope with which I ended my last narrative - that of a more balanced week - wasn't fulfilled. I suppose you could say that, while the bread showed fewer signs of sawdust, the butter was definitely no more evenly spread. I recall my jubilation the other week at having not one but three days of northern jobs. This week definitely seemed back to the old routine ... until the end. But read on:
Monday found me setting off mid-morning for Farnborough, to a high-security wood-lined estate that I believe was once a military establishment. Scarcely had I returned when I was alerted to the fact that the husband of a key member of the staff of one of our clients had managed to lock himself out of his car on a golf course in Essex. Guess who was his rescuer? Got it in one!
The day finished with the weekly bookkeeping exercise, followed by bellringing practice. There names were being taken of those willing to ring for a few minutes on the day of the Olympic opening ceremony. Mine was conspicuous by its absence - I've already heard enough of this event to last more than a lifetime! At work, meanwhile, drivers were being canvassed for those willing to do night-time deliveries into London during the Games - another list I keenly avoided!
Tuesday's delight was a trek through the lanes of Suffolk to deliver eight boxes of lightweight plastic mouldings. If you have ever encountered the pretty village of Coddenham, you will know of its very narrow main street. Here I snuggled up to a creeper-lined wall, and was both relieved and impressed as a 38-ft articulated lorry carefully passed me by. The driver gave me the thumbs-up as he approached, to thank me for my accommodating manoeuvre, and then smoothly guided his vehicle past mine. Anxiously, I watched first the corner of the trailer and then the wheel-arches pass my protruding mirror and then the body of the van. I'll swear there was less than half-an-inch clearance, and knowing the precision with which these people can drive, it's likely that there was little more between the lorry and the wall on the other side.
Returning from Suffolk soon after lunch, I found I had the afternoon free, and enjoyed the sunshine by using my van as a workshop for a little woodworking exercise. Did I mention the pallet and scrap wood that I cadged the other week? These have now been converted into a rather Heath-Robinson, but I believe effective, bed assembly that can be built in the van for holiday use, and then dismantled for minimun-space storage in my flat. Now all I have to do is decide where to go using it.
The other excitement on Tuesday was the arrival of the postman. At the weekend I had indulged in a little online retail therapy. It's frightening how one purchase can so easily lead to another. There's no difficulty in understanding how those with no willpower can soon rack up an unmanageable debt. In no time at all I had bought a book that I'd heard mentioned recently on a podcast; while I was there I saw another volume that offered a wider view of the same topic, so why not get that one as well? Then, there was a folk singer - I can't remember where in the last week I heard of him. I thought I'd see if any of his music were available online. Click! that's a double CD ordered. I then read in the Family History Society's quarterly magazine that a number of their CDs are being reduced to a knock-down price to clear stocks. By Tuesday evening all but one of these items had arrived - what magnificent service! The other one arrived in my absence yesterday, so now the orders are cleared and there's a hasty resolve for more sales-resistance for the next few weeks.
Wednesday began in the wilds of Essex, where I collected a parcel for a firm in Hitchin, and was very soon out again, to Cambridge and Earith. In the afternoon an equipment delivery to Northampton General Hospital was the spitting image of the one I'd made the other week to Liverpool - only this time delivery was to the stores, and much easier. Thursday was in some ways similar, with a longer job first, this one from Royston to Daventry, followed by three shorter ones. Then came Friday, and (returning to the butter metaphor) the dollop to balance the scrapings.
When I rang in first thing I learned that I'd been left on the list during those local jobs the previous afternoon, and was now in fourth position. Consequently, I was called about 10.30, to collect two jobs, one for a hospital in Chandlers Ford, and the other for an engineering firm in Portsmouth. Private hospitals can be strange. Apart from the post code sending me to Barclays Bank, when I finally arrived - with goods that were allegedly urgent, and addressed to 'main theatres' - I found somewhere to park and made for reception to seek directions. I expected, as on previous occasions, to be directed to the theatre. No. Before I had completed my request, the receptionist spotted the small parcel I was carrying, and uttered the mantra, "All deliveries have to be taken to the stores." I explained that this was wanted urgently at the theatres, and mentioned the contact name I'd been given, which the woman recognised. She picked up the phone. Instead of ringing the theatre as I'd expected, she called the stores. "It is right, isn't it," she asked, "that you have all deliveries, including things for theatre?" Receiving a 'yes' in reply, she hung up and explained how I could get to the stores. After a long walk down the corridor, I met someone at the door, who took my box and signed for it. I thanked her, told her that it was - so I understood - required urgently in theatre. As she turned from me back into the store, I couldn't resist uttering a barbed comment. "I hope the patient will still be alive!" One can go only so far ....
On my way home after a trouble-free 3.0pm delivery in Portsmouth, I stopped at a service point for some coffee, and decided to buy a salad to take home for my tea. I can't but think that this was divine provision for, as I journeyed on, guided by SatNav to avoid the Friday afternoon queues on the motorway, I was phoned to ask whether I would be OK to do a delivery that evening in Manchester. Hearing that I would, the controller then said that another driver would pick up the goods and meet me at the garage I should pass as I left the M25. About an hour later I rendezvoused, collected the boxes and confirmed that they were wanted by an engineer who would be at Manchester Science Park at 10.0pm. I was already equipped with my evening meal, so stopped on the way to eat it; then as my usual Friday evening listening ended, and the final chords of the music faded away, I cruised across the car park to where there were two cars outside the door. I phoned the number I'd been given, and from one of them emerged the engineer to take my delivery.
I had planned to visit my cousin in Eastwood yesterday, and saw no reason to drive home to arrive in the small hours only to get up and drive halfway back again. Instead, with the necessary revision to our arrangements duly made, I took a gentle drive down the A6 to Buxton, found somewhere to park up and doze in the van, and arrived for breakfast instead of in the early afternoon as planned.
And now, with the Test Match in full flow, and the dreaded Olympics just around the corner, it seems that summer has finally arrived. What will it bring, and how long will it last? Answers next week, maybe!
Monday found me setting off mid-morning for Farnborough, to a high-security wood-lined estate that I believe was once a military establishment. Scarcely had I returned when I was alerted to the fact that the husband of a key member of the staff of one of our clients had managed to lock himself out of his car on a golf course in Essex. Guess who was his rescuer? Got it in one!
The day finished with the weekly bookkeeping exercise, followed by bellringing practice. There names were being taken of those willing to ring for a few minutes on the day of the Olympic opening ceremony. Mine was conspicuous by its absence - I've already heard enough of this event to last more than a lifetime! At work, meanwhile, drivers were being canvassed for those willing to do night-time deliveries into London during the Games - another list I keenly avoided!
Tuesday's delight was a trek through the lanes of Suffolk to deliver eight boxes of lightweight plastic mouldings. If you have ever encountered the pretty village of Coddenham, you will know of its very narrow main street. Here I snuggled up to a creeper-lined wall, and was both relieved and impressed as a 38-ft articulated lorry carefully passed me by. The driver gave me the thumbs-up as he approached, to thank me for my accommodating manoeuvre, and then smoothly guided his vehicle past mine. Anxiously, I watched first the corner of the trailer and then the wheel-arches pass my protruding mirror and then the body of the van. I'll swear there was less than half-an-inch clearance, and knowing the precision with which these people can drive, it's likely that there was little more between the lorry and the wall on the other side.
Returning from Suffolk soon after lunch, I found I had the afternoon free, and enjoyed the sunshine by using my van as a workshop for a little woodworking exercise. Did I mention the pallet and scrap wood that I cadged the other week? These have now been converted into a rather Heath-Robinson, but I believe effective, bed assembly that can be built in the van for holiday use, and then dismantled for minimun-space storage in my flat. Now all I have to do is decide where to go using it.
The other excitement on Tuesday was the arrival of the postman. At the weekend I had indulged in a little online retail therapy. It's frightening how one purchase can so easily lead to another. There's no difficulty in understanding how those with no willpower can soon rack up an unmanageable debt. In no time at all I had bought a book that I'd heard mentioned recently on a podcast; while I was there I saw another volume that offered a wider view of the same topic, so why not get that one as well? Then, there was a folk singer - I can't remember where in the last week I heard of him. I thought I'd see if any of his music were available online. Click! that's a double CD ordered. I then read in the Family History Society's quarterly magazine that a number of their CDs are being reduced to a knock-down price to clear stocks. By Tuesday evening all but one of these items had arrived - what magnificent service! The other one arrived in my absence yesterday, so now the orders are cleared and there's a hasty resolve for more sales-resistance for the next few weeks.
Wednesday began in the wilds of Essex, where I collected a parcel for a firm in Hitchin, and was very soon out again, to Cambridge and Earith. In the afternoon an equipment delivery to Northampton General Hospital was the spitting image of the one I'd made the other week to Liverpool - only this time delivery was to the stores, and much easier. Thursday was in some ways similar, with a longer job first, this one from Royston to Daventry, followed by three shorter ones. Then came Friday, and (returning to the butter metaphor) the dollop to balance the scrapings.
When I rang in first thing I learned that I'd been left on the list during those local jobs the previous afternoon, and was now in fourth position. Consequently, I was called about 10.30, to collect two jobs, one for a hospital in Chandlers Ford, and the other for an engineering firm in Portsmouth. Private hospitals can be strange. Apart from the post code sending me to Barclays Bank, when I finally arrived - with goods that were allegedly urgent, and addressed to 'main theatres' - I found somewhere to park and made for reception to seek directions. I expected, as on previous occasions, to be directed to the theatre. No. Before I had completed my request, the receptionist spotted the small parcel I was carrying, and uttered the mantra, "All deliveries have to be taken to the stores." I explained that this was wanted urgently at the theatres, and mentioned the contact name I'd been given, which the woman recognised. She picked up the phone. Instead of ringing the theatre as I'd expected, she called the stores. "It is right, isn't it," she asked, "that you have all deliveries, including things for theatre?" Receiving a 'yes' in reply, she hung up and explained how I could get to the stores. After a long walk down the corridor, I met someone at the door, who took my box and signed for it. I thanked her, told her that it was - so I understood - required urgently in theatre. As she turned from me back into the store, I couldn't resist uttering a barbed comment. "I hope the patient will still be alive!" One can go only so far ....
On my way home after a trouble-free 3.0pm delivery in Portsmouth, I stopped at a service point for some coffee, and decided to buy a salad to take home for my tea. I can't but think that this was divine provision for, as I journeyed on, guided by SatNav to avoid the Friday afternoon queues on the motorway, I was phoned to ask whether I would be OK to do a delivery that evening in Manchester. Hearing that I would, the controller then said that another driver would pick up the goods and meet me at the garage I should pass as I left the M25. About an hour later I rendezvoused, collected the boxes and confirmed that they were wanted by an engineer who would be at Manchester Science Park at 10.0pm. I was already equipped with my evening meal, so stopped on the way to eat it; then as my usual Friday evening listening ended, and the final chords of the music faded away, I cruised across the car park to where there were two cars outside the door. I phoned the number I'd been given, and from one of them emerged the engineer to take my delivery.
I had planned to visit my cousin in Eastwood yesterday, and saw no reason to drive home to arrive in the small hours only to get up and drive halfway back again. Instead, with the necessary revision to our arrangements duly made, I took a gentle drive down the A6 to Buxton, found somewhere to park up and doze in the van, and arrived for breakfast instead of in the early afternoon as planned.
And now, with the Test Match in full flow, and the dreaded Olympics just around the corner, it seems that summer has finally arrived. What will it bring, and how long will it last? Answers next week, maybe!
Saturday 14 July 2012
A Different Kind of Rip-off
The front end of this week got ripped off, but - thankfully - looking from here you can hardly notice it. Monday was lost because of the visit to the garage. I outlined the detail of that in my last post. The problem of that valve was simply that it was stuck - whether shut or open I know not, neither do I care. Suffice to say that the fact that it no longer worked irritated the heck out of the onboard computer, and also caused the whole engine to suffer from indigestion. I suppose we would feel the same if there were no smooth outlet for our exhaust gases! Given its inaccessibility, and the uncertainty of simply cleaning it, the best answer was replacement. When I returned to the garage to see if the job had been done, I observed two people working under the elevated vehicle; I eventually got away with it a little after 6.0, by which time the supervisor had observed that, since one operative was tall and the other short, they had not only been swearing about the awkwardness of replacing the valve, but also about each other!
During its 'holiday' at the garage, the van had been diagnosed as also needing two new tyres. So, next morning I made sure I was at the tyre specialists soon after they opened. The prescribed exchange was not only immediately endorsed, but soon extended, because the uneven wear pattern of the remaining tyres indicated that they would soon need replacement too, so I was offered a favourable deal to change all four at once. By the time I was several hundred pounds poorer, and actually ready for work, more than a quarter of the week was gone, and I did only two local jobs during the rest of Tuesday.
On Wednesday, I was phoned at breakfast time to be asked to collect two trays of bread from a depot in Stevenage. These had been either missed off, or produced too late for, their daily shipment for laboratory testing, and had to be taken straight off to Maidenhead. Halfway back from this, I was diverted to Luton to collect some documents for Southampton Docks, a job that was later complemented by a pallet for an export agent in Feltham.
The O2 breakdown on Wednesday evening worked in my favour. It meant that, because another driver was out of contact, I was offered an early start the next morning. The job entailed the collection in Rainham, Essex, at 7.0 am, of a marquee component found to be missing from an installation at Cheshire Agricultural Showground. By the time I'd returned, I thought the day would be over, but there was a medicine delivery to a village pharmacy at the far end of Hertfordshire, and I was also assigned a delivery the following morning to Leicestershire County Council.
SatNav can be annoying at times. In order to stand a chance of passing a burger van for breakfast, I opted to return from Leicester by a 'non-Motorway' route. Fooled by a message that 'traffic has changed, a faster route is available,' I told it 'yes' but soon realised that I was being re-routed towards the motorway, and had to find my own diversion to the road I wanted to use. I was just thinking that I would have done better without any electronic assistance at all, when I found myself confronted by a magnificent viaduct the very existence of which had thus far eluded me. It was definitely a sight that justified the extra miles.
After my return home, I had time to switch the computer on but very little else, before another call set me off on a sequence of jobs that took until bedtime. The last of these was to a converted barn in a Kent village; it was appropriately named 'Farmyard'. SatNav redeemed itself by taking me right to the gateway, and I approached the entrance to summon the householder by two not-quite-deafening 'tings' of a real bell suspended outside the door. Her brusque opening of the portal was accompanied by an almost dimissive, "Oh, courier ..." The declamation was almost devoid of emphasis, and served only to acknowledge my expected arrival with the envelope that I now handed to her.
Knowing how distracting I find it trying to hold a conversation while signing my name (I've no idea why this should be), I waited until she had almost finished before complimenting her on the bell, and saying that, as a bellringer - I indicated the vertical motion - it gave me much pleasure to ding it. The change in her attitude was like that of a theatre curtain being raised. She smiled broadly, and in response to her comment, "Oh, you're a bellringer?" I spoke briefly of the foundry I had once visited in Brittany where such bells as hers were made, before taking my leave and being wished a good weekend.
The disadvantage of an evening trip to Kent is the lack of somewhere suitable to stop for an evening meal, especially considering that most of the route is motorway. Although it was late, I decided to get a kebab from the shop in Letchworth home, and sat in my own armchair to munch it before going to bed. This meant that I was up late this morning, but the day has unfolded very much the same as any other Saturday, but this afternoon somehow included the discovery of Lynn Bowles' programme of music and chat on BBC Radio Wales, which I was able to hear live via the internet.
I'm looking forward to a more balanced time next week, but ....
During its 'holiday' at the garage, the van had been diagnosed as also needing two new tyres. So, next morning I made sure I was at the tyre specialists soon after they opened. The prescribed exchange was not only immediately endorsed, but soon extended, because the uneven wear pattern of the remaining tyres indicated that they would soon need replacement too, so I was offered a favourable deal to change all four at once. By the time I was several hundred pounds poorer, and actually ready for work, more than a quarter of the week was gone, and I did only two local jobs during the rest of Tuesday.
On Wednesday, I was phoned at breakfast time to be asked to collect two trays of bread from a depot in Stevenage. These had been either missed off, or produced too late for, their daily shipment for laboratory testing, and had to be taken straight off to Maidenhead. Halfway back from this, I was diverted to Luton to collect some documents for Southampton Docks, a job that was later complemented by a pallet for an export agent in Feltham.
The O2 breakdown on Wednesday evening worked in my favour. It meant that, because another driver was out of contact, I was offered an early start the next morning. The job entailed the collection in Rainham, Essex, at 7.0 am, of a marquee component found to be missing from an installation at Cheshire Agricultural Showground. By the time I'd returned, I thought the day would be over, but there was a medicine delivery to a village pharmacy at the far end of Hertfordshire, and I was also assigned a delivery the following morning to Leicestershire County Council.
SatNav can be annoying at times. In order to stand a chance of passing a burger van for breakfast, I opted to return from Leicester by a 'non-Motorway' route. Fooled by a message that 'traffic has changed, a faster route is available,' I told it 'yes' but soon realised that I was being re-routed towards the motorway, and had to find my own diversion to the road I wanted to use. I was just thinking that I would have done better without any electronic assistance at all, when I found myself confronted by a magnificent viaduct the very existence of which had thus far eluded me. It was definitely a sight that justified the extra miles.
After my return home, I had time to switch the computer on but very little else, before another call set me off on a sequence of jobs that took until bedtime. The last of these was to a converted barn in a Kent village; it was appropriately named 'Farmyard'. SatNav redeemed itself by taking me right to the gateway, and I approached the entrance to summon the householder by two not-quite-deafening 'tings' of a real bell suspended outside the door. Her brusque opening of the portal was accompanied by an almost dimissive, "Oh, courier ..." The declamation was almost devoid of emphasis, and served only to acknowledge my expected arrival with the envelope that I now handed to her.
Knowing how distracting I find it trying to hold a conversation while signing my name (I've no idea why this should be), I waited until she had almost finished before complimenting her on the bell, and saying that, as a bellringer - I indicated the vertical motion - it gave me much pleasure to ding it. The change in her attitude was like that of a theatre curtain being raised. She smiled broadly, and in response to her comment, "Oh, you're a bellringer?" I spoke briefly of the foundry I had once visited in Brittany where such bells as hers were made, before taking my leave and being wished a good weekend.
The disadvantage of an evening trip to Kent is the lack of somewhere suitable to stop for an evening meal, especially considering that most of the route is motorway. Although it was late, I decided to get a kebab from the shop in Letchworth home, and sat in my own armchair to munch it before going to bed. This meant that I was up late this morning, but the day has unfolded very much the same as any other Saturday, but this afternoon somehow included the discovery of Lynn Bowles' programme of music and chat on BBC Radio Wales, which I was able to hear live via the internet.
I'm looking forward to a more balanced time next week, but ....
Monday 9 July 2012
Light Relief
After yesterday's (very wet) excitement of the passing of the Olympic Torch through our soggy Garden City, today brought the relief of a day off work having my van serviced. Not that a service should take all day, but there's also the annoying matter of the illumination of the engine management light, which I understand (I don't really understand it, of course) is caused by a malfunctioning exhaust gas recycling valve. Once they can find this recalcitrant component, buried as it is deep within the engine, they will hopefully cure this problem too. So, workwise, I have written today off.
I walked into town after leaving the van at the garage, and after discharging the errands I intended, couldn't resist the temptation of David's 50p sale. By then, laden with shopping and books, and the coat I hadn't required because there was no rain this morning after all, I rather needed a rest. I turned a corner to go home by a slightly different route than the one I'd come and, as if by magic, I discovered that my way lay through a brand-new 'Sensory Garden'. I was more than glad to sit awhile and drink in the scenery (once I'd avoided the ubiquitous dog-mess - why are people so inconsiderate?)
This part of the town has long been ear-marked for redevelopment, and the work seems to be carried out piecemeal as the premises become vacant. At the time there is clutter and disfigurement, and the sadness of perfectly good shops standing empty and then being removed, but I have to say that the end result gave me a whiff of hope this morning. I'm even prepared, in the interest of present and future generations, to forgive the removal rather than restoration of some of the oldest parts of the Garden City.
Yes, there are still scruffy backways beyond the fence, but at least there's a bright picture on one of the bare walls, and the spacious lawn and skillfully chosen plants, the seats and the surrounding walkways provide a welcome 'lung' in the centre of the town. And opposite is a safe, modern and well-equipped play area for young children, well within the custodial eye of a parent taking welcome relief in the garden.
I wondered who would be cutting the lawn. Will it be a noisy modern machine leaving the clippings strewn about, to be blown everywhere by a passing breeze? Or might an active pensioner be engaged to pay an occasional visit with a mower, carefully clearing up behind him as he might in his own garden?
And as I now reflect upon this relaxing experience, my mind drifts back to the late 1960s, when I worked in the centre of Norwich. On sunny summer days I would take my lunch to the James Stuart Garden, tucked way at the junction of Recorder Road and St Faith's Lane. Of a totally different nature, this was part of an estate that included commemorative almshouses. The houses were built in 1915, and the ornamental gateway to the garden added in 1922; the garden was open to the public. Perhaps because of being enclosed, this too I found to be a refreshing green space in the midst of the city centre.
Now, after this reverie, what was I going to do this morning?
I walked into town after leaving the van at the garage, and after discharging the errands I intended, couldn't resist the temptation of David's 50p sale. By then, laden with shopping and books, and the coat I hadn't required because there was no rain this morning after all, I rather needed a rest. I turned a corner to go home by a slightly different route than the one I'd come and, as if by magic, I discovered that my way lay through a brand-new 'Sensory Garden'. I was more than glad to sit awhile and drink in the scenery (once I'd avoided the ubiquitous dog-mess - why are people so inconsiderate?)This part of the town has long been ear-marked for redevelopment, and the work seems to be carried out piecemeal as the premises become vacant. At the time there is clutter and disfigurement, and the sadness of perfectly good shops standing empty and then being removed, but I have to say that the end result gave me a whiff of hope this morning. I'm even prepared, in the interest of present and future generations, to forgive the removal rather than restoration of some of the oldest parts of the Garden City.
Yes, there are still scruffy backways beyond the fence, but at least there's a bright picture on one of the bare walls, and the spacious lawn and skillfully chosen plants, the seats and the surrounding walkways provide a welcome 'lung' in the centre of the town. And opposite is a safe, modern and well-equipped play area for young children, well within the custodial eye of a parent taking welcome relief in the garden.I wondered who would be cutting the lawn. Will it be a noisy modern machine leaving the clippings strewn about, to be blown everywhere by a passing breeze? Or might an active pensioner be engaged to pay an occasional visit with a mower, carefully clearing up behind him as he might in his own garden?
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| www.georgeplunkett.co.uk |
Now, after this reverie, what was I going to do this morning?
Saturday 7 July 2012
Back to the North!
Thinking back to last weekend's reflections, I confess that it does seem I was having a bit of a whinge. From where I'm looking now, I'm thinking Someone Important overheard me, and has told me not to make so much fuss. I won't bore you with the statistical adjustments, but this week included Liverpool on both Monday and Friday, and Sunderland on Tuesday.
When I rang in for work on Monday, I discovered that I'd been left on the list on Friday evening. Thus it couldn't have been later than 9.30 when I was sent round the corner to pick up four fairly large items for the University Hospital in Aintree. One of the advantages of driving a white van is that, if it can be seen that you're there with good purpose, you can get away with parking almost anywhere (provided it's not a double red line, or a disabled bay!) I've found that, if there's clearly no other option, and you confine yourself to the side furthest from the door, you can use the 'ambulances only' bay outside a hospital entrance.
At Aintree, I found this was essential, because the theatre is on the first floor, near the internal enclosure. I took two of the four items in, and spoke to the ladies at Theatre Reception. Once they'd confirmed that this was the right destination, I left the boxes there and went back for the other two. When I returned, the first pair were just being toted off by one of the nursing staff so, quite naturally, I followed. Intent on not losing her as she turned this way and that through the theatre complex, I overlooked a notice on the floor. Suddenly aware of me behind her, she turned, and said with some alarm, "You shouldn't be in here! It's a clean area!" With some degree of embarrassment, I apologised, left the goods where they were, and rapidly turned tail. Back at the reception office, my apology was accepted, my sheet signed and I left in good grace.
I like to think that my attitude to hospitals is generally sympathetic, and after this dent to my self-esteem, bellringing practice in the evening provided a welcome relaxation.
I've spoken previously about high security vans with slam locks, and the ease with which the user can render himself helpless outside the van, with his key locked inside. Tuesday's challenge identified another customer who uses such vehicles, and I found myself collecting a replacement key for one of them. I called into the office on my way past to deal with some admin., and since nothing else was going north, I left for Sunderland loaded with just this key.
Wednesday began with a local job to Harlow, and then I was sent on to Hertford for a repeat of the job I'd done a few weeks ago, and mentioned last week, to Hereford. Last time I'd had difficulty finding the house; this time I went straight to the place: a second time job is so much easier! After two late nights, I wasn't ready for work until well into the morning. Consequently, I wasn't expecting the day to be busy and it was after lunch before I'd risen through the list. However, the job that was assigned to me was little more than local (just inside the M25), so I was left on the list, and afterwards called at a firm in Stevenage who wanted some conference equipment taken to Swindon the next morning.
Yesterday was a long day. I'd been asked to make sure I was at the office in Swindon by 9.0 am, so I decided to avoid the M25, and left home early enough to go cross-country. This worked out perfectly but, as I handed over the goods, my contact told me he hadn't expected me to arrive until mid-morning. It always feels good to be 'early', and yesterday it worked well in my favour. As I drove through the town to return via the motorway, I passed the Tesco store, where I remembered there used to be a café, and I was pleased to discover that this one hadn't been replaced by a Costa coffee-bar. After a leisurely breakfast, I set off for home, thinking it had been a good week, and if I did nothing more, I should be content.
I'd nearly reached St Albans on my way home when the phone rang. I answered the ubiquitous 'whereabouts are you?' and was duly turned around to visit a freight firm in Luton who act as a distribution centre for a shipping company. I was surprised not to be given a vanful of boxes, but simply an envelope, to be taken to a logistics office at the Port of Liverpool. I'm wondering whether that repeating genie is a Scouser! Once the delivery had been made, around 5.0, the pressure was off, and I could relax. It had been raining most of the day, but by then it was dry; the sun had begun to shine and it was a pleasant evening. After resting for a while at Knutsford services, having a snack, reading, and people-watching, I set off for home, and was in by about 11.0.
With so many jobs being done 'solo', profitability will be low, but the distance and enjoyment of the journeys balance this out, if not in financial terms, at least so far as the satisfaction of the week is concerned. Now I have the delight of an 'Olympic Torch picnic' to look forward to tomorrow, as the passage of the torch relay through the First Garden City has prompted an extended celebration. As in all good events of this nature, the arrangements include that comforting expression, 'In Church Hall if wet!'
When I rang in for work on Monday, I discovered that I'd been left on the list on Friday evening. Thus it couldn't have been later than 9.30 when I was sent round the corner to pick up four fairly large items for the University Hospital in Aintree. One of the advantages of driving a white van is that, if it can be seen that you're there with good purpose, you can get away with parking almost anywhere (provided it's not a double red line, or a disabled bay!) I've found that, if there's clearly no other option, and you confine yourself to the side furthest from the door, you can use the 'ambulances only' bay outside a hospital entrance.
At Aintree, I found this was essential, because the theatre is on the first floor, near the internal enclosure. I took two of the four items in, and spoke to the ladies at Theatre Reception. Once they'd confirmed that this was the right destination, I left the boxes there and went back for the other two. When I returned, the first pair were just being toted off by one of the nursing staff so, quite naturally, I followed. Intent on not losing her as she turned this way and that through the theatre complex, I overlooked a notice on the floor. Suddenly aware of me behind her, she turned, and said with some alarm, "You shouldn't be in here! It's a clean area!" With some degree of embarrassment, I apologised, left the goods where they were, and rapidly turned tail. Back at the reception office, my apology was accepted, my sheet signed and I left in good grace.
I like to think that my attitude to hospitals is generally sympathetic, and after this dent to my self-esteem, bellringing practice in the evening provided a welcome relaxation.
I've spoken previously about high security vans with slam locks, and the ease with which the user can render himself helpless outside the van, with his key locked inside. Tuesday's challenge identified another customer who uses such vehicles, and I found myself collecting a replacement key for one of them. I called into the office on my way past to deal with some admin., and since nothing else was going north, I left for Sunderland loaded with just this key.
Wednesday began with a local job to Harlow, and then I was sent on to Hertford for a repeat of the job I'd done a few weeks ago, and mentioned last week, to Hereford. Last time I'd had difficulty finding the house; this time I went straight to the place: a second time job is so much easier! After two late nights, I wasn't ready for work until well into the morning. Consequently, I wasn't expecting the day to be busy and it was after lunch before I'd risen through the list. However, the job that was assigned to me was little more than local (just inside the M25), so I was left on the list, and afterwards called at a firm in Stevenage who wanted some conference equipment taken to Swindon the next morning.
Yesterday was a long day. I'd been asked to make sure I was at the office in Swindon by 9.0 am, so I decided to avoid the M25, and left home early enough to go cross-country. This worked out perfectly but, as I handed over the goods, my contact told me he hadn't expected me to arrive until mid-morning. It always feels good to be 'early', and yesterday it worked well in my favour. As I drove through the town to return via the motorway, I passed the Tesco store, where I remembered there used to be a café, and I was pleased to discover that this one hadn't been replaced by a Costa coffee-bar. After a leisurely breakfast, I set off for home, thinking it had been a good week, and if I did nothing more, I should be content.
I'd nearly reached St Albans on my way home when the phone rang. I answered the ubiquitous 'whereabouts are you?' and was duly turned around to visit a freight firm in Luton who act as a distribution centre for a shipping company. I was surprised not to be given a vanful of boxes, but simply an envelope, to be taken to a logistics office at the Port of Liverpool. I'm wondering whether that repeating genie is a Scouser! Once the delivery had been made, around 5.0, the pressure was off, and I could relax. It had been raining most of the day, but by then it was dry; the sun had begun to shine and it was a pleasant evening. After resting for a while at Knutsford services, having a snack, reading, and people-watching, I set off for home, and was in by about 11.0.
With so many jobs being done 'solo', profitability will be low, but the distance and enjoyment of the journeys balance this out, if not in financial terms, at least so far as the satisfaction of the week is concerned. Now I have the delight of an 'Olympic Torch picnic' to look forward to tomorrow, as the passage of the torch relay through the First Garden City has prompted an extended celebration. As in all good events of this nature, the arrangements include that comforting expression, 'In Church Hall if wet!'
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