Two Weeks in One, as it Were!

Monday has for long been the skinniest day of the working week.  This week was no exception, and it generated only a single job.  When I picked it up and rang in for instruction, Dave said, simply, “It’s been so quiet – go and knock it out; I’ll keep you on the list and give you something decent for the morning.”  When I was in the office later, he called me over, and asked me to be in Hertford for 7.30 to collect some printed matter for Leeds University.  Despite this, and a couple of local jobs when I’d got back, Monday’s and Tuesday’s activity together represented only a day and a half.  Wednesday and Thursday fell into a slightly better mould and, although not exciting, did at least break even. 

On Thursday afternoon I’d collected some returns from Chertsey Hospital, and once I’d taken these to our customer, I was home by 4.30 and didn’t have long to wait for instructions for the morning.  Two local jobs were allocated, ‘to get me started,’ and I relaxed for an evening doing uninspiring ‘normal, things.  An hour or so later, came a call from one of the other controllers, offering a swap for those two morning duties.  “How do you fancy a 7.30 delivery in Aberdeen instead?”  I’d only recently finished a first draft of my annual newsletter, wherein I had bemoaned the fact that the number of ‘long jobs’ this year had plummeted, so how could I refuse?  Within only a few minutes I was on my way to Welham Green to collect a parcel of pharmaceuticals for delivery to Aberdeen Royal Infirmary or, as I quickly discovered, Foresterhill Medical Campus, as it’s now less romantically known.

The drive through the night followed the expected pattern.  I stopped just past Peterborough for a meal, and then drove steadily onwards, through heavy rain and vehicle spray until well into Yorkshire.  I was well aware that I’d had no sleep since the morning, and was vigilant for the first signs of drowsiness, but concentration to cope with the road conditions helped to stave these off, and I didn’t need to stop until after I’d left the A1 near Morpeth.  Although not terrifically cold, it wasn’t warm enough to stay asleep for long, and just on midnight I crossed the border and passed down the deserted main street of Coldstream, a place I remembered fondly from my Borders holiday of two years ago.

In fine weather, I passed along vaguely-recalled roads up to the Edinburgh City By-pass, and on to the Forth Bridge.  Then, from Dunfermline, SatNav led me along new routes.  I was taken to Glenrothes and through the kingdom of Fife to cross by the Tay Bridge into Dundee.  That last long stretch of the journey along the A90 is punctuated by the names of teams in the Scottish Football league, Forfar, Arbroath, Brechin and Montrose, and it has few filling stations, but many lay-bys, and in one of these I made my final snooze-stop before finally arriving in Aberdeen around 6.30.

With the delivery made, I set out in daylight for home, taking the more familiar route past Stirling services, and thence remarkably quickly to Glasgow and the M74.  More stops were required for fuel, and a couple more essential short sleeps, and the day was gone all too soon.  I finally returned home at around 8.30pm, some 27 hours after setting out, and with 2 miles short of a thousand more on the clock.

The weekend is a story of itself.  I had already booked a ticket for a concert in Ipswich, and decided to do some research at the record office in Bury St Edmunds ‘on the way past’.  I arrived in Bury at around 11.0, to find the place heaving because of a Christmas Market.  I usually use the council staff car park, since it’s turned over to the public on Saturdays and is right opposite the record office.  Along with the rest of the town, it seems, it was full.  However, a thoughtful attendant, sharing my frustration, pointed out a patch of grass at the front of the building behind an advertising board, where I could leave the van in safety.

It was a good day exploring the registers of the parish of Norton, Suffolk, but before long I came to that inevitable point where one hopes that the next page doesn’t contain any entries to record, because it’s just too much bother.  At this point, it’s time to go, and I made my way to a Little Chef for a light meal before the concert.  As I came away, I discovered that, although I’d turned them on, I had no headlights!   Fortunately, I was armed with both my AA membership card and my mobile, so well within an hour help was at hand.  Although the problem was only a blown bulb, its fellow having ceased to work temporarily in sympathy, it was by then too late to make the start of the concert, and I turned for home.  I wasn’t too disappointed for, if truth be told, I was still somewhat groggy from the rigours of a sleepless night on Thursday.

And today was no less exciting, albeit for totally different reasons.  I knew that there was to be a minor ceremony this morning, to commission the team of which I’m privileged to be a member, who either lead prayers publicly in our worship, or are available afterwards for personal prayer with individuals who have particular needs or concerns. 

I add to this, first, two recent discoveries about ladies who figured in my Norfolk past.  Maggie was a Reader in Diss when I left Norfolk and is now a priest; she featured in the local paper a couple of weeks ago, about to take her first wedding service.  Sue, at that time a successful high school teacher, was the leader of the home group I attended in the 70’s and 80’s.  She too became a Reader a few years ago, and this week I learned that she is now Curate in a group of eight parishes, including the four where I had served as a Reader myself.

I sat, as so often is the case, eating  my breakfast in front of the computer screen this morning, when Twitter announced that one of my online friends was so unwell that she couldn’t decide whether to go to church or not.  Since she is a minister’s wife, I realised what a dilemma this was for her, and therefore how rough she must be feeling.  I sent off a sympathetic response and, as I prepared myself to leave, found myself praying for her.

Before long, I sat in church telling a friend about the excitements of the week just past.  Then one of the officials approached me quietly and explained that the lady who was to lead the prayers in the service that was about to begin ... hadn’t turned up!  He wondered whether I would be prepared to step into the breach.  I gulped but, as the thoughts I’ve outlined above chased each other through my mind, I realised that I had only one response.  I’m not sure how many were aware of the short notice I’d had, or whether it was simply my imagination, but it seemed to me that the whole church was far more silent and responsive than usual at that moment.