There comes a time in the courier life when, it seems, the Great Courier Above hears the fed-up wails of the mere 'available 24/7' erk that there have been too many early mornings. GCA certainly heard mine this week.
It all began when I missed the second men's breakfast in three weeks, through the need to be in Royston for a 6.0am pick-up on Monday. In the damp darkness of early morning, I tried Despatch, only to find it deserted and to be re-directed to Goods-in where, after a long cold wait, I was loaded with two heavy boxes, hastily sealed because they weren't ready before. Off then to Coventry with these, and although I enjoyed a bacon-and-egg roll on the way off the industrial estate afterwards, my jumper didn't. There are occasions when one ought to remember to specify 'make the egg hard, please - I want to eat it, not wear it!' ... sadly this wasn't one of the successful ones. Once I'd returned, the best the rest of the day could offer was a delivery in Ely, described as 'local' because the day had been so slow. This worked in my favour, though, because on the way back I was diverted to a customer's premises to load for a 10.0 am delivery the next day in Torquay.
To bed early again, therefore, in order to be about in the wee small hours. No cold wait on Tuesday, though. I could set off to Torquay with no delay. After a stop in Bristol for breakfast, I arrived at the department store promptly on the dot of 10.0, in bright sunshine. There was then a short delay while the goods I'd brought were the subject of some deliberation. The unit had been loaded with no packing or protection, and either by the motion of a sliding part during the journey, or as a result of being lifted out of the van, it had incurred slight damage. Eventually, however, all was resolved and I set off on my homeward journey. The back of the store where I had delivered is on a one-way street, and to get back onto the main road I found myself having to climb a nominal 20% incline with a tight corner at the top. I sometimes dream about such experiences, but this has to be one of the first times I've encountered such a steep hill. A quick look on Google Maps tells me that it must have been Braddons Hill West, but it doesn't look so steep on the screen!
The advantage - if so it be - of starting so early in the morning is that later in the day, before tiredness kicks in once more, there is time to do other things. Having escaped the challenge issued by a phone call on the way home from Torquay, asking if I would like to go over to Kent to make a collection, I was back to the office by 4.0pm I realised that this was too early to be allocated a job for the next day, and took advantage of a comfortable sofa in the crew room for a refreshing nap. An hour or so later, I learned that there would not be an advance assignment for Wednesday, and went home. I had determined at the beginning of the year that I ought to do something soon about the various small pensions that my past career has accumulated, in readiness for possible retirement, but had done nothing about it as yet. A recent radio broadcast prompted activity on this matter, and having secured a likely source of help here, I spent my 'time for other things' on Tuesday evening entertaining an Independent Financial Adviser.
I thus awoke on Wednesday morning with my head full of finances, figures, and all the reading, research and decisions that I shall have to deal with over the holiday. There was no time even to think of such things then for, before breakfast, came a call. "Are you ready for work?" 'No chance,' I thought, 'it's only 7.30!' "How soon," went on the controller, "can you pick up at [a nearby customer] for Sheffield?" Wanting to seem helpful, I offered, "I can pick it up now, and then come back for breakfast ..." As I had predicted, this was perfectly acceptable and, with breakfast completed, I rang the office to learn that there was nothing else going that way, and left for South Yorkshire.
This was the start of a 'changeover day'. These are either very busy or the reverse, and effect the change from early mornings to late nights. This is effected by either a slack day that leads into an afternoon job that takes all evening, or an early start that leads into an over-full day. In this instance, the latter was the case for, as I returned from Sheffield, I was asked to go straight down to Stevenage and collect something for Basildon. On the way to Basildon came another call, hinting that I would have time on the way back to call into Hertford and collect something for Chippenham. I enquired if this were the Chippenham in Wiltshire. "Yes," came the over-persuasive reply, "we did the same thing last night - it's not far." Strangely, I didn't feel over-tired, and despite disagreeing with the 'not far' argument, I said I would.
When I collected the job, I recalled an occasion that I wrote about here some months ago. The address where I was to deliver said 'Cabinet, Bumpers Lane, Chippenham.' I smiled, and realised gratefully that, as a result of that earlier job, I now knew what was meant by 'Cabinet'. When I arrived I rang the phone number I'd been given as requested on turning into the lane. "Great," came the reply, "I'll switch on my hazards so you can see me." I approached the flashing yellow lights, and pulled up at the side of the road beside the car flashing them. By the time I had gathered my clipboard, the man had got out of his car and was standing by the door. "I hope we've got the right thing this time," he said, "I've been here for three nights to get this thing to work." I took it that he had been home in between these visits. He was pleased with the two items I'd brought him, however, and gave me a cheery wave as I set off on my way home. I found that it was by then so late that the Little Chef just down the road had closed, and I had to content myself with a snack from the nearby Shell station. Once home, I was ready for bed; it was 11.25pm. 'Not far' be blowed!
When I'd got myself more or less onto an even keel on Thursday morning, I rang in about 9.0 to say I was ready for work. The acknowledgement was quickly followed by an instruction. "At 10.0, can you go over to [a Hitchin solicitor] to go to Luton. That's that covered, and you'll be on the list for later." I tidied up my desk and set off. After delivering to Luton's Court House, I returned and called in from home. Not long afterwards I was requested to go to a certain ward at Lister Hospital in Stevenage. We often get sent there to collect specimens for analysis elsewhere. What was unusual was the destination in this case, which was an organisation in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Knowing that this was a 24-hour operation, the controller had no hesitation in getting me to make two deliveries in the Bedford area on my way north, and I arrived there at about 6.30pm. The specimen was delivered according to the instructions on the (closed) door, and I turned for home, 243 miles away. The venue for that night's meal was Washington Services, and with all the accumulated podcasts from the recent Test Match series in India to listen to, the journey home was a doddle. I scarcely noticed the incessant rain outside, as the warm van was filled with sunny thoughts of leather and willow, centuries and leg-breaks.
Yesterday morning found me arriving home with an almost empty fuel tank and calling at the local 24-hour Esso station before settling down for bed about 12.45am. After breakfast the desk claimed my attention and I caught up on two days' admin, post, e-mails and all the rest before declaring myself ready for work at 10.30. I was immediately despatched to Houghton Regis to make a collection for a customer in Hitchin. In keeping with the rest of the week, there was no respite after this, for I was sent once again to 'that' ward at Lister Hospital - this time for a more normal journey to Cambridge - and along with it a pair of drinks deliveries to a pub in St Ives and to a service station along the A1 near Stamford.
Today has seemed a little peculiar. With one more working day to go before the Christmas break, it seems sensible to delay normal weekend chores until that is past, so in a way today has been the first day of the long holiday. One or two unusual things have been attacked instead, and soon I will begin to attack the bizarre situation of a magazine arriving earlier this week before I'd even started reading the previous edition!
Saturday, 22 December 2012
Saturday, 15 December 2012
A Tale of Two Parcels ...
Apologies to the late bi-centenniel Mr Dickens for the heading above, which is a more catchy than accurate title for a week's reminiscenses. At the end of a somewhat piecemeal week, yesterday's events on the domestic front are more prominent in my thoughts than the week as a whole.
After the now-preferred start to the week, Monday's men's breakfast at St Paul's Church, I returned home to wait for the day's activity to unfold. Whilst doing so, I began to draw to a close (i.e. print out) my most recent family history exercise, that of presenting my researches in a more visual form using a program called GenoPro. I've now got almost 2,800 individuals linked together on 118 separate pages. This program has been on my computer for a number of years now, but I've only recently got to grips with it. The more I use it, the less relevant it seems to my needs. It provides a good way of preparing a family tree, but a large proportion of its capabilities and also of its capacity to record personal data seem geared to a wide modern-day community rather than to a family history stretching back several centuries. <climbs off soapbox>
On the work front, I made enquiries about getting my van serviced and, in view of the mileage, the dreaded expense of having the timing belt replaced. Just after lunch, I was asked to collect from a local customer, and called at the garage en route. After a quick visual examination of the engine, the proprietor announced that this particular van has a chain rather than a belt, and therefore the much-feared expense of replacing it will not apply.
Cheered by that news, the paucity of my day's work, to Chesham and to Colnbrook seemed less daunting. This was just as well, because by the time I'd returned and collected my invoice from the office I'd broken out with a cold that seemed to have been 'brewing' over the weekend. Predictably, it got worse rather than better, and by Tuesday morning, the only sensible option was to dose myself with cold relief capsules and stay put in the warm.
Wednesday brought a welcome duo to greet my return to activity, taking me to Redditch and Chester, and a nourishing, if filling, meal at Nightowl on the way home again. Thursday found me sent (as has so often been the case of late, it seems) to King's Lynn, and while something else afterwards would have been economically welcome, the coldness of the air once I'd returned made it less attractive, and I was content to have been asked to make an 8.0 collection the next morning.
And so to a Friday that was filled up, it seems, by three unconnected jobs that afforded little rest between them. I began with a delivery made in pouring rain in the middle of Canterbury, to a restaurant in a pedestrian street that seemed to be filled with them. The rain eased as I came nearer home, but there was still a definite unpleasant drizzle as I loaded my next assignment - to deliver a fuel card and a sequence of afternoon deliveries to a wholesale chemist's delivery driver, who had been in danger of becoming stranded with an empty fuel tank in north Essex. As I told my controller, yet another case of "give Brian the novelty item"! (That's one reason I like the work.)
I came home to find both doormat and inbox filled with post, and had just made a welcome cup of tea to accompany my dealing with this, when a final call came asking me to take a computer part to a supermarket in Ipswich. This enabled me to move seamlessly from business to domestic, as I followed the delivery with a meal in their cafe before doing some shopping instead of fighting with a crowded car park at home this morning.
But what, - I hear my reader's gasp of frustration - of the two 'Dickensian' parcels? These were simply(!) a couple of items I had ordered recently online. Receiving goods by mail order is difficult. I have found it convenient to arrange for goods to be delivered where possible by Royal Mail, because if there is no one at home they leave a card and I can collect from the sorting office the following morning. A satisfactory alternative is for goods to be left by the door, inside the inner lobby shared by my myself and my next-door-neighbour, with whom I have a happy reciprocal parcel-receiving understanding. This does require an intelligent delivery agent, however; the other week I arrived home to find a parcel standing in the hallway, by the foot of the staircase and in full view of the front door!
After the now-preferred start to the week, Monday's men's breakfast at St Paul's Church, I returned home to wait for the day's activity to unfold. Whilst doing so, I began to draw to a close (i.e. print out) my most recent family history exercise, that of presenting my researches in a more visual form using a program called GenoPro. I've now got almost 2,800 individuals linked together on 118 separate pages. This program has been on my computer for a number of years now, but I've only recently got to grips with it. The more I use it, the less relevant it seems to my needs. It provides a good way of preparing a family tree, but a large proportion of its capabilities and also of its capacity to record personal data seem geared to a wide modern-day community rather than to a family history stretching back several centuries. <climbs off soapbox>
On the work front, I made enquiries about getting my van serviced and, in view of the mileage, the dreaded expense of having the timing belt replaced. Just after lunch, I was asked to collect from a local customer, and called at the garage en route. After a quick visual examination of the engine, the proprietor announced that this particular van has a chain rather than a belt, and therefore the much-feared expense of replacing it will not apply.
Cheered by that news, the paucity of my day's work, to Chesham and to Colnbrook seemed less daunting. This was just as well, because by the time I'd returned and collected my invoice from the office I'd broken out with a cold that seemed to have been 'brewing' over the weekend. Predictably, it got worse rather than better, and by Tuesday morning, the only sensible option was to dose myself with cold relief capsules and stay put in the warm.
Wednesday brought a welcome duo to greet my return to activity, taking me to Redditch and Chester, and a nourishing, if filling, meal at Nightowl on the way home again. Thursday found me sent (as has so often been the case of late, it seems) to King's Lynn, and while something else afterwards would have been economically welcome, the coldness of the air once I'd returned made it less attractive, and I was content to have been asked to make an 8.0 collection the next morning.
And so to a Friday that was filled up, it seems, by three unconnected jobs that afforded little rest between them. I began with a delivery made in pouring rain in the middle of Canterbury, to a restaurant in a pedestrian street that seemed to be filled with them. The rain eased as I came nearer home, but there was still a definite unpleasant drizzle as I loaded my next assignment - to deliver a fuel card and a sequence of afternoon deliveries to a wholesale chemist's delivery driver, who had been in danger of becoming stranded with an empty fuel tank in north Essex. As I told my controller, yet another case of "give Brian the novelty item"! (That's one reason I like the work.)
I came home to find both doormat and inbox filled with post, and had just made a welcome cup of tea to accompany my dealing with this, when a final call came asking me to take a computer part to a supermarket in Ipswich. This enabled me to move seamlessly from business to domestic, as I followed the delivery with a meal in their cafe before doing some shopping instead of fighting with a crowded car park at home this morning.
But what, - I hear my reader's gasp of frustration - of the two 'Dickensian' parcels? These were simply(!) a couple of items I had ordered recently online. Receiving goods by mail order is difficult. I have found it convenient to arrange for goods to be delivered where possible by Royal Mail, because if there is no one at home they leave a card and I can collect from the sorting office the following morning. A satisfactory alternative is for goods to be left by the door, inside the inner lobby shared by my myself and my next-door-neighbour, with whom I have a happy reciprocal parcel-receiving understanding. This does require an intelligent delivery agent, however; the other week I arrived home to find a parcel standing in the hallway, by the foot of the staircase and in full view of the front door!
Because their systems require a signature, drivers for many of the larger delivery chains will not leave goods unattended, or simply posted through the letterbox. Instead, they hunt around for someone else to sign for the goods, and then pop a note through the letterbox, saying where they have left the goods. If they find no one, they take the goods back to their depot for another try next day, again leaving a card to say what they've done. I have learned from bitter experience that they don't allow personal collections from their premises; nor do they entertain the substitution of an alternative delivery address, such as a workplace.
In the course of my own work I deliver all kinds of consignments to both business and domestic premises; the conditions under which I operate include that same general requirement for a signature on delivery. However - if it's a stated necessity of a job, or a relaxation of the normal rules that is requested by the sender - we will happily leave goods unattended or posted through a letterbox. On the other hand, we do not leave them - even if signed for - with anyone else, unless we get the express permission of the sender upon finding that the designated consignee is unavailable or unobtainable.
The other week, following up something I'd heard on the radio, I ordered a book from an online source. When it hadn't arrived ten days after it was allegedly despatched, I e-mailed the provider, only to be told to wait a further week, and then contact them again. The further week expired on Thursday and, as I thawed out from a chilling day, I repeated my e-mail, expecting that they would take matters up with their carrier. Yesterday afternoon I found it on my doormat, the carton open, and the book damaged. Without further ado, I sent a new e-mail to the provider, asking for that of the previous day to be ignored, and attaching a picture of the damage. Since this was only superficial and didn't detract from my being able to read and enjoy the contents, and it was only a secondhand paperback in the first place, I was content. I thought only that they might wish to report this to the carrier.
Later in the evening, when I returned to my desk, I discovered a prompt reply to my first e-mail, undertaking a full refund, since they weren't in a position to send a replacement for one that they thought - quite reasonably - had been lost. I have today had a reply to the second e-mail, saying that, now I've received the book after all, they'll make another charge to recover the refund - watch out for news of the credit card company becoming confused!
In my idleness on Thursday, I also ordered some ink for my computer printer from a previously reliable source offering free next-day delivery. I expected this to be lodged on one side or other of my front door when I came home yesterday. Instead, I found a little slip saying it had been left at the flat upstairs. A little annoyed, I marched upstairs ... and found that the occupier of the said flat had gone out! This morning, at what I thought to be a reasonable hour, I recovered my parcel of ink from the gentleman upstairs, disturbing his dogs in the process by my knock on the door, and through the obvious delay of getting him out of bed to answer the door, causing him a second inconvenience (the first being when UPS disturbed him yesterday to leave the parcel with him.) As I have since told the supplier, in an e-mailed report of the whole saga, it seems a totally disproportionate amount of fuss and cuffuffle for something that could have been popped through the letterbox in the first place!
Oh, for a restful Christmas! .......?!?
Sunday, 9 December 2012
Apology
It occurs to me that an opinion expressed in my previous posting could have caused offence, and I'm minded to get the apology in before people express their discomfort. I expressed my attitude to those protesting in Northern Ireland unsympatheticlly - even aggressively - in the words, 'After 90 years, welcome to the real UK!'
As I indicated recently, the purpose of this blog is to provide an insight into the life of a courier driver. That life includes periods of what would otherwise be extreme boredom, and these are relieved almost constantly by recorded or live radio broadcasts, including news bulletins. I consider that my reaction to these is also valid content for the blog.
In my blog I admitted the complexity of Northern Ireland's history. Although the area was not so designated at the time, I recognise that this complexity dates back to, and perhaps beyond, the early seventeenth century. It didn't begin in the early twentieth with the desperate attempts of a majority of its citizens to defy plans for Irish home rule, and remain within the United Kingdom. My words repeated above apparently denied the fact that they were already part of the UK when these events took place. For this apparent dismissal of their history I apologise.
I have to admit my own nationalist sympathies, which are not based on any personal history, but largely on my shame for the way the English (later British) are reported to have treated the native Irish down the centuries. Part of that ill-treatment consisted of a social invasion of their territory, ousting them from their ancient homes and with the invaders taking these lands for their own 'plantations.'
I acknowledge that the present descendants of those 'invaders' cannot bear any blame for the actions of their forbears; I suppose in my imagination I feel sympathy with those who still resent this forced sharing of space in times past. However, this attitude has no more justification than that of those who are protesting today at the removal of a particular privilege that has meant so much to them down the years, even though it brings them into line with the rest of the country.
It has been suggested that the present Unionist feelings are rooted in insecurity. I'm afraid I cannot see why they should feel insecure. Are they threatened by the proximity of the now-independent Republic that shares their island? Let me call to mind what was perhaps the darkest time in the history of Belfast, 15th April, 1941, when the city was the victim of heavy bombing by the Luftwaffe. The following passage on this subject is quoted from Wikipedia:
"Within two hours of the request for assistance,71 firemen with 13 fire tenders from Dundalk, Drogheda, Dublin, and Dún Laoghaire were on their way to cross the Irish border to assist their Belfast colleagues. In each station volunteers were asked for, as it was beyond their normal duties. In every instance, all volunteered. Taoiseach Éamon de Valera formally protested to Berlin. He followed up with a speech, made in Castlebar, Co. Mayo, the following Sunday. 'In the past, and probably in the present, too, a number of them did not see eye to eye with us politically, but they are our people – we are one and the same people – and their sorrows in the present instance are also our sorrows; and I want to say to them that any help we can give to them in the present time we will give to them whole-heartedly, believing that were the circumstances reversed they would also give us their help whole-heartedly.' "
I should like to endorse what I heard of Hilary Clinton's comments the other day, that violence has no place in dealing with differences over the present decision about flying a flag. It's my prayer that peaceful progress toward a multi-cultural democratic community in Northern Ireland will soon resume, and my earnest desire that these few paragraphs of extended apology have not made a bad situation worse.
As I indicated recently, the purpose of this blog is to provide an insight into the life of a courier driver. That life includes periods of what would otherwise be extreme boredom, and these are relieved almost constantly by recorded or live radio broadcasts, including news bulletins. I consider that my reaction to these is also valid content for the blog.
In my blog I admitted the complexity of Northern Ireland's history. Although the area was not so designated at the time, I recognise that this complexity dates back to, and perhaps beyond, the early seventeenth century. It didn't begin in the early twentieth with the desperate attempts of a majority of its citizens to defy plans for Irish home rule, and remain within the United Kingdom. My words repeated above apparently denied the fact that they were already part of the UK when these events took place. For this apparent dismissal of their history I apologise.
I have to admit my own nationalist sympathies, which are not based on any personal history, but largely on my shame for the way the English (later British) are reported to have treated the native Irish down the centuries. Part of that ill-treatment consisted of a social invasion of their territory, ousting them from their ancient homes and with the invaders taking these lands for their own 'plantations.'
I acknowledge that the present descendants of those 'invaders' cannot bear any blame for the actions of their forbears; I suppose in my imagination I feel sympathy with those who still resent this forced sharing of space in times past. However, this attitude has no more justification than that of those who are protesting today at the removal of a particular privilege that has meant so much to them down the years, even though it brings them into line with the rest of the country.
It has been suggested that the present Unionist feelings are rooted in insecurity. I'm afraid I cannot see why they should feel insecure. Are they threatened by the proximity of the now-independent Republic that shares their island? Let me call to mind what was perhaps the darkest time in the history of Belfast, 15th April, 1941, when the city was the victim of heavy bombing by the Luftwaffe. The following passage on this subject is quoted from Wikipedia:
"Within two hours of the request for assistance,71 firemen with 13 fire tenders from Dundalk, Drogheda, Dublin, and Dún Laoghaire were on their way to cross the Irish border to assist their Belfast colleagues. In each station volunteers were asked for, as it was beyond their normal duties. In every instance, all volunteered. Taoiseach Éamon de Valera formally protested to Berlin. He followed up with a speech, made in Castlebar, Co. Mayo, the following Sunday. 'In the past, and probably in the present, too, a number of them did not see eye to eye with us politically, but they are our people – we are one and the same people – and their sorrows in the present instance are also our sorrows; and I want to say to them that any help we can give to them in the present time we will give to them whole-heartedly, believing that were the circumstances reversed they would also give us their help whole-heartedly.' "
I should like to endorse what I heard of Hilary Clinton's comments the other day, that violence has no place in dealing with differences over the present decision about flying a flag. It's my prayer that peaceful progress toward a multi-cultural democratic community in Northern Ireland will soon resume, and my earnest desire that these few paragraphs of extended apology have not made a bad situation worse.
Saturday, 8 December 2012
All in the Mix
It's been a busy week. I suppose I must admit that's a lot to be thankful for in this economic climate, but from a personal point of view it can be somewhat draining. In a week of over 2,100 miles, I've been bombarded with news bulletins both early and late, and I'd like first to get off my chest a thought that has re-echoed in my mind in response to one item.
I'd be one of the first to admit that the history of Northern Ireland is far from uncomplicated, and I was thus not surprised to learn of another intricate twist this week. This came from one of the podcasts that I regularly listen to, RTÉ's 'History Programme' and the presenter described it as 'something that I think not many Irish people know.' This week saw the ninetieth anniversary of the short time during which all the 32 counties of Ireland were part of the Irish Free State. On 6th December 1922 the Anglo-Irish Treaty, signed a year before to bring to an end the War of Independence, came into effect through the Irish Free State Constitution Act. The Act created dominion status for the whole island of Ireland, but included provision for the autonomous region of Northern Ireland to opt out of the Free State within a month of its coming into force. This option was exercised the very next day, and a report of the King's acknowledgement appeared in The Times on 9th December.
It was thus with this anniversary in mind that I heard the news of the riots, civil unrest and death threats this week arising from the decision of Belfast City Council to fly the Union Flag from its offices, instead of every day - as has apparently been the case up to now - only on the same 'special days' during the year as the rest of the country. Since this has been the case for as long as I can remember, I failed to see why there should be any objection to it, let alone such a violent one, in Belfast. Cynically perhaps, my reaction to this news was along the lines of, 'After 90 years, welcome to the real UK!'
And now, climbing down from my soapbox, as it were, I'll tell you something of the week that has now struggled to an end. Regular readers will recall that last week's cliffhanger hinted at an early start on Monday for Newcastle. This turned out to be a long, but quite enjoyable day. I had been asked to deliver a box of materials to the Marriott Hotel in readiness for a meeting that would take place there later in the day, and then return these to our customer in Stevenage afterwards. I'm not at all familiar with the city, and in view of the weather I decided that this was not the time to explore. Instead, I went armed with a variety of interests along with my small computer, and spent the day in the Hotel's lounge. I was able to catch up on a number of outstanding items of personal admin, and was also on hand when the meeting concluded - as is often the case - an hour or so before the time I was supposed to return. I therefore had time for a meal on the way and was home at a reasonable time.
Tuesday was delayed first by delivering the Newcastle materials, and then waiting in for a call from BT about my broadband connection, which has never been right since I parted company with Orange in the early autumn. Finally last weekend I got around to calling their technical support people, and now I'm pleased to say the service is nearer what I was expecting. Consequently, workwise, I did only three short jobs before collecting two small items for delivery near Chesterfield the next morning.
This expedition had been well planned and I had gone to bed in readiness for an early start; I ought instead to have been paying attention to the latest weather forecast. As a result, I was stunned to emerge from my door to a heavy downfall of snow. I was even more annoyed to be held up for an hour in my journey towards the motorway, not by an accident, but simply by queues of traffic trying to enter the opposite carriageway. Little was lost by the delay, however, and I then discovered that, once they had been processed, these items would need to be brought back again to our customer, thus doubling my income from the same journey ... just as Monday's assignment had done.
Thursday started with a trip to the south coast, delivering in Portslade and Crawley, and to my surprise the afternoon brought me two jobs as well, first to Thetford, and then to a pharmacy on a housing estate on the outskirts of Lowestoft. I had difficulty finding the depot in Thetford, as a result of copying the address from the faint copy of the paperwork on the box, in the limited light of the back of the van. It turned out that I'd only got half of the name on my sheet - the half that didn't appear on the building! And then, as I neared the second destination, I found myself embroiled in arrangements for yesterday's expedition. One of my colleagues was about to leave London with two passports that had to be delivered in Scotland during Friday. How was he to get them to me, if I was out in the further parts of Suffolk? We hit on an arrangement with my next-door neighbour, who would be home earlier than I would, and before my colleague was due to return. In the event this worked out quite well, allowing me time to collect these from her before settling down for another early night.
Unable to sleep for long, I was up soon after midnight, anxious to be on my way. If I'm going that far, I prefer to leave during the evening, and get to my destination at the beginning of the day, but in this case that wasn't possible. Nevertheless, after only one stop for sleep, I reached a truck-stop near Scotch Corner by breakfast time, and felt pleased with my achievement. Compared to my journey to Aberdeen the other week, it was then pleasant to undertake the long stretch from Newcastle to the Scottish border at Coldstream in daylight. Here I refuelled, and then enjoyed the morning sunshine passing around Edinburgh to my first delivery in Aberdour, on the Forth coast of Fife.
Then came the great bonus, which enabled me to get home last night instead of taking all night with stops, and arriving exhausted during today, as I had anticipated. Simultaneous phone calls, one from the office to me, and the other between the two people whose passports I was carrying, resulted in my being able to leave them both at that address, since the two were planning to travel together this weekend, and would be meeting at Heathrow for the purpose. After a lay-in this morning to recover a little, today has been almost normal, and now I can look forward to a much more energetic finish to the weekend than I'd expected.
What twists and turns will next week bring, as the holiday approaches?
I'd be one of the first to admit that the history of Northern Ireland is far from uncomplicated, and I was thus not surprised to learn of another intricate twist this week. This came from one of the podcasts that I regularly listen to, RTÉ's 'History Programme' and the presenter described it as 'something that I think not many Irish people know.' This week saw the ninetieth anniversary of the short time during which all the 32 counties of Ireland were part of the Irish Free State. On 6th December 1922 the Anglo-Irish Treaty, signed a year before to bring to an end the War of Independence, came into effect through the Irish Free State Constitution Act. The Act created dominion status for the whole island of Ireland, but included provision for the autonomous region of Northern Ireland to opt out of the Free State within a month of its coming into force. This option was exercised the very next day, and a report of the King's acknowledgement appeared in The Times on 9th December.
It was thus with this anniversary in mind that I heard the news of the riots, civil unrest and death threats this week arising from the decision of Belfast City Council to fly the Union Flag from its offices, instead of every day - as has apparently been the case up to now - only on the same 'special days' during the year as the rest of the country. Since this has been the case for as long as I can remember, I failed to see why there should be any objection to it, let alone such a violent one, in Belfast. Cynically perhaps, my reaction to this news was along the lines of, 'After 90 years, welcome to the real UK!'
And now, climbing down from my soapbox, as it were, I'll tell you something of the week that has now struggled to an end. Regular readers will recall that last week's cliffhanger hinted at an early start on Monday for Newcastle. This turned out to be a long, but quite enjoyable day. I had been asked to deliver a box of materials to the Marriott Hotel in readiness for a meeting that would take place there later in the day, and then return these to our customer in Stevenage afterwards. I'm not at all familiar with the city, and in view of the weather I decided that this was not the time to explore. Instead, I went armed with a variety of interests along with my small computer, and spent the day in the Hotel's lounge. I was able to catch up on a number of outstanding items of personal admin, and was also on hand when the meeting concluded - as is often the case - an hour or so before the time I was supposed to return. I therefore had time for a meal on the way and was home at a reasonable time.
Tuesday was delayed first by delivering the Newcastle materials, and then waiting in for a call from BT about my broadband connection, which has never been right since I parted company with Orange in the early autumn. Finally last weekend I got around to calling their technical support people, and now I'm pleased to say the service is nearer what I was expecting. Consequently, workwise, I did only three short jobs before collecting two small items for delivery near Chesterfield the next morning.
This expedition had been well planned and I had gone to bed in readiness for an early start; I ought instead to have been paying attention to the latest weather forecast. As a result, I was stunned to emerge from my door to a heavy downfall of snow. I was even more annoyed to be held up for an hour in my journey towards the motorway, not by an accident, but simply by queues of traffic trying to enter the opposite carriageway. Little was lost by the delay, however, and I then discovered that, once they had been processed, these items would need to be brought back again to our customer, thus doubling my income from the same journey ... just as Monday's assignment had done.
Thursday started with a trip to the south coast, delivering in Portslade and Crawley, and to my surprise the afternoon brought me two jobs as well, first to Thetford, and then to a pharmacy on a housing estate on the outskirts of Lowestoft. I had difficulty finding the depot in Thetford, as a result of copying the address from the faint copy of the paperwork on the box, in the limited light of the back of the van. It turned out that I'd only got half of the name on my sheet - the half that didn't appear on the building! And then, as I neared the second destination, I found myself embroiled in arrangements for yesterday's expedition. One of my colleagues was about to leave London with two passports that had to be delivered in Scotland during Friday. How was he to get them to me, if I was out in the further parts of Suffolk? We hit on an arrangement with my next-door neighbour, who would be home earlier than I would, and before my colleague was due to return. In the event this worked out quite well, allowing me time to collect these from her before settling down for another early night.
 |
| Snow-capped hills in the Borders |
Then came the great bonus, which enabled me to get home last night instead of taking all night with stops, and arriving exhausted during today, as I had anticipated. Simultaneous phone calls, one from the office to me, and the other between the two people whose passports I was carrying, resulted in my being able to leave them both at that address, since the two were planning to travel together this weekend, and would be meeting at Heathrow for the purpose. After a lay-in this morning to recover a little, today has been almost normal, and now I can look forward to a much more energetic finish to the weekend than I'd expected.
What twists and turns will next week bring, as the holiday approaches?
Sunday, 2 December 2012
Solid and all Twisted Together
With only three more weeks to go to Christmas, I feel this blog ought to be saying something profound and forward-looking. But it you want profound and forward-looking, you should be looking at my other blog. Here is where you read of the often-boring, inconvenient, unpredictable life of a same-day courier. So, while 'the best is yet to come,' and 'past performance is no guide to future profits,' I'm going to look back at the week and tell it - as best as I can remember - like it was.
As my protests on Friday revealed, it's been a solid week, with little me-time, although not a lot of really profitable job combinations either. I've started going to an early breakfast at the church on Mondays, which is good for fellowship as each of us is setting out on a new week in our chosen profession. The gathering ranges from salesmen, advertising executives and office managers to clergymen, me-in-a-van and a couple of interested retirees, each anxious to share the problems and anxieties of the workplace, and gain some blessing on all that troubles us. Oops ... that's dangerously profound ... sorry.
But it does fit in with what followed: read on. Monday was a standing start, and began with something of a shock when I rang in to get onto the list for work. Obviously the weekend controller, usually quite a placid character, had had a bad weekend. When I announced my simple need, I was greeted with some exasperation, 'I don't know how I'm supposed to get on with any work with all these drivers ringing in.' Another phone rang in the background. 'And there's another one.' I politely hung up and left him to his dilemmas. Scarcely half an hour had elapsed when the boss rang to send me to Peterborough; I was halfway home from this assignment when I was diverted to collect from Haverhill for a customer in Letchworth, and before I'd delivered that, came another call asking me to collect from another customer, just round the corner, for Redhill. So much for 'flat Monday.'
Back from Redhill around 4.30, I was given a job for Tuesday: a repeat of the 6.0 pick-up of two Tuesdays ago, this time for Cosham and Totton (Portsmouth and Southampton by any other pair of names.) Tuesday in turn was brought to a close with an afternoon delivery to South Woodham Ferrers, near Chelmsford, and would I be back by 5.15 to pick up a tender for delivery the next morning at 9.0 in King's Lynn? I just made it, and looked forward to a third consecutive early bedtime.
The return from King's Lynn was diverted just as had been Monday's from Peterborough - a repeat of that collection from Haverhill. The interruptions multiplied in this case, though. There was a collection to be made from a village not quite on the way - a wheelchair mis-delivered to be returned to Stevenage - and as soon as I'd delivered both of these, there was a parcel to be collected in Stevenage to go to Peterborough. It was fairly predictable, given the recent form, that my return from Peterborough would be interrupted.
In this case it was both diversion and delay. I was to meet another driver in Sandy, and collect from him a box to go to King's Lynn, but there was a road closure in Sandy itself for some works to take place, so the Highways Authority, in its infinite wisdom, had decided that it would be a good idea to close one lane of the A1 at the roundabout leading to the road (which was closed off anyway) where the roadworks were taking place. This added about half an hour to my diversion, as I seethed in an unnecessary queue for a mile down the main road. By the time I'd collected the box and got about six miles back along the road, it became clear that there would be no one still at the factory in King's Lynn to receive it, so I was told to return home, and take it the following morning. I had just joined the queue - again! - when another diversion sent me through Sandy, to collect from a customer there a panel to be delivered to RAF Coningsby in the morning, before heading over to King's Lynn.
If you've been counting the days, you'll have realised that we've reached Thursday, and a fourth early start. The guardroom at Coningsby is being refurbished or something, and the facility has been transferred to a portacabin opposite the car park, and these limited facilities, coupled with my lack of an appropriate phone no. made my delivery there somewhat protracted, but even then I was back home soon after lunch, and able to do two more little jobs during the afternoon.
On Friday I had a 'lay-in' - comparatively so, at least - as I prepared to make a 7.30 collection in Hitchin. This was going to Ringwood, and thus provided something of a repeat of the adventures of Tuesday morning. Two local jobs completed the week, but not before I'd been given the opportunity to make a trip to Norfolk, or alternatively two deliveries in south Hertfordshire. It was already 4.15, and my reaction was to protest that I needed at least one evening that wasn't foreshortened by either being late home or needing an early bedtime in readiness for the morrow. Unwelcome this may have been, but it allowed me to do my shopping and washing before the day was over.
Catch-up continued yesterday morning, after a welcome lay-in (a real one this time!) and after lunch I took a planned ride to Cambridge to see my 'native' football team, Diss Town play a league match against Cambridge Regional College. It was a pleasant change to see Diss win a game: they're not having too good a season so far. And apart from my usual visit to church today, it's included a bit of preparation for a journey tomorrow to Newcastle-upon-Tyne ...
But that I'll carry over until next week.
As my protests on Friday revealed, it's been a solid week, with little me-time, although not a lot of really profitable job combinations either. I've started going to an early breakfast at the church on Mondays, which is good for fellowship as each of us is setting out on a new week in our chosen profession. The gathering ranges from salesmen, advertising executives and office managers to clergymen, me-in-a-van and a couple of interested retirees, each anxious to share the problems and anxieties of the workplace, and gain some blessing on all that troubles us. Oops ... that's dangerously profound ... sorry.
But it does fit in with what followed: read on. Monday was a standing start, and began with something of a shock when I rang in to get onto the list for work. Obviously the weekend controller, usually quite a placid character, had had a bad weekend. When I announced my simple need, I was greeted with some exasperation, 'I don't know how I'm supposed to get on with any work with all these drivers ringing in.' Another phone rang in the background. 'And there's another one.' I politely hung up and left him to his dilemmas. Scarcely half an hour had elapsed when the boss rang to send me to Peterborough; I was halfway home from this assignment when I was diverted to collect from Haverhill for a customer in Letchworth, and before I'd delivered that, came another call asking me to collect from another customer, just round the corner, for Redhill. So much for 'flat Monday.'
Back from Redhill around 4.30, I was given a job for Tuesday: a repeat of the 6.0 pick-up of two Tuesdays ago, this time for Cosham and Totton (Portsmouth and Southampton by any other pair of names.) Tuesday in turn was brought to a close with an afternoon delivery to South Woodham Ferrers, near Chelmsford, and would I be back by 5.15 to pick up a tender for delivery the next morning at 9.0 in King's Lynn? I just made it, and looked forward to a third consecutive early bedtime.
The return from King's Lynn was diverted just as had been Monday's from Peterborough - a repeat of that collection from Haverhill. The interruptions multiplied in this case, though. There was a collection to be made from a village not quite on the way - a wheelchair mis-delivered to be returned to Stevenage - and as soon as I'd delivered both of these, there was a parcel to be collected in Stevenage to go to Peterborough. It was fairly predictable, given the recent form, that my return from Peterborough would be interrupted.
In this case it was both diversion and delay. I was to meet another driver in Sandy, and collect from him a box to go to King's Lynn, but there was a road closure in Sandy itself for some works to take place, so the Highways Authority, in its infinite wisdom, had decided that it would be a good idea to close one lane of the A1 at the roundabout leading to the road (which was closed off anyway) where the roadworks were taking place. This added about half an hour to my diversion, as I seethed in an unnecessary queue for a mile down the main road. By the time I'd collected the box and got about six miles back along the road, it became clear that there would be no one still at the factory in King's Lynn to receive it, so I was told to return home, and take it the following morning. I had just joined the queue - again! - when another diversion sent me through Sandy, to collect from a customer there a panel to be delivered to RAF Coningsby in the morning, before heading over to King's Lynn.
If you've been counting the days, you'll have realised that we've reached Thursday, and a fourth early start. The guardroom at Coningsby is being refurbished or something, and the facility has been transferred to a portacabin opposite the car park, and these limited facilities, coupled with my lack of an appropriate phone no. made my delivery there somewhat protracted, but even then I was back home soon after lunch, and able to do two more little jobs during the afternoon.
On Friday I had a 'lay-in' - comparatively so, at least - as I prepared to make a 7.30 collection in Hitchin. This was going to Ringwood, and thus provided something of a repeat of the adventures of Tuesday morning. Two local jobs completed the week, but not before I'd been given the opportunity to make a trip to Norfolk, or alternatively two deliveries in south Hertfordshire. It was already 4.15, and my reaction was to protest that I needed at least one evening that wasn't foreshortened by either being late home or needing an early bedtime in readiness for the morrow. Unwelcome this may have been, but it allowed me to do my shopping and washing before the day was over.
Catch-up continued yesterday morning, after a welcome lay-in (a real one this time!) and after lunch I took a planned ride to Cambridge to see my 'native' football team, Diss Town play a league match against Cambridge Regional College. It was a pleasant change to see Diss win a game: they're not having too good a season so far. And apart from my usual visit to church today, it's included a bit of preparation for a journey tomorrow to Newcastle-upon-Tyne ...
But that I'll carry over until next week.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)