A Shetland Pony Week

Whence this animal title? I hear you ask.  Consider me for a moment a horse dealer (not for the burger market, of course!)  I come up to a superb specimen of equus caballus shetlandiae, feel the strength of the beast and comment about it being a good sturdy animal, with lots of powerful muscle and energy potential.  That was the sort of analogy that came to mind as I finished this week.  Good in quality and potential, but a bit 'Shetland' in size compared to a thoroughbred.

The week began with a recycling exercise.  As I put out my rubbish last weekend, I discovered in the shed with the bins a neat little four-drawer storage unit, looking for a home.  A day later, after due reflection, I released it from its dark and dingy prison and after cleaning it up and adjusting the way it had been fitted together (which might have been the reason for its rejection), began transferring to it the contents of eleven box-files that have cluttered the top of a bookcase for years, and towered over me as I sat at my desk.  No longer.  They have now been filtered, two basketfuls being taken to the recycling bin outside, and the remainder occupying the storage unit, the top of which forms a useful annex to the desk.

One minor snag occurred early on in this procedure.  After my French holiday some four years ago, I pushed all the leaflets, guides and souvenirs into the box entitled 'overseas', and promptly forgot about them.  What I hadn't realised was that the collection from one particular town had been gathered into a plastic bag carrying an important notice the gist of which, in English, was, 'this bag will self-decompose within a year of purchase'.  It was as good as its word: no sooner had I touched it to see what it contained, than my hands were full of postcards, while the floor was covered with plastic shards that were the very devil to clear up!

One evening, in conclusion to this episode, a lady came round to collect the now empty box files following my posting of them on freecycle.  The working week began fairly tamely, with a run on Monday down to Salisbury, with a stop on the way at a dental studio in Watford.  Then came the week's early start, with a 4.0 alarm in order to make a delivery in Runcorn before 9.0 am on Tuesday.  Strangely, this consignment was two precision-cut pieces of wood, going to a glass company.  Just another of those puzzles that make life interesting.  Fortunately, I know a very good cafe on the way out of Runcorn for breakfast, before making my way home.

Wednesday and Thursday, I decided, were 'H-days.'  In the course of three jobs in the two days I visited five hospitals, two for delivery and three for collection.  And on Wednesday afternoon came one of those 'most unusual jobs' - another 'H'.  I don't expect ever again to be told, 'you're picking up from such-and-such address, some boxes ... and a helicopter'.  The boxes were quite normal - one big metal-cornered container on wheels such as one sees at musical or theatrical events, and half a dozen simple cardboard jobbies.  The helicopter had to be seen to be believed.  It was all arms and propellors, and posed the greatest challenge to fit it into the van without undue risk of something falling onto it, or it falling awkwardly and bending something vital.  After nearly half-an-hour I was satisfied, and set off with it.  Two hours later I was unpacking it - totally intact - for a delighted customer, who then faced a busy evening/night, doing with it whatever he had to, and getting it onto a plane for the next stage of its journey the following morning.

Yesterday's journeys took me to Norwich, where the point of delivery of one job, followed by the banter at the hospital's goods-in department as I collected the next, reminded me of the start of my career, over 40 years ago, at BRS Parcels in Norwich.  I still remember some of the drivers, the areas they covered and their route numbers, and travelling those same roads brought back some fond memories of many faces who must by now have departed this life.  On the way back I had to contend with frozen screen washers and nearly-dry roads, from which there was a constant spray of dust and slush which froze on the screen, and every few miles I had to stop to spray fresh water onto the screen to clean it.  Today, by contrast, with falling snow, the problem was not visibility but the fact that the ice that formed on the wipers limited their cleaning properties, and the frequent stops were for de-icing.  Like many thousands of others, I shall be glad when this cold 'snap' is over.

So ends the second week of this new year, like its predecessor, a good mix of what the courier life consists of, but in the normal mould for January, only a small example of the breed.  More cross-country explorations next week.