Taking it for Granted

As I approached them this morning, two of my fellow bellringers were in earnest conversation, in which one was relating to the other the major expedition he would mount in a couple of weeks' time to bring his son (plus luggage, equipment etc.) home from university.  I arrived, and he added, by way of introduction, "but of course to Brian, here, this would be a mere doddle!"  Before I had a chance to reply, our friend agreed.  '"Yes, I debated the other week whether to go and see my friends in Weymouth and, as I decided against it, I realised that Brian would be there and back before the day is out."  Like a number of others, they marvel at the distances I rack up in an average week - let alone the annual total.  (For the statistically-minded, last year's total was 72,742 miles, but the average for the eight weeks so far this year is a mere 1,385.)

I reflected on this exchange this afternoon, and realised just how much we all take our own, perhaps peculiar, circumstances for granted ... until something comes along to inject a dose of reality into the situation.  Before I started this job, a little more than eleven years ago, I think the furthest I had driven as a single journey was for a holiday in Exeter, which took almost all day.  Four years later I planned a similar holiday in Durham, but was so daunted by the journey that both there and back I made an overnight stop part of the way.  Now I wouldn't think twice about going to either destination - and much farther - and back in a single (albeit long) day.

It's very much a case of becoming used to it.  I may have mentioned before a conversation with an erstwhile colleague who, at the time, was making the journey to Edinburgh (and sometimes beyond) twice or even three times in a week.  "Don't you find it exhausting?" I asked.  "No," was his reply, "The more you do it, the shorter it seems."  And in the years since, I've found that to be true.

Three things this week have brought realism to my view of things.  On Tuesday, after a leisurely morning at home, I was sent to Nottinghamshire, and found myself on roads that I'd last travelled a couple of summers ago on a bus.  My holiday had been spent enjoyably 'house-sitting and cat-feeding' for my cousin and her husband while they were on their holiday, and one day I'd taken a trip on a normal service bus to visit one of the many medium-sized towns in the area.  I recall wondering where on earth the bus was taking me, as we made our way from one village to another, zig-zagging across the former coalfield, down narrow streets between small shops and coal-blackened cottages.  A few hours later, the return journey seemed to take far less time, because I was retracing my steps.  I won't say the scenery was familiar, but at least it was pre-viewed.

Wednesday was a most productive day.  I set off quite early to collect for Portsmouth, and before leaving 'home territory', I was given another job for Byfleet to deliver on the way.  Returning from these about 3.30, I was asked if I'd like another job that day.  After expressing my interest, I was told to get a 'cuppa' because it wouldn't be ready until 5.0, but was going to Wolverhampton.  I initially thought that this would fit in nicely with a meal at the Rugby truck-stop on the way back.  When I got to our customer, I learned that the goods wouldn't be ready for collection for another half-hour; by the time I'd delivered them in Wolverhampton - although there had been no delays on the way - it was clear that there was no chance of getting to Rugby before the truck-stop would have stopped serving meals, so instead I spent a restful half hour on the car park of a KFC just off junction 10 of the M6, surveying the skyline of Walsall as it fell under the cloak of darkness.

On Friday, in the the cold and rain, I paid the second visit in two weeks to the Royal Sussex Hospital in Brighton.  It's a nice straightforward route, and I like it because - like the run into Manchester from Altringham - there's a long stretch of (enforced!) 30 mph limit, which makes for a nice leisurely approach to the target.  With my collection done, I made my way back towards the A23, stopping carefully at all the pedestrian crossings and red traffic lights.  In such a queue of traffic, the only thing to do is watch the people on the pavement, and this particular trip offered much of interest. 

Just along from the Pavilion, for example, I saw a middle-aged man at the door of an empty shop.  At first I thought he was sheltering from the rain, and simply peering through the door as he waited.  Then I realised that he was apparently scraping or chipping with his fingernails at the top of the door.  As I looked, he stood back away from the door, considered, and then took something from his trouser pocket to re-apply himself to his task.  Was it a key?  Was he in fact a prospective purchaser?  No, this was at the middle of the top of the door; one would expect the lock to be at the edge furthest from the hinge.  Completely oblivious of any other passers-by, but with great determination, he continued his task ... a task that has to remain unexplained, because the traffic moved off.

It must have been at the next set of lights that I spotted the young woman with the dog.  As with many these days, she was looking intently at her outstretched hand as she walked along.  There seemed little doubt that she was texting someone, as her thumb moved rapidly across the phone she held in her hand.  I'm always amazed how people can do this while walking: I can manage it with one hand ... just; but not while contending with the motion of travel.  Let's not forget either that this woman's other hand was holding on to the dog's lead, which introduces another dimension of movement to the situation.  And to crown the whole achievement - as if the rain weren't sufficient - the dog was successfully pulling her along at what must have been almost twenty miles an hour!  If you know such a woman - in Brighton or elsewhere - please give her my warmest congratulations!

We live in a strange world, one which we should never take for granted, and I'm sure I'll be seeing more of it next week.