Phew!

Love, a child, is ever crying:

Please him and he straight is flying,

Give him, he the more is craving,

Never satisfied with having.

I'm fairly sure that my mum never read these lines by Lady Mary Wroth (c.1586-1652), but my memory tells me that she might have done, for she would often say to me, "Son, you're never satisfied!"  Things haven't changed.  After chuntering for weeks about the paucity of work, and being unaware of any regular lull at this time of year, this has unquestionably been a 'good' week.  But it's been too hot, and quite frankly, after 2,441 miles ... I'm exhausted!

The details are simple. Monday, Basildon; Tuesday, Glasgow; Wednesday, Woodchurch; Thursday, Haverhill, and then Wakefield; Friday, Belfast.  Just seven jobs (there were two to Basildon) and no, I didn't know where Woodchurch is, either, but I do now - it's part of Upton, plonk in the middle of the Wirral, behind Birkenhead.

Amongst it all there have been human stories, too.  First of all, I'd got halfway down the A1(M) on Monday afternoon with a box of shopfittings, when a phone call bade me return because another job had come in for Basildon.  'We're getting it collected for you - you can meet up with the other driver in Stevenage to pick it up.'  This sounded straightforward, but after I'd waited for what seemed an inordinate amount of time, I realised that it would have been quicker to go all the way to Letchworth and collect the goods myself.  I'll know who not to trust another time!  However, the end result was two jobs only a couple of miles apart, so it was a reasonable start to my week.

I had already been given a job for Tuesday, which I collected at Stansted airport on my way home.  This was the transfer of some archives for morning delivery at a place of secure storage on the outskirts of Glasgow.  I decided that there would be adequate time for a 'normal' Monday evening, so I snatched an hour's sleep before going to bellringing practice, and then left from there for my delivery.  I had planned to stop at the truck-stop outside Carlisle for a few hours' more rest and then breakfast, confident that there would still be time to get to my destination by the required 9.0.  However, I didn't bargain for the A66 to be closed for road-works.  Instead of a comfortable sleep followed by a civilised breakfast, I found myself heading cross-country from north Yorkshire to Glasgow, where I arrived embarrassingly early.  I did find a café open on the estate for breakfast though, and when the office staff turned up to receive my delivery, they were very helpful.  By then, of course, the A66 was open again so, after a hot day driving into the sun, I was back in time to hand in my week's paperwork before our office closed.

Wednesday began much as the preceding two weeks, with the computer and family history.  It was after lunch when I was sent to collect some goods for a hospital on the Wirral, but quite enjoyed the drive up there, wondering where it would be possible to get a meal after my delivery.  It was also an eventful journey, first avoiding one road where there had been an accident, and then another where there is always queuing traffic at that time of day, and all the time seeing my arrival time drift from the initial 5.15 to 6.0, then 6.30.  I finally got to the Arrowe Park Hospital about 6.50.  As I left the motorway, I had called the rep who had arranged the delivery to explain my delay, and from him learned that the equipment was wanted for a hip operation the following morning.  I handed the box over to the theatre staff, who knew it was on its way, and returned to my van to find a lovely text message from the rep, telling me I was 'a legend' and thanking me for my efforts.  It's nice to be appreciated, but more so, and rare, for this to be in writing!

I was consequently up later than normal on Thursday, so I wasn't surprised to be given a local 'filler' job just before lunchtime.  This was a fairly regular collection from Haverhill for one of our customers in Letchworth.  Having noted that the temperature was up to 32.5 degrees at one point on my way back, I would have been quite content to sit in my shady lounge for the rest of the day, but this wasn't to be, and at about 4.15, I was asked to collect a heavy metal tank from a fabrication firm opposite the garage in Letchworth where my van is maintained.  This was to go to an address in Wakefield, where there would be a nightshift ready to receive it.  After a meal on the way north, I arrived at a respectable 9.15 to find SatNav directing me to a neat close of comfortable residential properties!  I searched for a while for the correct location - without success - and then rang the night shift manager who, I had been told, would have to come and open the gates for me.  Not for the first time, both I and the receiving personnel had been misled.  He wasn't expecting a delivery, and when I'd followed the muddy track he described, I found the gates wide open and looking as if they'd been so for quite a while!  I was glad, though, that the apparent need to be admitted had provided me with the phone no.  Once I'd found someone with a fork truck, and the tank was safely in their yard, I made my gentle way south again, looking forward to a well-earned sleep.

The body-clock kicked in and woke me at 6.30, but was overruled, twice, and I eventually got up about 8.30.  My prayers were interrupted by a phone call, which I ignored, but before breakfast I responded to a text message asking me to ring the office, 'because I've got something to ask you.'  I'd expected some query about the previous night's delivery, but this wasn't the case.  A job was being picked up at that very moment, which needed to be in Belfast before the day were out.  It was gratifying to be told that I was the first one to be asked ... whether this were true or not. 

As I assessed my present situation, I recalled my prayer-time on Monday morning.  I'd remembered how tired I'd felt after my journey to Ipswich and Norwich last week, and reflected that I was getting out of the routine of longer journeys.  The announcement only a few hours later of the job to Glasgow had been something of an answer; this offer seemed like more of the same.  I said I could be in the office by 10.30 ... was that good enough?  It was and, while I fed and cleansed my body, and sorted out my equipment, ferry bookings were being made, so that when I arrived at the office, I could collect a small box and set off once more past the familiar surroundings of the A1, heading this time for Scotland, and the new Stena terminal at Loch Ryan.  It made a refreshing change to be travelling north through the hotter parts of the day, accompanied by commentary on the second day of the Test Match.

This was the first time I'd departed for Belfast from here, and at first I mistook the entrance to the Cairnryan P&O/Irish Ferries terminal for the one I wanted.  However, just in time I saw the green road-sign directing me to go further on.  Round a couple of bends there was the one I needed - bright and shining, and with its own roundabout, just like a new Tesco store.  After I'd negotiated the usual dilemma of being a freight vehicle but not HGV, I was checked in and didn't have long to wait before being ushered on board.

My destination, the offices of Belfast Evening Telegraph (and other newspapers), was in the city centre, and only about three miles from the port.  As is often the case, I'd passed the building before spotting a likely entrance, but traffic at 10.0 pm was minimal, so I could easily do a U-turn and leave the van in a 'pay-before-6.30' bay outside so as to explore on foot.  Luckily someone was standing outside the loading bay, and while I returned to collect my parcel from the van, he'd alerted the security man, who recognised the name on it, and signed for it immediately.  I was back at the port in time to join the queue to re-embark on the same boat that had brought me, instead of waiting in boredom for the 3.30 am sailing.  By the time this would have left, I was already making my way across Galloway, using the frequent lay-bys to avoid hindering the seemingly desperate progress of one HGV after another as they negotiated the agonising 100 miles from the port to the nearest motorway.

By Saturday's dawn, my Tuesday morning plans were finally fulfilled, as I settled down on the car park at Carlisle for a welcome sleep before breakfast.  Thereafter, I stopped only for fuel at Scotch Corner and was home just about 1.0 pm.  I made straight for my bed, and after a couple of hours was able to start a new 'day' in weekend mode, albeit in mid-afternoon.

Dare I hope to ask, what will the next week hold?