A 'Matchsticks' Week

There's a story - probably apocryphal, but you never know - about an American tourist who looked out of the coach window, and down at his itinerary, and then said to his companion, "It's Thursday; this must be Belgium."  It's that same fogginess through which I'm peering today, as I see filled shopping bags on my kitchen worktop and think to myself, "It's Sainsbury's; this must be Saturday!"

The week began with a kind of forced holiday.  Last Saturday as I drove to church for the regular monthly coffee morning, I noticed that my battery warning light was flashing.  I spun around the penultimate roundabout and went instead to the garage, confident that there would be someone there who could tell me how serious this was.  It was serious.  The battery wasn't charging, and the only power I had until they could replace the alternator was the fast-diminishing charge that it presently held.  I decided that I'd leave the van at the garage on my way back from church, rather than use it over the weekend and risk being stranded somewhere.  At least the garage is only ten minutes' walk from home.  Consequently I walked to church on Sunday, had a lay-in on Monday, and only ventured forth when the garage called me mid-afternoon to say all had been fixed.

No sooner had I got home and phoned the office to say that I was no longer the proverbial 'cowboy without a horse', than the week took off.  Within an hour I'd been given a job to an industrial estate on the outskirts of Peterborough, and on the way received instructions for a 7.0 collection the following morning for Norwich.  The pattern for the rest of the week was set when, on the way back from Norwich I was given a job for Reading, and before I'd picked this up a further call suggested that once I'd done so, I might like to collect three boxes from a firm of advertising agents in nearby Hitchin for Newport.  As darkness fell on Tuesday, therefore, I was delivering custom-made festive garlands to a cafe franchise in a supermarket 170 or so miles from home.

I stopped for a rest and a meal at Membury services, but not before I was asked if I'd be able to make a 7.30 collection in Letchworth on Wednesday morning.  This went to Haverhill - a regular run - and the day looked like being a tame follow-up to the previous day's exertions.  From Haverhill I returned via the office for the weekly paperwork exchange, and then home for about an hour, which neatly coincided with my landlord's agent's quarterly visit.  I hadn't met this particular member of staff, who usually admits herself with the office key.  On this occasion, with her key poised over the keyhole, she was somewhat startled by my arrival. Introductions were made and, after a brief but pleasant exchange, I bade her farewell and sat down to open the Christmas cards that we had collected from the doormat on entry.

Three local jobs then quickly came my way, the third of which was a return run from Haverhill to the place where the day had begun in Letchworth.  I had barely returned from that when dreams of an evening to catch up on admin were shattered.  Would I please visit a local company in Letchworth and collect an urgent job to go to Redditch.  When I arrived there, and found that SatNav took me to the far end of an industrial estate, trying to direct me to drive through the fence at the end, memory kicked in, and I remembered a rainy lunchtime (which later research told me was exactly a year ago) when I'd made that same discovery.  I knew where to find the correct destination, and just made it as the last member of staff was about to leave.  A meal in the truck-stop at Rugby, and the need to negotiate a local road closure for night-time maintenance, brought the day to a conclusion at about 10.0 again.

Thursday began in a more normal manner, and after a late breakfast and a little admin I rang the office as 'available' at about 9.30.  Within a few minutes I was asked to go and meet another driver across the town, who would give me a job to go to a warehouse near Ely for a well-known London store.  I had been home less than an hour when I was called to collect from a factory in Flitwick, to go to Stoke Mandeville.  I'd taken a few minutes to save what I was doing on the computer, and shut this down, so when the phone went again to ask how far I'd got, I had to admit that I'd only just finished entering the address on my sheet, and was about to start the engine.  That was perfect, as it happened, for I was asked to visit a warehouse in Letchworth first, and collect a couple of items for a hospital in Malpas, a repeat of a job I'd done less than three weeks ago.  Unfortunately, the diversion to Stoke Mandeville made it somewhat later when I got to Newport this time, and when I arrived at Magor services their restaurant had closed.

I decided to press on and stopped at the next services, Leigh Delamare, where I arrived about 8.40pm.  Good, there were still people eating in the restaurant, and as I approached the servery I could see there was food in the bins.  I did have to wait a while for a member of staff to appear, however, and when she arrived the lady said, "Sorry, we're closed; we close at 8.30."  She didn't seem aggressive in her manner, though, and I pressed my need, explaining that I'd just had a long and arduous journey to the hospital in Newport, and - I pointed to my jersey, bearing the name 'Letchworth Couriers' - I had over 100 miles further to travel to get home.  She undertook to speak to her supervisor.  I repeated my tale of woe to the supervisor, a younger and more positive woman.  I pointed to the steaming food beside us at the counter.  She explained that they were closed, and she couldn't take any money from me because they had cashed up for the day.  I offered to hand her the appropriate amount of cash to look after so that she could process it the next day.  This counted for naught, and the discussion continued.  Meanwhile the elder lady (how common sense comes with age!), realising no doubt, that the food before us would shortly be chucked into the bin, was filling a plate with sausages and chips.  "Do you want beans?" she interjected, opening the lid to reveal a gooey mess with few actual beans present.  "How about peas?"  I told her peas would be lovely.  She had clearly taken over from her supervisor, who stared, helpless, at what was going on.  I reached for my pocket to pay; they repeated in chorus, "No, we can't take any money." and the elder lady added, pushing the plate to me, "That's all right, love, go on."

After three late nights, two of them following early starts, I was glad of what seemed to be a gentle Friday.  I rang in as available around 10.0, and was fairly swiftly sent to St Albans and Hounslow, the latter resulting from a collection at a farm-workshop in a tiny Hertfordshire village I'd never heard of.  Home once more, I turned to my desk, where my printer had developed a rebellious streak and wasn't doing what it was told.  With this still unresolved, I received a call for a local job to the middle of Hitchin.  Then came the 'killer blow' of the week.  Before I'd returned from this, I was called to collect some metal from Biggleswade that was required urgently in Thame; while still on the way there came another call, suggesting that I take this via Houghton Regis, where I could collect an envelope destined for a village only five miles away from Thame, and as I was on my way between these two collections, a third call announced a job going from Letchworth to Aylesbury.  We agreed that this last one would add so much to the overall journey as to be a non-starter, and it was given to another driver.

The final job of the day, the envelope, was addressed to 'The Grange', which proved to be at the far end of a narrow lane.  The journey to find it was surprisingly easy, until I turned into the lane.  Round the first bend, I found myself face to face with a large saloon which must have emerged from one of the only two houses along the lane.  With nowhere to turn round, of course, my only option was to reverse to the corner.  Sadly my only option was to reverse to the corner, which isn't easy when the headlights of the car in front advance a yard-and-a-bit for every yard you reverse before it.  Some people seem unable to consider the difficulties of driving a vehicle whose only rear vision is in side mirrors, into which one has to look forward!

As Christmas draws near, I can expect another week of this; at least I know that it will begin with no men's breakfast at the church - I shall be on my way to Bristol!