After working in the same job for nearly twelve years, you get to 'know the ropes'. I have said before, two or three words can be sufficient to tell me where to collect, what I shall be collecting, where it will be going, and provide a fair indication of who I shall meet at the delivery point. We certainly know something of the business of our regular customers. Monday's collection was a case in point. Although I hadn't done any work for them for some while, I had a fair idea, from the fact that the collection was from a hotel, that it would be promotional material of some kind. Often we are called upon to attend before and after an exhibition, conference or sales gathering, delivering and collecting banners, literature for hand-outs, and so on.
In this case the name of our customer added a different twist for, while it may not be their sole activity, this particular firm uses us to service whisky tasting events. So my collection was the remaining spirits, and all the paraphernalia used on such an occasion. When I delivered it, I commented that some of the boxes were empty, and was told that this is their normal practice, so that they can be re-filled for the next occasion. It seemed a praiseworthy nod to the business of recycling. So it was that the 'repeating genie', of which I have spoken much over the years, sent me back to this customer on Thursday, to collect some of those same boxes, now checked, replenished, re-labelled and secured, and deliver them to a certain café in Cheshire, the proprietor of which would be hosting a tasting event that evening.
The 'repeating genie', so-called, has also been active this week in other directions. On Monday, after my post-whisky-tasting collection, I was assigned a local job, collecting instructions and paperwork from our customer in Letchworth, collecting the goods on his behalf from his supplier in Luton, and delivering these four miles away in nearby Dunstable. On Wednesday, one of a number of local jobs - fillers while waiting for something more significant - was a repeat of the very same sequence.
Back to the subject of booze. One of our customers is a beer, wine and spirits wholesaler, and on a Friday afternoon it's quite often the case that we get sent to a distant pub with urgent liquid provisions in advance of a special event, or simply to fill in because their own drivers have left off or have no hours left in the week. I was surprised, therefore, to be sent there on Tuesday in order to take some wine and a cask of ale to a hotel in Norwich. But the week's drink theme doesn't end there.
I've spoken about getting to know our customers' businesses. One advertising firm seems to specialise in the beauty trade, but I was taken aback on Friday to be sent to a distribution centre to make a collection on their behalf and to be presented with . . . four cases of whisky! No questions asked, of course. As long as they get what they ask for, delivered safely and promptly, our service is completed, and our interest at an end (except for side-views such as this blog, that is!)
And finally, a word about genies of a different kind. A few weeks ago, I wrote about a cousin in the US, from whom I had received lots of information to add to my own family tree. We are fourth cousins, which means that she is descended from a sibling of my great-great-grandmother. The operation of amalgamating her data with my own therefore fell into two distinct parts. First came the exploration of my great-great-great-aunt's family, leading down to my cousin. This week I'm feeling not a little satisfied to have finished this first, and possibly greater, part of the task. Now I move on to phase two, looking back to the earlier generations, ancestors which we both share. Needless to say, there is less information about people born in the 18th and early 19th centuries, so the immediate challenge will be smaller, although there is that ever-open door leading deeper into history!
Saturday 25 January 2014
Friday 17 January 2014
The Early Shift
I think I've written here before about the way our work pattern can be classified into three 'shifts'. That doesn't mean, of course, that we are divided into three entirely separate teams who rotate their hours like shifts in a factory. The business just wouldn't operate if we were, because our work doesn't naturally fall into eight-hour units to permit such a system. Nevertheless, there are three distinct patterns, and which one we fall into on any given day is mainly dependent upon the flow of jobs through the office.
For three days this week, I have most distinctly been on 'early shift'. That means that I have been allocated a job before the office closed on the previous day, and so will be on the road by the time it opens at 8.0 in the morning. As a point of information, the second shift comprises drivers who have returned from a job during the afternoon and were therefore available for work when the office closed, but were not given work. It is then their responsibility to make themselves available by 8.0 the following morning, ready to be allocated work as soon as the phones get busy. It has been known for anyone known to the night controller as one who doesn't sleep well, or who, for any other reason is likely to be up and about early, to 'jump the queue', if he gets an early call for an urgent job. And the third shift is the term I give to drivers who are out on a job when the day closes, so they simply go to the office or phone in when they consider themselves ready for work, depending what time they might have returned home.
So, to my week. On Monday, I began with a job that wasn't included in the magnificent list presented last week, which I thought offered something of every sort. I'd forgotten a delivery to a building site, but this oversight was soon to be corrected. In Wallsend they are building a sparkling new library, and I had to take some samples for the furniture supervisor. I had visions of some difficulty carrying them - one of them was quite heavy - up to the first floor, but as luck would have it, I missed my turning into the road, and so had to drive right round the block. As I drove up to the site, one of the foremen was crossing the road, and I seized the opportunity to ask him about parking, access and so on. Once he knew what I was delivering, he told me there wouldn't be anyone there yet, but that he would willingly receive it on their behalf. I did wonder why I had been asked to be there at 8.0, but that is often down to the imagination of whoever booked the job.
Tuesday found me on second shift. By the time I'd got home on Monday afternoon, I didn't feel like doing anything else, and so after an hour or so sorting myself out at home, I drove to the office to conclude the day with the weekly paperwork exchange. Tuesday morning I did a couple of local jobs, before being sent to a factory in Wednesbury. Although I only drove through a few streets on this, my first visit there, I found it quite a nice place, with many neatly tidied-up Victorian street scenes. Despite the van windows being closed, in many places was the all-pervading smell of the ironworks. I readily admit that many would find this unpleasant but to me, not having to live with it, it's a nostalgic fragrance, reminding me of the happy time when I worked in the office of a factory that had its own small foundry. I returned about 5.30, and secured a 'second shift' place for Wednesday, too.
On Wednesday I was initially sent off on a fairly regular job for a firm in Royston, whose goods are processed at a place in Letchworth and then taken on to Daventry for further work. The usual sequence therefore is to take some pieces on one leg, make a delivery and a collection, and then do the same for the second leg, eventually returning to start with a third batch. If that's not confusing enough, this week things were further muddled, and I finished up spending virtually all day on it, along with another small job to Corby which sort of fitted alongside it. When I got home and rang in, I was surprised by the question, would I be available during the evening to collect something for the next morning. I said I could be, and was promptly allocated one of two jobs for morning delivery on Thursday, that would be ready for collection in Letchworth in a few hours' time. Mine was for Darlington, and I was also given instructions for a collection in Sheffield on my way back.
Thursday was therefore something of a re-run of Monday, but with the bonus of a second job, and the added benefit that, recognising that we were late in getting the goods, delivery was not expected until 10.0 instead of the expected 8.0 am. I was home mid afternoon, phoned in as available, and was quite pleased not to be sent out any more, except to collect an early job for this morning. Since this was for 7.0 am in Derby, the domestic routine paralleled Monday and Thursday, but of course I was home sooner, and fitted in three local jobs afterwards.
To round the week's story off, I now have instructions for a 10.0 am collection in Reading on Monday, so I can look forward to a complete, and so far as I know uncluttered, weekend, apart from a fund-raising lunch at church on Sunday to help our curate who's off on a missionary trip to Africa shortly.
For three days this week, I have most distinctly been on 'early shift'. That means that I have been allocated a job before the office closed on the previous day, and so will be on the road by the time it opens at 8.0 in the morning. As a point of information, the second shift comprises drivers who have returned from a job during the afternoon and were therefore available for work when the office closed, but were not given work. It is then their responsibility to make themselves available by 8.0 the following morning, ready to be allocated work as soon as the phones get busy. It has been known for anyone known to the night controller as one who doesn't sleep well, or who, for any other reason is likely to be up and about early, to 'jump the queue', if he gets an early call for an urgent job. And the third shift is the term I give to drivers who are out on a job when the day closes, so they simply go to the office or phone in when they consider themselves ready for work, depending what time they might have returned home.
So, to my week. On Monday, I began with a job that wasn't included in the magnificent list presented last week, which I thought offered something of every sort. I'd forgotten a delivery to a building site, but this oversight was soon to be corrected. In Wallsend they are building a sparkling new library, and I had to take some samples for the furniture supervisor. I had visions of some difficulty carrying them - one of them was quite heavy - up to the first floor, but as luck would have it, I missed my turning into the road, and so had to drive right round the block. As I drove up to the site, one of the foremen was crossing the road, and I seized the opportunity to ask him about parking, access and so on. Once he knew what I was delivering, he told me there wouldn't be anyone there yet, but that he would willingly receive it on their behalf. I did wonder why I had been asked to be there at 8.0, but that is often down to the imagination of whoever booked the job.
Tuesday found me on second shift. By the time I'd got home on Monday afternoon, I didn't feel like doing anything else, and so after an hour or so sorting myself out at home, I drove to the office to conclude the day with the weekly paperwork exchange. Tuesday morning I did a couple of local jobs, before being sent to a factory in Wednesbury. Although I only drove through a few streets on this, my first visit there, I found it quite a nice place, with many neatly tidied-up Victorian street scenes. Despite the van windows being closed, in many places was the all-pervading smell of the ironworks. I readily admit that many would find this unpleasant but to me, not having to live with it, it's a nostalgic fragrance, reminding me of the happy time when I worked in the office of a factory that had its own small foundry. I returned about 5.30, and secured a 'second shift' place for Wednesday, too.
On Wednesday I was initially sent off on a fairly regular job for a firm in Royston, whose goods are processed at a place in Letchworth and then taken on to Daventry for further work. The usual sequence therefore is to take some pieces on one leg, make a delivery and a collection, and then do the same for the second leg, eventually returning to start with a third batch. If that's not confusing enough, this week things were further muddled, and I finished up spending virtually all day on it, along with another small job to Corby which sort of fitted alongside it. When I got home and rang in, I was surprised by the question, would I be available during the evening to collect something for the next morning. I said I could be, and was promptly allocated one of two jobs for morning delivery on Thursday, that would be ready for collection in Letchworth in a few hours' time. Mine was for Darlington, and I was also given instructions for a collection in Sheffield on my way back.
Thursday was therefore something of a re-run of Monday, but with the bonus of a second job, and the added benefit that, recognising that we were late in getting the goods, delivery was not expected until 10.0 instead of the expected 8.0 am. I was home mid afternoon, phoned in as available, and was quite pleased not to be sent out any more, except to collect an early job for this morning. Since this was for 7.0 am in Derby, the domestic routine paralleled Monday and Thursday, but of course I was home sooner, and fitted in three local jobs afterwards.
To round the week's story off, I now have instructions for a 10.0 am collection in Reading on Monday, so I can look forward to a complete, and so far as I know uncluttered, weekend, apart from a fund-raising lunch at church on Sunday to help our curate who's off on a missionary trip to Africa shortly.
Saturday 11 January 2014
A Bit of Everything
Beyond all expectations for the start of the New Year, this week has been a good one. Apart from the tough adjustment from almost two weeks of holiday to full-on work again, a total of fifteen jobs have provided me with a complete smorgasbord of the very variety which makes this life so appealing to me.
The week began with a delivery to a shopping mall - these are often difficult because the units' back doors are rarely adequately identified. I then went on to deliver at a unit on a former airfield in North Yorkshire, complemented by the collection of marketing materials at the end of a conference at a hotel in Nottingham;
Tuesday began with a visit to a factory in Corby where I have made many deliveries in recent weeks. On arrival, it had all the appearance of being closed; the shutters were down over all of the windows, and also over the goods-in door. It transpired, after many phone calls, that the boss was still on holiday, and I was able to gain access through another entrance. Following that, I was sent further afield for a collection in Cannock - it's always a delight to be asked to "ring the office once you've delivered."
Wednesday was a 'postcode' day. The first task was to collect goods for which I subsequently realised that I hadn't been given a postcode. Fortunately it was to a hospital - they're quite difficult to miss! On the way I had one of those 'done-it-before' jobs, where you know from the pick-up point and the town it's going to just which factory it will be and who you'll meet there. When I was nearly home from these two there came another familiarity. The controller called to ask where I was; once told, he said "I need you to spin round . . ." in order to pick up a job back in the direction I'd come from. This job happened to be one where the postcode you're given leads not to the destination but to a Royal Mail Sorting Office. This one had an added twist, however, because when I phoned the consignee to ask where I should find him, I was told "I knew the postcode wouldn't get you here - I'm in the car park next door." It turned out that this was the rear entrance to a large office building, the correct postcode of which would have been of even less use!
An early collection on Thursday earned me a roadside breakfast - always an attraction. The job that followed it presented a situation where we are always advised to exercise caution. A notice outside the factory announced that the goods entrance was closed, and that deliveries were to be made to reception, which turned out to be a couple of blocks up the road. As I went to the door, I was approached by a man from the side, who asked what I'd got. A quick assessment told me that, in a closed compound, it was quite likely that he had emerged from a side door of the same building, rather than being a complete stranger, so I agreed to his suggestion that he would take and sign for my parcel - but you never know when it's your turn to be fooled!
That job should have been one of a pair, but the other one was cancelled within minutes of my being given it. Again, I was asked on the way to ring in when I was empty, and I was sent to a hotel near Heathrow, to collect from a couple of chaps in a van on a derelict site opposite, where a factory had been demolished. The day finished with a pre-load, where we collect goods late in the afternoon, ready for delivery early the next morning. This was another 'done-it-before' job, this time to Haverhill. It was followed by a 'first'. I have often heard of that famous and much-praised immigrant, the Polish plumber. Now, at a block of flats in Barnet, I made a delivery to one. On then, via this year's first experience of the M25, to Wokingham, where I encountered another familiar, but often annoying situation. I found myself at the front door of a modern building, and went in with my small parcel. Just as I was about to open the inner door I saw a notice on it, "All deliveries to the back door". In this case it involved simply a few extra steps around the outside of the building, but in central London, for example, the rear entrance could well be in another street, and while making this discovery, one could easily pick up a parking ticket from a vigilant Traffic Warden!
Friday afternoon brought another important consideration. As I collected an item at about 4.0 pm, I asked, "will there be someone there?" This is always a good idea when collecting something late in the day. During the week, an abortive attempt to make a delivery to premises that are closed for the day can mean either another journey there the next day or, if distant, the choice of finding a room for the night, or a cold night in the van, either of which is a disruption to one's personal life. On a Friday evening, however, the disruption is to the weekend: a far more serious intrusion! In this instance the factory - on the outskirts of Derby - would, I was assured, be working until 8.0 pm. My collection was accompanied by the suggestion that, if I had room, which I did, I might like to pick up from a nearby customer an 'over the weekend' pre-load, for 8.0 delivery on Monday.
This is normally acceptable, unless I've planned to shift furniture for a friend at the weekend - a rarity indeed, but an obvious conflict if so! In this case, it will be a good (if slightly on the early side) start to the next week, being to Wallsend!
The week began with a delivery to a shopping mall - these are often difficult because the units' back doors are rarely adequately identified. I then went on to deliver at a unit on a former airfield in North Yorkshire, complemented by the collection of marketing materials at the end of a conference at a hotel in Nottingham;
Tuesday began with a visit to a factory in Corby where I have made many deliveries in recent weeks. On arrival, it had all the appearance of being closed; the shutters were down over all of the windows, and also over the goods-in door. It transpired, after many phone calls, that the boss was still on holiday, and I was able to gain access through another entrance. Following that, I was sent further afield for a collection in Cannock - it's always a delight to be asked to "ring the office once you've delivered."
Wednesday was a 'postcode' day. The first task was to collect goods for which I subsequently realised that I hadn't been given a postcode. Fortunately it was to a hospital - they're quite difficult to miss! On the way I had one of those 'done-it-before' jobs, where you know from the pick-up point and the town it's going to just which factory it will be and who you'll meet there. When I was nearly home from these two there came another familiarity. The controller called to ask where I was; once told, he said "I need you to spin round . . ." in order to pick up a job back in the direction I'd come from. This job happened to be one where the postcode you're given leads not to the destination but to a Royal Mail Sorting Office. This one had an added twist, however, because when I phoned the consignee to ask where I should find him, I was told "I knew the postcode wouldn't get you here - I'm in the car park next door." It turned out that this was the rear entrance to a large office building, the correct postcode of which would have been of even less use!
An early collection on Thursday earned me a roadside breakfast - always an attraction. The job that followed it presented a situation where we are always advised to exercise caution. A notice outside the factory announced that the goods entrance was closed, and that deliveries were to be made to reception, which turned out to be a couple of blocks up the road. As I went to the door, I was approached by a man from the side, who asked what I'd got. A quick assessment told me that, in a closed compound, it was quite likely that he had emerged from a side door of the same building, rather than being a complete stranger, so I agreed to his suggestion that he would take and sign for my parcel - but you never know when it's your turn to be fooled!
That job should have been one of a pair, but the other one was cancelled within minutes of my being given it. Again, I was asked on the way to ring in when I was empty, and I was sent to a hotel near Heathrow, to collect from a couple of chaps in a van on a derelict site opposite, where a factory had been demolished. The day finished with a pre-load, where we collect goods late in the afternoon, ready for delivery early the next morning. This was another 'done-it-before' job, this time to Haverhill. It was followed by a 'first'. I have often heard of that famous and much-praised immigrant, the Polish plumber. Now, at a block of flats in Barnet, I made a delivery to one. On then, via this year's first experience of the M25, to Wokingham, where I encountered another familiar, but often annoying situation. I found myself at the front door of a modern building, and went in with my small parcel. Just as I was about to open the inner door I saw a notice on it, "All deliveries to the back door". In this case it involved simply a few extra steps around the outside of the building, but in central London, for example, the rear entrance could well be in another street, and while making this discovery, one could easily pick up a parking ticket from a vigilant Traffic Warden!
Friday afternoon brought another important consideration. As I collected an item at about 4.0 pm, I asked, "will there be someone there?" This is always a good idea when collecting something late in the day. During the week, an abortive attempt to make a delivery to premises that are closed for the day can mean either another journey there the next day or, if distant, the choice of finding a room for the night, or a cold night in the van, either of which is a disruption to one's personal life. On a Friday evening, however, the disruption is to the weekend: a far more serious intrusion! In this instance the factory - on the outskirts of Derby - would, I was assured, be working until 8.0 pm. My collection was accompanied by the suggestion that, if I had room, which I did, I might like to pick up from a nearby customer an 'over the weekend' pre-load, for 8.0 delivery on Monday.
This is normally acceptable, unless I've planned to shift furniture for a friend at the weekend - a rarity indeed, but an obvious conflict if so! In this case, it will be a good (if slightly on the early side) start to the next week, being to Wallsend!
Friday 3 January 2014
Even on Holiday ...
Well, it's still holiday so, although it's nearly over, there are no exciting travel stories with which to enthral my readers this week . . . and only one that wasn't exciting!
At holiday times things are different - no work means no alarm clock, so I could get up when I woke up ... though there was no compulsion, and I flatly refused to do so one morning at 5.0 am! It's not only been a season of celebration, but of tidying up loose ends. Just before Christmas I checked my premium bonds, as I did some time mid-year (it's clearly not one of my priorities). I discovered that, back in July, when I was busy getting angry about a couple of prizes that I'd never received, and making declarations and arrangements for payment to be made - at that very moment - I was winning another small prize that, in its turn, wouldn't arrive on my doorstep! I wonder where they go. Is there an attractive home somewhere for misguided Bond prizes? Today, after the same catch-up procedures, (and fortunately missing hailstones as big as peas) I paid the warrant into my bank.
I've had a chance to look back and note other things that happened during the year. One of my friends spoke of carrying out a formal A to Z review, and I commented that E was for Enniskillen, where I was sent on a job during April. (You can read about it here.) This was the town where my great-uncle settled in the late nineteenth century, and when I've finished the particular slice of family history that's gripping me at the moment I intend to assail the difficult peak of on line research into Northern Irish records. The Republic is fine, and there are many pre-partition resources that cover the whole of Ireland, but the six counties post-1923 seem a closed book . . . so far as I've learned up to now, at any rate.
Today, as I walked to the bank, I reflected that there's another letter I could have added to my alphabet of 2013. W is for walking-stick, for it was last summer that I started using one. It's not that I'm really disabled, and in some ways it seems very embarrassing - almost play-acting - to carry it, but it does make walking just that bit more comfortable, and I can go to places that I'd no longer consider walking to without it. I recall my mother complaining endlessly about an ankle that had been a trouble to her as long as I can remember. Whether the problem was caused by some external assault in her youth, or had always been there I know not, nor do I know whether, if the latter, such problems can be inherited - I rather doubt it. However, there is definitely a weakness in one of mine that is difficult to describe with the kind of precision that would warrant specific treatment. It just aches if I walk very far, and with the stick I can walk further before that point is reached.
Things are different at holiday times, I said. Church on Sunday was different, too. The day began with breakfast in the church hall, where I was asked politely across a bacon roll whether I'd had a good Christmas. After affirming that I had, and replying to the next question that, yes, I had stayed at home, I added that I would be going away the next day, in order to spend the New Year with my cousin. "How far will you have to travel?" I was amazed at the precision and the casual air with which I said, "Only 105 miles!" Even in holiday mode the driver in me comes to the fore when called upon. So too, I found do traffic problems abound at holiday times. My homeward journey yesterday was somewhat in excess of that 105 miles, owing to a hold-up on the M1 that sent me halfway around Leicestershire to find a quicker route home than sitting in a traffic queue.
Am I pleased, then, that things will be back to normal on Monday? Yes, on the whole, I think I am. While all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy (they say . . . and who are 'they', to know?), I'm sure the reverse is also true - it certainly is in my case, as you can tell by the foregoing waffle!
At holiday times things are different - no work means no alarm clock, so I could get up when I woke up ... though there was no compulsion, and I flatly refused to do so one morning at 5.0 am! It's not only been a season of celebration, but of tidying up loose ends. Just before Christmas I checked my premium bonds, as I did some time mid-year (it's clearly not one of my priorities). I discovered that, back in July, when I was busy getting angry about a couple of prizes that I'd never received, and making declarations and arrangements for payment to be made - at that very moment - I was winning another small prize that, in its turn, wouldn't arrive on my doorstep! I wonder where they go. Is there an attractive home somewhere for misguided Bond prizes? Today, after the same catch-up procedures, (and fortunately missing hailstones as big as peas) I paid the warrant into my bank.
I've had a chance to look back and note other things that happened during the year. One of my friends spoke of carrying out a formal A to Z review, and I commented that E was for Enniskillen, where I was sent on a job during April. (You can read about it here.) This was the town where my great-uncle settled in the late nineteenth century, and when I've finished the particular slice of family history that's gripping me at the moment I intend to assail the difficult peak of on line research into Northern Irish records. The Republic is fine, and there are many pre-partition resources that cover the whole of Ireland, but the six counties post-1923 seem a closed book . . . so far as I've learned up to now, at any rate.
Today, as I walked to the bank, I reflected that there's another letter I could have added to my alphabet of 2013. W is for walking-stick, for it was last summer that I started using one. It's not that I'm really disabled, and in some ways it seems very embarrassing - almost play-acting - to carry it, but it does make walking just that bit more comfortable, and I can go to places that I'd no longer consider walking to without it. I recall my mother complaining endlessly about an ankle that had been a trouble to her as long as I can remember. Whether the problem was caused by some external assault in her youth, or had always been there I know not, nor do I know whether, if the latter, such problems can be inherited - I rather doubt it. However, there is definitely a weakness in one of mine that is difficult to describe with the kind of precision that would warrant specific treatment. It just aches if I walk very far, and with the stick I can walk further before that point is reached.
Things are different at holiday times, I said. Church on Sunday was different, too. The day began with breakfast in the church hall, where I was asked politely across a bacon roll whether I'd had a good Christmas. After affirming that I had, and replying to the next question that, yes, I had stayed at home, I added that I would be going away the next day, in order to spend the New Year with my cousin. "How far will you have to travel?" I was amazed at the precision and the casual air with which I said, "Only 105 miles!" Even in holiday mode the driver in me comes to the fore when called upon. So too, I found do traffic problems abound at holiday times. My homeward journey yesterday was somewhat in excess of that 105 miles, owing to a hold-up on the M1 that sent me halfway around Leicestershire to find a quicker route home than sitting in a traffic queue.
Am I pleased, then, that things will be back to normal on Monday? Yes, on the whole, I think I am. While all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy (they say . . . and who are 'they', to know?), I'm sure the reverse is also true - it certainly is in my case, as you can tell by the foregoing waffle!
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