I don't know what it was I did, but something sure made the repeating genie wild! This was "Essex week". More particularly, it was "Essex-along-the-A127 week". Monday's job, to be fair, was interesting. I was sent to Bury St Edmunds, to the depot of a firm we used to do a lot of work for when they had a place in Hatfield (... I don't know whether it's still there or not; I've not been on that road for several years). I collected a heavy duty shackle for use on a building site in Laindon. I like 'triangular' jobs like that: they usually involve taking roads that are less familiar, ones that I call 'circumferential routes' because they go around my home-base, rather than to it or from it.
From that point on, the week seemed to lose all novelty and much of its interest, too. Tuesday's mix brought the most distant job of the week: to Crawley - which says it all! - sandwiched between well-known jobs to Luton and to the pleasant Bedfordshire village of Northill. Wednesday started in 'routine' style too, with an early run to Pinewood Studios. Then came another echo from a couple of years ago, a job for an engineering firm in Hitchin, to deliver to a treatment plant in Southend, and bring back some items already processed.
This job used to be in two parts, delivering to one address, and collecting from another some miles away in Shoeburyness. Now, however, both delivery and collection were at the same, new, address. It took some time to find, because (according to SatNav) all the units on that estate have odd numbers, and I was looking for unit 6. Eventually I gave up, and resorted to the older system of 'ask someone'. I interrupted a chap painting the window frames of one unit, and enquired where I might find no. 6. The man smiled, and gestured with his brush-handle, "It's this one!" His words were a melody to my ear. It seems that the firm has amalgamated its operations here quite recently, since the name outside is still that of the previous occupants, and there were clear signs inside that things were not yet properly organised.
Thursday began with an 8.15 pick-up for Basildon, complemented by a collection from this same new location in Shoeburyness. On this second visit in as many days, the goods weren't ready for me and, as I waited inside, sheltering from the rain, I watched their operation with interest. It's nice to have a few minutes without the pressure of something else that ought to be done instead. As I watched, I thought of the general matter of settling into new surroundings, be it a factory like this, or a change of job, removal to a new home, and so on. One thought led incoherently to the next, and soon I found myself reflecting upon recent international events, and the matter of Russian authorities 'settling in' to their newly re-acquired province of Crimea, wondering just how the after-shocks of that situation will play out.
Friday's major task was a collection for one of our customers in Letchworth, from - you can almost guess where - Southend! On my way home, I diverted to Ponders End to pick up a job for another driver, but even then the week's link with Essex wasn't over, because now the pressure of the month-end was building up, and instead of being consigned to the discharge of my shopping list, and heading gently into the weekend, I was asked to collect a couple of chairs, for delivery in Margaretting, just down the A12 from Chelmsford!
Now, with all the demands of the working week finally discharged, I can report that next week will not, at least, begin in Essex. On my way there for the last time yesterday, I called at a firm in Hertford and collected a van-load of stuff to take to a hospital in Newcastle-upon-Tyne on Monday morning. Meanwhile, I can enjoy the rest of a foreshortened weekend, during which religion and tradition merge in the observation of Mother's Day or, as one of my 'twitter-friends' reminded her followers the other day, 'it's actually called Mothering Sunday, because we celebrate the act of mothering, whoever does it.' Debate aside, this morning I joined with other men of the church in what has become something of a tradition for us, the assembly - amidst coffee and doughnuts - of posies to be presented tomorrow to all the ladies at church, be they mothers or not.
Saturday 29 March 2014
Sunday 23 March 2014
Floating ... o'er Vales and Hills, I saw ...
Yesterday's annual spring outing of our bellringers was perhaps the best day of the past week. It's been another in the sequence of uninspiring weeks that have dogged this record recently. It certainly felt uninspiring when, by Thursday evening, my estimate for the week to date had just struggled past the three-day marker. On Friday, forewarned by notices at each end, the road which is the only access to my Close, was closed for resurfacing. With this in mind, I mentioned to the office on Thursday that my ideal situation for the next day would be 'a long job, early: so I can profitably stay away all day.' With the recent history, I confess that I felt less than hopeful.
To be fair, I was offered what was described as the best of a bad job: a pick-up in Biggleswade at 8.30, for Coventry. Out early, I relaxed in the sunshine at a local BP station before approaching the collection point on time. Just as I reached the end of the M45, I was asked to call in once I was empty, which would be within the next half-hour. I did so, and was sent to Knowsley, just north of Liverpool, where I collected goods for delivery in Rotherham, Luton and Broxbourne. I was instructed to deliver those in Rotherham, and then take the others to the depot, for others to deliver on Monday morning. The upshot of this was that, I later discovered, Friday's activity represented 37% of what, from such poor beginnings, had ended up as good a week as the last few. Weather-wise, Friday's journey was all-embracing, from bright - almost dazzling - sunshine to the novel experience of driving through the rainbow towards the summit of England's motorways along the M62.
Whatever their commercial context, one of the delights of driving just now is the daffodils. Everywhere it's possible, it seems, they push their chirpy faces around every corner. They have a treasured place in memory for me as, I believe, for most people. When I see them, I think of schooldays; trying to learn that poem by Wordsworth, sitting at the front of the church, decorated with daffodils at Easter-time; hearing about Mary Magdalene by the empty tomb, and imagining daffodils in that garden, too. And so to the outing yesterday. I'd been the first to arrive at one church, and while waiting for the others to turn up, I'd taken a picture of the church. As I did so, I spotted the daffodils, and they commanded their own portrait.
I was supposed to be in charge on this occasion - we take turns to run the ringing at each church - but I disgraced myself when I found it impossible to ring with new ropes that were far too long. Instead of persevering, I gave up completely and abdicated my responsibility in favour of someone else. It was a humiliation, but one mixed with hospitality, since local ladies had arranged coffee and biscuits down in the church, and we learned of their struggle with both finance and authorities to provide a modest kitchen in the corner of the building. They had an on-going bric-a-brac stall, whence I was able to come away with a CD of relaxing music.
We had invited ringers from a neighbouring tower to join us this year, and the effect was that with more ringers, there was less demand to be constantly engaged at the end of a rope. Instead, there was a chance to wander, take pictures, and to enjoy fellowship with the others. It was good to sit in the sunshine and share at comfortable length the difficulties friends are coping with and, at the end of the day, to lean against a warm radiator and chew over with a local ringer the challenges of recruiting and training young folks in the skills we enjoy, only to see them all within a year, turn away to other interests.
To be fair, I was offered what was described as the best of a bad job: a pick-up in Biggleswade at 8.30, for Coventry. Out early, I relaxed in the sunshine at a local BP station before approaching the collection point on time. Just as I reached the end of the M45, I was asked to call in once I was empty, which would be within the next half-hour. I did so, and was sent to Knowsley, just north of Liverpool, where I collected goods for delivery in Rotherham, Luton and Broxbourne. I was instructed to deliver those in Rotherham, and then take the others to the depot, for others to deliver on Monday morning. The upshot of this was that, I later discovered, Friday's activity represented 37% of what, from such poor beginnings, had ended up as good a week as the last few. Weather-wise, Friday's journey was all-embracing, from bright - almost dazzling - sunshine to the novel experience of driving through the rainbow towards the summit of England's motorways along the M62.
Whatever their commercial context, one of the delights of driving just now is the daffodils. Everywhere it's possible, it seems, they push their chirpy faces around every corner. They have a treasured place in memory for me as, I believe, for most people. When I see them, I think of schooldays; trying to learn that poem by Wordsworth, sitting at the front of the church, decorated with daffodils at Easter-time; hearing about Mary Magdalene by the empty tomb, and imagining daffodils in that garden, too. And so to the outing yesterday. I'd been the first to arrive at one church, and while waiting for the others to turn up, I'd taken a picture of the church. As I did so, I spotted the daffodils, and they commanded their own portrait.
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| Just a few of the daffodils at Gt. Hallingbury |
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| St Giles, Great Hallingbury |
We had invited ringers from a neighbouring tower to join us this year, and the effect was that with more ringers, there was less demand to be constantly engaged at the end of a rope. Instead, there was a chance to wander, take pictures, and to enjoy fellowship with the others. It was good to sit in the sunshine and share at comfortable length the difficulties friends are coping with and, at the end of the day, to lean against a warm radiator and chew over with a local ringer the challenges of recruiting and training young folks in the skills we enjoy, only to see them all within a year, turn away to other interests.
Saturday 15 March 2014
Back to the 'Up and Down'
After mentioning the 'repeating genie' last week (the first time for a while), it confronted me in a new guise yesterday. I'd returned home from a delivery of pharmaceuticals to a nearby hospital, only to be alerted from my perusal of social media by a call from the office. "Now you know the way there, would you be able to do another job for <the same supplier> to <the same local hospital>?" This time, I discovered, it wasn't just something that had been omitted from a regular order, but medication that was urgently required. I walked along the corridor and into the ward, to find two nurses at the drugs trolley. As I approached, one said to the other, "Oh, it's arrived!" She turned to me, smiled, and pointed to the list in her hand. "I need that for the patient right now!" The third item on her list was the same as the drug named on the delivery note in my hand.
That was the conclusion to a week that for me had definitely been black-and-white. By Wednesday evening I was feeling very thankful for those much-trumpeted gold and silver weeks at the start of the year, for in three days my earnings had only just staggered beyond the expectation for two. With only one job on Monday, three medium-range trips on Tuesday (together making up a decent day), and only one on Wednesday, albeit a pleasant run to the Essex coast, I felt that things had bounced back to the 'old days' at the start of the recession, when we were anxious about meeting essential bills without dipping into savings.
"Trust, Brian; trust!" chided my conscience, as Thursday and yesterday each consisted of nose-to-tail sequences of medium-range work that matched Tuesday for productivity. Thursday began with another early-morning run to Pinewood Studios, which was followed by another 'regular' safari for our customer in Royston, visiting a factory in Letchworth on my way to Daventry and back to Royston. I was about to exchange my heavy, steel-toecapped shoes for carpet slippers, and drift into evening mode, when I was given an early evening job to Witham (the repeating genie sending me once again onto Essex roads little-used of late).
Yesterday began with two early collections in Stevenage, for delivery in Bletchley and Milton Keynes; from there I was sent to Bedford to collect four beautiful prints, newly-framed, to be taken (carefully!) to Boston. After last week's delivery near Spalding, this again was a repeat: a pleasant drive through the flat tranquility of the fens, before those two dramatic deliveries to the hospital.
So, how has 2014 actually settled in - were those good weeks in January and February just flukes, or true green shoots of recovery? I think the latter is more truly the case, for although there hasn't been a constant stream of lovely long jobs to occupy my time - and as I told a friend on Sunday, 'I haven't been to Scotland yet this year!" - nevertheless, these mundane, 'up-and-down' weeks have proved sufficiently consistent to be encouraging as well as modestly profitable.
As the man on my much-favoured, if illogical, Sunday afternoon radio programme (Gardeners' Question Time) says, "Onwards and upwards!"
That was the conclusion to a week that for me had definitely been black-and-white. By Wednesday evening I was feeling very thankful for those much-trumpeted gold and silver weeks at the start of the year, for in three days my earnings had only just staggered beyond the expectation for two. With only one job on Monday, three medium-range trips on Tuesday (together making up a decent day), and only one on Wednesday, albeit a pleasant run to the Essex coast, I felt that things had bounced back to the 'old days' at the start of the recession, when we were anxious about meeting essential bills without dipping into savings.
"Trust, Brian; trust!" chided my conscience, as Thursday and yesterday each consisted of nose-to-tail sequences of medium-range work that matched Tuesday for productivity. Thursday began with another early-morning run to Pinewood Studios, which was followed by another 'regular' safari for our customer in Royston, visiting a factory in Letchworth on my way to Daventry and back to Royston. I was about to exchange my heavy, steel-toecapped shoes for carpet slippers, and drift into evening mode, when I was given an early evening job to Witham (the repeating genie sending me once again onto Essex roads little-used of late).
Yesterday began with two early collections in Stevenage, for delivery in Bletchley and Milton Keynes; from there I was sent to Bedford to collect four beautiful prints, newly-framed, to be taken (carefully!) to Boston. After last week's delivery near Spalding, this again was a repeat: a pleasant drive through the flat tranquility of the fens, before those two dramatic deliveries to the hospital.
So, how has 2014 actually settled in - were those good weeks in January and February just flukes, or true green shoots of recovery? I think the latter is more truly the case, for although there hasn't been a constant stream of lovely long jobs to occupy my time - and as I told a friend on Sunday, 'I haven't been to Scotland yet this year!" - nevertheless, these mundane, 'up-and-down' weeks have proved sufficiently consistent to be encouraging as well as modestly profitable.
As the man on my much-favoured, if illogical, Sunday afternoon radio programme (Gardeners' Question Time) says, "Onwards and upwards!"
Saturday 8 March 2014
Oh, for Variety!
I've written many times about the 'repeating genie', that twist of fate by which a place visited for the first time for some while will be revisited again within days . . . sometimes within hours. I'm not the only courier driver who has borne witness to its activity, be it a real force or merely coincidence. Looking back over the last couple of weeks, I can certainly see its hand in my movements, in varying degrees.
Take, for example, a fairly regular job for a company that occupies one of the industrial units opposite my home. It began a couple of years ago when they moved in: a collection in the late afternoon for delivery the following morning to Pinewood Studios. I can't say, of course, how frequently the job itself comes up, only the occasions when I have been asked to do it. Over the last year, it has averaged about once a month. Now, in just two weeks I've done this particular job four times, and this week on two consecutive mornings.
Then there is the general need to use that proverbial 'Car Park', the M25. In fourteen jobs this week, seven of them have involved using it - one eastbound, the remainder (including the two to Pinewood) to the west. It's not the only major road to have recurred on my horizon this week. The A10 has also had more than its fair share! On Tuesday, I made a collection for a firm in Buntingford, and after returning home I was given a job to Sawbridgeworth. On Wednesday afternoon came a delivery to a chemist in North Weald: I was told that he would be staying on beyond his normal hours to wait for this so, realising that this was now the time when the M25 would be clogged, I went cross-country . . . via the A10 and the A414. The same roads came into play on Friday afternoon when I was sent to Chelmsford with some heavy cables for an electrical installation - and also during the course of Friday, I had two deliveries in Harlow.
In fact, the only jobs this week that were not exclusively 'south' were Monday's repeat of last Friday's delivery to Peterborough Hospital, Tuesday's collection for Buntingford, which was from a firm on the outskirts of Spalding, and a trip to a hospital in Worcester on Wednesday. By way of contrast, my mind goes back several years to a particularly 'adventurous' week, when I claimed to have visited all three coasts of England, with jobs to Liverpool, Fareham and Ipswich on consecutive days.
It's nice sometimes to find that the goods you're collecting aren't ready. Apart from the smug satisfaction of being there on time and finding that someone else is to blame for your delay, there can be interesting conversations, too. Like Tuesday's visit to Spalding, where I had to wait ten minutes or so while the last item of the consignment was being procured. I sat in reception, relaxed, and enjoying the sunshine, when a young lady came and tidied the desk, explaining that the receptionist was on maternity leave. She seemed inclined to chatter, and I learned that she was apprehensive about her n'th driving test coming up in the next few days, and how she got nervous under the pressure of traffic. I recalled my first journeys into central London (in those not-too-far-off pre-SatNav days), and how I would yearn - pray, even - for a red traffic light, so I could look down at the map to see what road I wanted at the next junction.
Now, by contrast, SatNav is on for the most familiar of journeys, as much to know the traffic situation as the route; I often find I'm contradicting the prescribed routes, being unwilling to sacrifice a few miles for the very fastest motorway.
I wonder what familiar routes I'll be travelling next week ... watch this space!
Take, for example, a fairly regular job for a company that occupies one of the industrial units opposite my home. It began a couple of years ago when they moved in: a collection in the late afternoon for delivery the following morning to Pinewood Studios. I can't say, of course, how frequently the job itself comes up, only the occasions when I have been asked to do it. Over the last year, it has averaged about once a month. Now, in just two weeks I've done this particular job four times, and this week on two consecutive mornings.
Then there is the general need to use that proverbial 'Car Park', the M25. In fourteen jobs this week, seven of them have involved using it - one eastbound, the remainder (including the two to Pinewood) to the west. It's not the only major road to have recurred on my horizon this week. The A10 has also had more than its fair share! On Tuesday, I made a collection for a firm in Buntingford, and after returning home I was given a job to Sawbridgeworth. On Wednesday afternoon came a delivery to a chemist in North Weald: I was told that he would be staying on beyond his normal hours to wait for this so, realising that this was now the time when the M25 would be clogged, I went cross-country . . . via the A10 and the A414. The same roads came into play on Friday afternoon when I was sent to Chelmsford with some heavy cables for an electrical installation - and also during the course of Friday, I had two deliveries in Harlow.
In fact, the only jobs this week that were not exclusively 'south' were Monday's repeat of last Friday's delivery to Peterborough Hospital, Tuesday's collection for Buntingford, which was from a firm on the outskirts of Spalding, and a trip to a hospital in Worcester on Wednesday. By way of contrast, my mind goes back several years to a particularly 'adventurous' week, when I claimed to have visited all three coasts of England, with jobs to Liverpool, Fareham and Ipswich on consecutive days.
It's nice sometimes to find that the goods you're collecting aren't ready. Apart from the smug satisfaction of being there on time and finding that someone else is to blame for your delay, there can be interesting conversations, too. Like Tuesday's visit to Spalding, where I had to wait ten minutes or so while the last item of the consignment was being procured. I sat in reception, relaxed, and enjoying the sunshine, when a young lady came and tidied the desk, explaining that the receptionist was on maternity leave. She seemed inclined to chatter, and I learned that she was apprehensive about her n'th driving test coming up in the next few days, and how she got nervous under the pressure of traffic. I recalled my first journeys into central London (in those not-too-far-off pre-SatNav days), and how I would yearn - pray, even - for a red traffic light, so I could look down at the map to see what road I wanted at the next junction.
Now, by contrast, SatNav is on for the most familiar of journeys, as much to know the traffic situation as the route; I often find I'm contradicting the prescribed routes, being unwilling to sacrifice a few miles for the very fastest motorway.
I wonder what familiar routes I'll be travelling next week ... watch this space!
Saturday 1 March 2014
Getting it into Perspective
A few weeks ago I expressed my surprise that this year has started as well as it has. I have a system - a sort of code - by which I rate each week's activity. Each week I record the miles driven, how productive those miles have been and the total amount I've earned, and each of these is monitored against the budget I set at the beginning of the year. If the total earned and the profitability of the mileage are better than budget, then I designate that week as 'silver'; if I've managed that with the added benefit of driving fewer miles than budget, then the week is a 'gold' one. So two silvers and two golds in the first five weeks of the year, when things usually fall flat after Christmas, was a noteworthy achievement.
I'm not complaining; there have been a number of big expenses lately. Some were expected, like new spectacles, and the annual tax disc for the van (I believe that, in its wisdom, our government has now changed the way this is to be administered, and this will probably be the last actual disc I buy - but the tax will, of course, continue!). Other expenses came out of the blue, like a couple of major repair items for the van, and a new set of tyres, so the unexpectedly good weeks have been a blessing.
Now things are back to what passes for normal, not just in the level of work, but in the mixture of easy jobs and those that make you think 'why on earth can't they give me the full story at the beginning?' I wrote a couple of weeks ago about a particularly uncomfortable time at Heathrow airport, for example. This week has included three more bewildering jobs, and I hope I won't bore my readers with too much fine detail. But before these depressing elements, I have to record too that Tuesday was a dream day. I left quite soon after breakfast to collect three small but heavy wooden boxes from a firm in Hoddesdon, to go to Bolton. On the way, in a direct line as it were, I picked up some metalwork in Luton to deliver in Smethwick. I eventually arrived at Bolton just before the factory there was about to leave off, and enjoyed the most tasty lamb hotpot at the truckstop at Markham Moor on the way home.
If you don't like it when things go wrong, here's where you switch off. A lot of our work involves visiting hospitals, and I've lost count of the number of different ones I've been to. A fairly basic pattern is common to most of these jobs - either we are delivering something fairly mundane that goes to the general receiving area, sometimes designated 'goods in', just as in a factory setting, or else 'stores'; or we are delivering priority equipment required within hours for an operation, in which case this goes straight to the theatre. In the latter case it seems acceptable, whether strictly correct or not, that we park in the 'drop-off' zone near to the main entrance, and can quickly walk through the building to the required department.
The two hospitals I visited this week proved more difficult, frustratingly so, because they were both fairly local to our base. On Wednesday I made two separate deliveries to one that has recently undergone extensive re-modelling. My first delivery was addressed to the Treatment Centre, a new addition to its facilities. I approached the reception desk, only to be told that they couldn't accept any deliveries: I must go to the main hospital. I did as I was bid, and predictably got sent away with "If it's for the Treatment Centre, then you must take it to the Treatment Centre!" I rang the office for further information or instructions, and obtained the name of the lady to whom it was supposed to be delivered. Armed with this, I returned to the site of my first refusal, and after a phone call, was ushered to the lifts and thence to the theatre on the fourth floor.
An hour or so later, I returned to the same establishment, with goods for 'Theatres'. More sure of my ground, I went to the theatre in the main hospital, where, after pointing to a key word on the label, 'Surgi-centre', the staff there redirected me to the theatre in the Treatment Centre - just where I'd been before!
The last job of my week was to another hospital, with a box labelled 'Central Stores'. Unable to see a direction post for 'deliveries' as I drove onto this new-build site, I approached reception to see where I needed to go. "It's right round the back!" came the reply, so I followed the gesticulating arm, and drove round the back, only to find a number of patient services with their own entrances, and an even greater number of car parks, but no goods entrance of any kind. After further instructions from reception, assisted by a phone call, I discovered an unsigned turning that took me close to the perimeter of the site, correctly to the rear of the hospital, only to find that the receiving staff had left off for the weekend some two hours previously! Guess where I'll be headed first thing on Monday morning ....
Earlier in the day, I'd made a collection from a hotel. Now, more often than not - in fact, I might say, exclusively in my experience - a collection from a hotel is to recover marketing or display materials after a conference or sales gathering of some sort. Sometimes we might meet the personnel of our customer, who are only too pleased to hand the stuff over to us, hop into their luxury limousines and drive off. On other occasions, they have already left, after depositing the goods with reception or security staff for safe keeping until we arrive, sometimes not until the next day, according to instructions. So, early in the morning, I bounded up to the reception desk in this large Berkshire hotel and announced that I was collecting a couple of units for our customer P---. Blank faces abounded. No one knew anything about it. After a few fruitless enquiries, I was back in my van to call the person whose number I'd been given for just such a problem situation, were it to arise.
The line between the two mobiles wasn't great, but I managed to establish that I was in fact collecting two air conditioning units, and my understanding was that these were on a building site behind the hotel, where extensive renovations were being carried out, and could be found in container no. 3. I drove round the building and did indeed find a building site, with about eight or nine containers. One was clearly the site office, but was locked up. Enquiries led me inside the hotel to speak to someone who might know where these items were to be found. The man didn't know; but anyway, he said, if they were in a locked container, the people with the keys wouldn't be on site until the following day.
Once more, phone calls were exchanged from me to the office, reporting this apparent difficulty, from the office to the customer to see if other arrangements could be made, and from the person I'd phoned earlier to clarify to me his earlier instructions. It seemed that what I had understood as 'container no. 3' was actually the container that was being used as 'the canteen', where he had left these items for ease of access when they were collected. All that remained then was to get them into the van, and off to our customer. When I arrived, I was greeted with a smile. "I understand you've had some trouble ..." I started to explain. "That was Sam," said the man, as he unloaded the units onto a pallet. "He's our customer's customer; he ... " In order to express his disapproval of the man, he then described a personal contortion that doesn't belong here, but of which he said Sam would be quite incapable. So far as I was concerned, our customer was happy, and I drove away with a satisfaction that outweighed the foregoing frustrations.
Now all I have to do is get up early enough to get to that hospital again by start of business on Monday. At least I know where to go now ... !
I'm not complaining; there have been a number of big expenses lately. Some were expected, like new spectacles, and the annual tax disc for the van (I believe that, in its wisdom, our government has now changed the way this is to be administered, and this will probably be the last actual disc I buy - but the tax will, of course, continue!). Other expenses came out of the blue, like a couple of major repair items for the van, and a new set of tyres, so the unexpectedly good weeks have been a blessing.
Now things are back to what passes for normal, not just in the level of work, but in the mixture of easy jobs and those that make you think 'why on earth can't they give me the full story at the beginning?' I wrote a couple of weeks ago about a particularly uncomfortable time at Heathrow airport, for example. This week has included three more bewildering jobs, and I hope I won't bore my readers with too much fine detail. But before these depressing elements, I have to record too that Tuesday was a dream day. I left quite soon after breakfast to collect three small but heavy wooden boxes from a firm in Hoddesdon, to go to Bolton. On the way, in a direct line as it were, I picked up some metalwork in Luton to deliver in Smethwick. I eventually arrived at Bolton just before the factory there was about to leave off, and enjoyed the most tasty lamb hotpot at the truckstop at Markham Moor on the way home.
If you don't like it when things go wrong, here's where you switch off. A lot of our work involves visiting hospitals, and I've lost count of the number of different ones I've been to. A fairly basic pattern is common to most of these jobs - either we are delivering something fairly mundane that goes to the general receiving area, sometimes designated 'goods in', just as in a factory setting, or else 'stores'; or we are delivering priority equipment required within hours for an operation, in which case this goes straight to the theatre. In the latter case it seems acceptable, whether strictly correct or not, that we park in the 'drop-off' zone near to the main entrance, and can quickly walk through the building to the required department.
The two hospitals I visited this week proved more difficult, frustratingly so, because they were both fairly local to our base. On Wednesday I made two separate deliveries to one that has recently undergone extensive re-modelling. My first delivery was addressed to the Treatment Centre, a new addition to its facilities. I approached the reception desk, only to be told that they couldn't accept any deliveries: I must go to the main hospital. I did as I was bid, and predictably got sent away with "If it's for the Treatment Centre, then you must take it to the Treatment Centre!" I rang the office for further information or instructions, and obtained the name of the lady to whom it was supposed to be delivered. Armed with this, I returned to the site of my first refusal, and after a phone call, was ushered to the lifts and thence to the theatre on the fourth floor.
An hour or so later, I returned to the same establishment, with goods for 'Theatres'. More sure of my ground, I went to the theatre in the main hospital, where, after pointing to a key word on the label, 'Surgi-centre', the staff there redirected me to the theatre in the Treatment Centre - just where I'd been before!
The last job of my week was to another hospital, with a box labelled 'Central Stores'. Unable to see a direction post for 'deliveries' as I drove onto this new-build site, I approached reception to see where I needed to go. "It's right round the back!" came the reply, so I followed the gesticulating arm, and drove round the back, only to find a number of patient services with their own entrances, and an even greater number of car parks, but no goods entrance of any kind. After further instructions from reception, assisted by a phone call, I discovered an unsigned turning that took me close to the perimeter of the site, correctly to the rear of the hospital, only to find that the receiving staff had left off for the weekend some two hours previously! Guess where I'll be headed first thing on Monday morning ....
Earlier in the day, I'd made a collection from a hotel. Now, more often than not - in fact, I might say, exclusively in my experience - a collection from a hotel is to recover marketing or display materials after a conference or sales gathering of some sort. Sometimes we might meet the personnel of our customer, who are only too pleased to hand the stuff over to us, hop into their luxury limousines and drive off. On other occasions, they have already left, after depositing the goods with reception or security staff for safe keeping until we arrive, sometimes not until the next day, according to instructions. So, early in the morning, I bounded up to the reception desk in this large Berkshire hotel and announced that I was collecting a couple of units for our customer P---. Blank faces abounded. No one knew anything about it. After a few fruitless enquiries, I was back in my van to call the person whose number I'd been given for just such a problem situation, were it to arise.
The line between the two mobiles wasn't great, but I managed to establish that I was in fact collecting two air conditioning units, and my understanding was that these were on a building site behind the hotel, where extensive renovations were being carried out, and could be found in container no. 3. I drove round the building and did indeed find a building site, with about eight or nine containers. One was clearly the site office, but was locked up. Enquiries led me inside the hotel to speak to someone who might know where these items were to be found. The man didn't know; but anyway, he said, if they were in a locked container, the people with the keys wouldn't be on site until the following day.
Once more, phone calls were exchanged from me to the office, reporting this apparent difficulty, from the office to the customer to see if other arrangements could be made, and from the person I'd phoned earlier to clarify to me his earlier instructions. It seemed that what I had understood as 'container no. 3' was actually the container that was being used as 'the canteen', where he had left these items for ease of access when they were collected. All that remained then was to get them into the van, and off to our customer. When I arrived, I was greeted with a smile. "I understand you've had some trouble ..." I started to explain. "That was Sam," said the man, as he unloaded the units onto a pallet. "He's our customer's customer; he ... " In order to express his disapproval of the man, he then described a personal contortion that doesn't belong here, but of which he said Sam would be quite incapable. So far as I was concerned, our customer was happy, and I drove away with a satisfaction that outweighed the foregoing frustrations.
Now all I have to do is get up early enough to get to that hospital again by start of business on Monday. At least I know where to go now ... !
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