Asparagus, Whisky & their Friends

It's certainly been an interesting week.  First of all, may I express the hope that all my readers had a Happy Easter (whatever that term might mean for you).  Aside from the religious observation, mine was a good one on the home front, for two reasons at least.  Firstly, during the break I managed to complete the transcription of a lecture that was started well before Christmas, and had stuck there on my desktop begging unsuccessfully for my further attention.  Secondly, came the family history research (that I've mentioned here more than once) following a link from my cousin in Seattle just before Christmas, which I brought to a conclusion over the holiday weekend, enabling me to send off some reports to her.

On Bank Holiday Monday, I had planned a football trip to Suffolk to watch my native Diss Town play a mid-table team in what could have been a critical 'get-out-of-relegation-trouble' match.  Midway through the morning I had a call from the office, noting that I had said that I might be available for work if required, and instead of my supporter's scarf I donned my courier uniform, to take some asparagus samples to the office of a well-known supermarket in Bradford.  I think I was fortunate to miss the match, which I later learned resulted in a 3-1 defeat, after being ahead by their one goal at half-time!

Tuesday saw a return to the more usual level of work, with just a trip to Northampton, and afterwards I began the intense phase of planning for my holiday, noting what I want to see, what can be planned with what else, when attractions are open, and so on.  Later I went to the office for my weekly paperwork session, and was handed details of a job which took up the whole of the next day.  One of our customers is in the interesting business of promoting the blending of whisky, by means of sponsored evening gatherings of afficionados.  Like other advertising events, we service these by taking appropriate materials to the venue one day, and collecting them the following day to return to the organiser.

St Cyprian's Church, Edge
Hill, Liverpool

Wednesday's job, therefore, was to take whisky and associated equipment to a bar in the centre of Liverpool, only five minutes' walk from the famous Cavern Club.  It's some while since I've been to the centre of the city, and the drive in along the A5047 has been dramatically uplifted visually in recent months.  New houses and a bright and eye-catching health centre now replace row upon row of empty, boarded-up terraces.  I was intrigued to find that the impressive Victorian church of St Cyprian remains standing in the middle of this flattened landscape. Research tells me that it is Grade II listed, was de-consecrated in 2006, and is likely to be redeveloped in conjunction with student accommodation.
 
Productivity-wise, Tuesday's solo had been a bit of a let-down, but Thursday, satisfactory of itself with three reasonable local jobs, had gone some way to restoring the benefit of a 'bonus' bank holiday assignment.  I was feeling a little smug, with a clear desk and the challenge of finding something worthwhile to occupy the rest of the evening when, at about 7.45 pm, the phone rang.  "I've got an interesting job here <pause>" is usually an accurate but demanding introduction, and this was no exception.  It consisted of collecting what was described as 'five noses' (but which actually looked like any other metal fabrication loosely packed in a cardboard box) from a factory on the outskirts of Leicester, and then delivering these to an address near Coventry at 7.30 the next morning.  Given the relative distances, and the lateness of the hour, regular readers will not be surprised that I decided against undertaking the two middle legs of this four-part assignment.

At 10.00pm, with a confidence born only of authority, I entered the darkened factory in Wigston and made my way through the dimly-lit building to the sound of machinery at the far end.  Eventually I discovered two men who were 'machine-minding', although the casual observer could have been forgiven for thinking he had interrupted a tea-break.  One of them, clearly expecting me, led the way to the afore-mentioned cardboard box, collected my signature on the accompanying document, and carried it out to my van.  I then drove the 31 miles to the destination, found a convenient car park right opposite the gate, and attempted the second challenge - sleep.

After my cold and only partially successful bid for success in this endeavour, the dawn revealed the fact that there were in fact three factories on this site, and by 7.30 two of them were showing signs of activity - but not the one I was interested in.  They don't start until 8.0, and both they and I were puzzled at my instruction to be there half-an-hour earlier than that.  The delivery made, I gladly took my leave and sought fuel for both body and vehicle, before heading home.

By late morning, refreshed in body and spirit, I was about to ring in with these tidings, when an incoming call sent me on the first of a sequence of four jobs, to Swavesey, near Cambridge.  The second was to a pharmacy in Tottenham, not far from the Spurs' ground, and the other two were both to Broomfield Hospital in Chelmsford - a smart and efficient place that involved quite a bit of walking to get from one requisite department to the other.  Suffice to say that I was glad to get home, and slept well this morning!

Dizzy!

Last year at this time I remember getting into a bit of online consternation as to the correct name for today.  Whether it's 'Easter Saturday' or 'Holy Saturday', in human terms it's part of a weekend that happens to fall between two Bank Holidays, so it must be time to write my blog.  With apologies to any American readers, I'm reminded of the joke about two American tourists who were looking out of the bus window.  One asked the other where they were; his pal checked his mobile phone and said, "It's Tuesday - this must be Belgium!"  That's how this week has felt to me.

To begin at the beginning ... for the third Monday in a row I missed the men's breakfast at church, needing to make a 6.00 collection in Luton for something wanted 'urgently' in Rhayader which, as I described to a friend at the weekend, is 'the belly-button of Wales'.  Getting there was an absolute delight since, after leaving the M5, I was on quiet(-ish) roads, where overtaking was either impossible or suicidal, and for many miles I followed a load of straw behind an artic.  When I decided that it was safe to overtake him, I think I went about a mile before I noticed in my mirror that he was indicating to turn off!  I'm pretty sure that this was the first time that I'd entered Wales on a B-road.

I was back in comfortable time for my weekly office-admin visit, and then prepared to make an awkward decision.  Some towers, including my own, have a tradition that there is no ringing during Holy Week, and I was faced with a choice of going with our men's group to play pool, or attending the first of the series of meditations in church.  At 6.30, the phone rang.  "You haven't got a job for tomorrow, have you?"  I confirmed that this was the case, and was asked if I were able to go and collect something nearby for delivery to University Hospital, Hartlepool by 9.00 next morning.

Tuesday, therefore started much earlier than had Monday.  I left with plenty of time to spare, and SatNav told me that I should arrive by 8.20.  Suddenly, there was electronic panic on my dashboard, as 'Road Closed' signs appeared in the matrices above my route.  I was diverted to avoid what turned out to be a planned closure roadworks that would be lifted at 6.00.  I got nearly to Leicester, when SatNav picked up the 'improvement in traffic conditions', and headed me back to the A1.  By now, my arrival time was said to be 9.17, and it was catch-up all the way.  I did manage to get there by 9.06, but that wasn't the end of the tale.  It was one of those hospitals where there were no signs for a delivery bay, and when I went to Reception for directions, I found that Reception was now redundant.

Eventually I parked outside the mortuary to look for an entrance, and the kind lady who told me I couldn't park there because the hearse wanted to come out, explained that I could stop outside the main entrance, and walk my goods easily to the theatre.  When I got there, half an hour later than instructed, far from getting a telling off no one seemed to know what to do with the things I'd brought.  So much for job satisfaction!  The day finished with a local job to Harlow, and in the evening I made it to the second meditative service.

Wednesday morning began with a pre-instructed collection from Haverhill at 8.45 which, by contrast with the previous days, was quite civilised.  I'd been home long enough to switch the computer on, but not to make coffee, when the next request came.  More healthcare materials, this time to Sandbanks which, I discovered, is between Bournemouth and Poole.  Delivery there was trouble-free, despite my fears to the contrary when I first saw the target hotel, the front of which was behind a steeply sloping, and completely full car park. I reflected that these three days had seen me going a considerable distance to the west, to the north and to the south, and I posted this fact on social media, adding the question, 'dare I hope for Yarmouth tomorrow to complete the set?'  I thought this rhetorical, and left for the third meditation at our 'village' church.  I returned home to find a comment upon this post asking, 'What about Beccles?', which bore some realism, since we have a couple of regular runs there, and this would have been much more likely than Yarmouth, while in the same direction, and meeting the same aesthetic aspiration.

Thursday dawned, and after breakfast I rang in to get on the list for what is traditionally the courier's busiest day of the year.  A couple of hours elapsed and then the phone rang.  Would I collect a parcel for ... Beccles?!  I explained my mirth to the controller and set off, not on one of those regular runs, but to a chemist's shop in the town centre.  After a diversion on my return journey to take a couple of pictures of some recent developments on the housing estate where I'd grown up, the phone went again when I was still an hour or so from base.  This delay was not a problem, but would I please collect in Royston on my way past, for Derby, and there would be other work, too.

In what seemed to be the second of two days in one, I took some quasi-concrete material in pots to Santa Pod Raceway, and then delivered three parcels to an engineering factory in Derby, missing of necessity my planned attendance at a meal-and-worship combination at church.  Instead, came a delicious meal at one of my favourite truck-stops, and I was home at bedtime.

Yesterday, in beautiful sunshine, I tidied the fall-out of an amazing week on the road, caught up with a few e-mails that had been queueing for attention, and tried to focus on the religious significance of the day, taking part in a walk of witness in the town in the morning,

Town centre service for Good Friday,
I'm invisible, about two rows behind
the red trousers!

and attending a meditative service in the afternoon.  But somehow I seemed to be going through the motions, without taking it all in.  I think the busy-ness of these four days had got to me.  There was so much still going round in my mind; with two early starts, poor sleep, and a late night I was just too tired to focus properly on the devotions.  Religion apart, I think that's why, in their wisdom, our Victorian forebears prescribed holidays, to make sure that workers weren't stretched beyond their physical capabilities.

Work is far easier these days, of course, and it's probably not right to compare their situations with my own.  I'll cut the waffle now, and just relax until Tuesday!

Ups and Downs

All weeks have their ups and downs, and this one has been no different. Somehow, though, I've been more aware of them this week.  Maybe it's just a side-effect of the new financial year.  It's not obvious, of course, just what's an 'up' and what's a 'down'.  Take an exchange I had last Friday with a friend on social media.  I was bemoaning the prospect of a late homecoming, and the knock-on effect of having to make a choice the next day between family history research and watching a football match, because now there wouldn't be enough time to do both.  It was assumed that there would be a good (financial) outcome, nevertheless, and reference was made to 'gold' and 'silver' weeks - expressions that I've already defined here.  I quashed the idea that this would be a 'gold' week, because I'd travelled nearly 2,000 miles, and answered the obvious question (what would be golden mileage?) with a lower figure. My suggestion that this mileage would probably result in a 'silver' week also proved to be incorrect, because in making it, I'd failed to take into account the fact that there had been little 'doubling-up' of jobs to increase the productivity of each mile driven.  So, ups and downs aren't easy to identify.

Another confusing factor in this general discussion, is the pleasant nature of some jobs compared to others.  For example, I always like going to Scotland because of the challenge posed by the distance, the lovely scenery, and not least the very novelty element, since such opportunities are quite rare.  The same criteria also apply, if to a slightly lesser extent, to Wales; and Ireland has the additional excitement of the ferry crossing too.  But jobs to Scotland and Wales aren't good in the sense of productivity, unless they are combined with a second job, because otherwise the rate per mile is rock bottom for all that distance, which is often a high proportion of the week.  On the other hand, a boring day taking two jobs around the M25 in the morning, and then a couple of jobs into Essex in the afternoon, might well be sufficient to meet the day's target - but would that day be good or not; would it be an 'up' or a 'down'?

So, what has this week been like?  Monday was a good day in many ways.  It started with an early collection in Royston and an unhindered run down to Ashford, Kent, and then, without stopping, four more jobs followed concluding at West Suffolk Hospital in Bury St Edmunds.  The last three of these jobs had overlapped, and so their productivity was high, too.

I was glad, too, to be back by the early evening, because our ringing practice was rather special.  The lady who, for many years, had been the verger, caretaker, and general 'go-to' person at the church where we ring, died recently and her body had been brought into the church that evening in readiness for the funeral the following day.  It had been her wish that ringing should continue as it ever would, but after our practice we gathered in the church together with the clergy, the widower and a handful of parishioners, and joined in the simple service of Compline, standing around the coffin.  It was not at all eerie, but a wonderfully solemn and quite moving occasion, for we had all known her, and it seemed a fitting opportunity for a last farewell. RIP Jean.

The only other 'good' day this week was one of those that are not so productive, but merely enjoyable.  On Wednesday I took some air conditioning equipment to an electronics firm on the outskirts of Blandford Forum in Dorset, and delighted in the drive across Salisbury Plain, and past Stonehenge.  In the afternoon, after returning home, I experienced a totally different sort of 'up and down', when I tripped as I returned to the van after paying for fuel, and fell between the pump and the wing of the van.  I'm amused, looking back, to realise that, after assessing the minimal personal damage, my next thought was for the fact that the keys that I'd been holding in my hand had scratched the wheelarch.  I told the van, 'Sorry,' and wiped the scratch with my finger, before getting to my feet.  It wasn't until Thursday afternoon that I realised that my elbow was hurting, and imagination suggested that I might have chipped a bone, because my self-examination at the time hadn't revealed any external cuts.  Later, since elbows are among the most difficult bits of the body to look at, I used a mirror, and discovered a small cut just on the bit of the elbow that I would lean on against the arm-rest in the van, or on my desk.

And finally this week, another 'up-and-down' example, already familiar to any of my readers who, like me, are keen on family history.  In a less than successful attempt to deal with the problems of increased popularity, the well-known company findmypast has now released a totally new website to enable access to its growing range of data sources for genealogists.  Unfortunately thousands of its customers, including me, have found this to be virtually unusable.  The changes seem to be geared to providing a single entry point for many different kinds of database.  The result is that they've made searches much more difficult, rather than easier.  For example, last night I spent an hour and a half trying unsuccessfully to find someone on a census - an exercise that would probably have taken a quarter of the time, and likely to have been successful too, using the old system that is now, unfortunately, irretrievable.

Grouse over - climbs down from soapbox.  More news next week, which will begin with another of those 'enjoyable unproductive jobs' . . . to Rhayader in the middle of Wales!

The Annual Fishy Week!

My actions the other night would have seemed strange to the casual observer. I put some receipts at the back of my desk, placed a paperweight upon them and muttered, "Lowestoft Fish."  Readers might be interested in, or at least amused by the explanation.

Many years ago now, in the days when my accounting career began - against a rural Norfolk background - my week included a number of routine jobs that needed to be done every day.  Similarly, there were other tasks that were weekly in nature, and depended upon those daily jobs being completed first.

At the end of the financial year in that pre-computerised age, one of the most boring, seemingly interminable, and yet one of the most significant challenges was the evaluation of the end-of-year stocktaking.  It fell to me to insert a price on every item of every stock sheet, so that others could then calculate the cost of each line, and the total value of each sheet.  Those of greater seniority would then compile the grand total and feed it into the preparation of the company's accounts.

One day my boss came into the office, spotted a great heap of stock sheets on the side of my desk, and asked, with feigned innocence, what I was doing.  My reply, listing those daily and weekly tasks that comprised my normal work, was met by a firm, polite, but embarrassing reprimand, stating in no uncertain terms that my single priority had to be pricing stock sheets . . . "until they're all done!"  Baulking no rebuttal, he turned on his heel, and went out.

Minutes later, his anger cooled, the boss returned, and in his hand was a flat box, rather like those seen sometimes by a supermarket check-out, having been emptied of their former contents of fruit and vegetables.  He asked me to place the regular work that I'd been doing into the box, along with anything else from my desk that related to the new financial year.  The box was then placed prominently on top of the filing cabinet and I, together with the rest of the office staff, were instructed that all new-year work that came into the office was to be placed there, and not attended to until the stock evaluation had been completed.

The box was white, and on its side, in bright green letters that linger in my memory even now, were the words, 'LOWESTOFT FISH'.  The expression quickly became a part of office vocabulary, and the box stayed with me when I moved a couple of years later to take charge of my own department in the company, where I took great pride in passing on the lesson I'd learned.

Ten years or more later, fortunes had changed, and I found myself in another situation.  Meanwhile, Keith, my former boss, had also left that company and by then was working as an accounting 'temp.'  In that capacity, he came to work for me and, during the few weeks that we again shared an office, we also smiled over the history of 'Lowestoft Fish'.

Even now, although I have no box nor the need for one, and the valuation of stock sheets is a thing of the past, I recall those days with a kind of pleasure, still remembering that I have to complete last year's accounts - at least to a draft stage - before I can process transactions relating to my new financial year.

So, how has the new year begun for me?  This week has felt good.  It began with a planned trip to a hospital in Newcastle on Monday, and then came another (less-) early start for Sunbury-on-Thames on Tuesday, matched by a late finish, which began in the mid-afternoon with a delivery to a bar near Cambridge bus station.  Afterwards came an attempt to find the main theatre in the maze of Norfolk & Norwich University Hospital, followed by unusually slow service at the nearby Little Chef.  Wednesday was a relaxing day, with two deliveries to chemists' shops in south Essex, and a couple more local jobs in the afternoon.

The big drain on the week's energy stocks began on Wednesday evening, when an 8.20 call invited me to collect some goods locally to be at Hexham General Hospital for 9.0am.  You can imagine how much - or how little! - sleep I had that night!  An early night on Thursday was also partly justified by the air pollution caused by someone moving the Sahara Desert, but I was OK by Friday morning for an interesting pair of jobs delivering to Corby and then collecting just outside March for a promotional firm in the local village of Anstey.  The week then finished with novelty.

I collected in Stevenage for an address in Redditch, with the advice that, although the firm to whom the package was going actually left off at 5.0pm, because they wanted to use it that evening, someone would stay on to receive it.  Unsurprisingly, there was a hold-up on the M1, so I phoned ahead to let them know when I would arrive, and during the course of my onward journey I received two separate texts to advise alternative delivery addresses. When I finally handed over my charge, conversation revealed that I had delivered a powerful blade that would shortly be utilised in cutting a trench in the M6, in connection with a road-widening plan!

The opening story of rural Norfolk is balance by my joyful experience this afternoon.  For the second time this season, I watched 'my' team, Diss Town, play football.  They turned out in their away strip against Haverhill Rovers.  I recalled that towards the end of last season I'd watched them play in this light blue strip and win 4-0, and wondered whether this might be a repeat performance.  Not quite, but I was quite satisfied to see them win 3-0, and gain three points against a team nine places above them in the league.