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!