Two Wasn'ts, a Was and a Could Be

The story of this week has been something of a parody for life itself . . . or so it seems looking back from here, with a good day and one that might turn out to be average, following two that didn't even make the chart!  Last weekend, to begin with, was pleasant, social, but unexciting.  I spent most of the time in a two-day visit to my cousin in Nottinghamshire; it was two days that took up the best part of three, because I left late on Saturday in order to get home 'stuff' out of the way first, and then I departed mid-afternoon on Monday in order to be home in time for the bellringing practice.

However, the absence of anyone else at the church told me that nothing was happening, and an exchange of text messages confirmed that the practice had been cancelled 'for want of interest'.  I hadn't made the practice the previous week and so missed the moment where those present completely forgot our discussion before Easter . . . which, to my recollection at least, determined that there would be no practice on Easter Monday, but that there would be one on the next Bank Holiday.  Starting, therefore, with that assumed blank sheet, they agreed that those who were able to come were too few to make a practice possible.  It was presumed in my absence that I would come to the same conclusion, so no one had bothered to let me know.

Tuesday started the working week with a sequence of unconnected jobs, the furthest of which was a familiar run to Corby.  Wednesday was even worse, with an early start to Basildon and an afternoon collection in Rushden for Luton before loading some white goods for delivery in Thame on Thursday morning.

It's always good to have prior advice of an awkward destination, and it was comforting to know that, although SatNav said the nearest number to my requested 32 was 35, nearby was a stone gateway that would lead to my Thame 'target'.  It was even better to approach this across an increasing queue of oncoming traffic, and see the small number '32' smiling at me from the gatepost!  Thursday was apparently busy, and I was almost home when the phone rang to despatch me immediately to Welwyn Garden City to collect a small item for Clacton-on-Sea that 'should have been sent last night!'  There are occasions when it is better not to be given such details, so that one can react with natural ignorance and surprise to any complaint, but in the event there was no comment at all when I made the delivery, adverse or otherwise, and I retreated happily homeward.

I had been home this time for about an hour, when I was given an interesting early-evening job.  It involved collecting an electrical item from a farm in Leicestershire, and delivering it to a food processing firm in Dunstable.  I found the village, and traversed the length of Leicester Road twice, but saw nothing approaching an industrial presence let alone the name of the company from whom I was collecting.  In fact all the gates along the road were field entrances rather than to a farm.  Enquiries led me to a cluster of scruffy farm buildings beside a footpath, behind which were hidden a house and a double garage.  I tried the phone no. that I'd been given, and learned that the office was closed.  The only alternative was to approach the house and ask.  Yes, this was the right place (gesture towards the garage), "my daughter has left the parcel here to be collected."  With the detective work successfully concluded, I sped south for the delivery.  It was fortunate that I'd delivered to this particular factory before, so I knew where I was going, because the name had now been changed, and there was no sign at all of the name I'd been given!

On Friday morning, I rang the office to be added to the list, and as I narrated the events of the previous evening, one of the other controllers was trying to call me with work.  I was sent to King's Lynn with security equipment for a smart new office building in a nearby village.  Then came a local job which, unusually for this particular customer, was far too big for my van, so I had to summon a larger vehicle and retreat.  Instead, I was sent south with a repaired lift motor for Reading University, and a large steel bar for McLaren Racing in Woking.

Bishopshalt School
(taken during the winter snows of 2012)

Yesterday was the second of this year's meetings of the family history society, so at lunchtime I made my way through the town to start my journey to Hillingdon, hoping as I did so that I wouldn't get caught in the cufuffle caused by the Women's Cycle Tour passing through our Garden City. Success; I wasn't delayed, and arrived at the beautiful school just in time for the start of procedings, the highlight of which was this time the showing of a video of Suffolk life in the early 20th century.

Now I'm looking forward to another four-day week, with the van in for a service tomorrow.  Normal life will be resumed . . . one day!