Holiday time!

It's felt like a holiday week . . . again!  Not just because of the weather (sweltering at 27-plus, with no air-con) which was cooler than last week's maximum (31), but for other reasons too.  Now, given that holiday time is when you do things you wouldn't normally do, how's this for starters?  On Sunday afternoon, with the decks all clear, I was wondering how to fill the time . . . yes, it does happen occasionally! . . . when the phone rang.  "I don't know if you'd be interested in this, Brian." (Of course you don't, I thought, that's why you've rung me: to find out.)  The weekend controller continued hesitantly, as is his wont, and offered me the chance of a trip to Glasgow. "Now?" I asked. "Well, it's ready now; needs to be there tonight."  A slight pause ensued, as I considered my situation.  I don't normally work on Sundays, with the exception of collecting something for delivery on Monday, but I had been to, and enjoyed, the normal Sunday service, and there was none planned in the evening.  "I'll take it!" I heard myself saying.

Thus it was that, on a warm Sunday afternoon, I drove down to Waltham Cross, collected two reels of film and subsequently presented myself at Cineworld just one street away from Glasgow's famous Sauchiehall Street that evening.  The consequence of that was that, after a few hours sleep and a refreshing bath, I had a decent interval in which to look back at my proper holiday and try to organise my many photos, before presenting myself in the office in time to collect my invoice for the last week's work.

Tuesday started with a couple of fairly local jobs, going no further than Buckinghamshire, and then another long period at home, during which those photos got finished.  Here are a couple of samples.

Guernsey - St Peter Port

Sark - La Coupée

Wednesday was quite relaxing, too.  I presented myself at our large pharmaceutical customer in Hoddesdon at 8.0am, and took an ailing pump to a specialist firm in Bradford for repair.  Sandwiched between delivery to a building site at Maidenhead railway station on Thursday morning, and taking some fuses to a Reading night club on Friday afternoon, the remainder of the week was a decent selection of regular work.

Then came another taste of holiday, as I took three kegs of ale to a hotel on the seafront at Hunstanton, completing the formalities just in time to cross the road to the chip shop as it was closing.  The proprietor stood at the door turning people away, but I deflected his protestation - quite justified - that there were no more chips left, and secured a portion of cod and a battered sausage, which sustained me quite adequately.

Last Saturday I witnessed for my first time a local football match in which each half was interrupted by a much-needed drinks break, and today I'm planning to go to another pre-season confrontation, this time in Nottinghamshire, where the visitors are Dereham Town, from my native Norfolk.  The home team, Shirebrook Town, play in a lower league but, as we all know, this is no guarantee of away success!

"It's Oh so Nice to Wander Back""

The words of the Bob Hope song came to mind as I thought about the past week.  It's nice to be home again in the world of unpredictability, where things aren't what they seem, and where the Repeating Genie is alive and kicking. In an even week of three jobs per day, in addition to my 'home' counties of Herts., Beds. and Cambs., I've visited Hampshire, Buckinghamshire, Wiltshire, Staffordshire and Leicestershire.

It seemed like a repeat when the first job on Monday sent me to Basingstoke and Petersfield, not much more than a day after my homeward journey up the M3 from my holiday.  I say Petersfield, but that was just the first of a number of 'approximate' destinations this week, and I went in fact to the village of Froxfield about four miles away, and on the opposite side of the A3. I quite enjoyed the journey through the countryside and discovered that, although I hadn't been driving on Guernsey, the gentler pace of life had come back with me, for I found myself driving a little slower than usual for a day or two.

On Tuesday morning I was sent to Haddenham, and SatNav took me 'the long way', sticking, as is its wont, to the motorways, and approaching it from the west.  I came home more directly, and was intrigued the next day, when I went to Ludgershall - only ten miles away, and further west - SatNav's first 'guess' was back along the same roads I'd used to come home only a day before.

Tuesday afternoon found me collecting a tiny package from a customer in Welwyn Garden City "for Swindon".  Well, at least it had a Swindon post code. When I called the office to tell them that it was actually Devizes, the controller popped the post code in as we spoke and said, "... and it's not actually Devizes either ... somewhere called Bromham!"  I just made it by 6.0, as the last member of staff was about to leave, and rounded off the day with a meal at an 18th century coaching inn on the A4, something I haven't done for quite a while.

Thursday morning found me back in Wiltshire on a building site on the edge of Corsham, and on the way back I was asked to divert to Enfield.  On the odd occasion over the last twelve years I have suffered van problems along the way, and have had to call out emergency services and sometimes the help of another driver as well, to deliver the goods I've been carrying.  This was 'pay-back' time, and I had to rendezvous with another driver on the busy A10, where he was causing a traffic queue after his clutch had failed.  I had been asked to relieve him of a consignment for 'Cambridge' which turned out to be one of those South Cambridgeshire villages just outside Royston; in fact along the same road in Shingay as the office where I last worked before taking to the road!

After the storms of Thursday night/Friday morning, I was up early to be in Burton on Trent for 9.0.  Once more, this wasn't exactly the destination, which was in fact the Nestlé factory at Hatton, and after a frustrating wait for a fork truck to unload me, I was pleased to go only a mile or so along the A511 to the excellent Salt Box Café for a late but welcome breakfast.

The week's final approximation came in the afternoon, when I was required to take some presentation materials to 'two addresses in Leicester'.  In the event, with the rapid evaporation of the working week, this was condensed to just one, a business park I'd visited before on the edge of Enderby, where the goods were welcomed at about 5.40 pm.  On my way home after a meal-break, I was faced by the biggest traffic delay SatNav had ever reported to me: 95 minutes!  As one might expect, this gradually reduced, but it was still 9.0 by the time I crossed the threshold.

"It's nice to go travelling," but ...

Shake it all About!

There's nothing like an earthquake to liven up a holiday.  So where was I when the strongest tremor for over 80 years happened on Friday?  Only 25 miles from the epicentre of this 'quake, which measured 4.5 on the Richter Scale and, guess what?  I missed it!  Like many, it seems, the first I knew was when people were talking about it over the evening meal.  A variety of personal experiences appeared in the local media, of course.  "We thought it was a large lorry going past."  "My poor parrot fell off his perch; he took a while to start talking again!"  "I said to myself 'that can't be next door's washing machine on spin.'"  The Greffier of Alderney (an official rather like a Registrar) said that "it felt just like the sonic boom we used to get at 11.0 each morning when Concorde was flying to Paris."

And where was I when all this excitement took place?  To the best of my recollection, I must have been enjoying that sausage roll and milk shake at 'The Mermaid' - a place of refreshment on the Island of Herm.  This was the last leg of this year's holiday: visiting three of the Channel Islands.  Many years ago I visited Sark, famous for the absence of motor cars and the quality of its dark skies, and from time to time have yearned to go back there.  Since about the only way to get to Sark is via Guernsey, it seemed a good plan to see something of that island too, and while I was about it, why not look at Herm, too, since it's midway between the two?  I put together a programme for the week, which I stuck to for the most part, whereby I stayed at a wonderful hotel at St Martins, for five of the seven days, and spent the other two at an equally delightful, but totally different, guest house on Sark.

I won't bore my readers with lots of pictures - little can match the boredon of someone else's enthusiasm over their holiday snaps!  Many of mine show the sea, an island or two, and the glorious blue sky which crowned the week, with the exception of 'soggy Saturday' when I arrived wondering whether or not I was going to enjoy the experience at all, and the rather reticent sunshine of yesterday which, while still warmer than home, was a little on the cooler side, with mist over the sea, and a few spots of rain to say goodbye to us in the afternoon.

I had debated whether or not to take my van with me to Guernsey.  One consideration was the comparison of the ferry cost and the car-parking fee at the port.  One aspect I didn't consider was the roads.  The surface of most roads on Guernsey is very good.  Road markings are different from the UK, but consistent, and helpful.  Having chosen the cheaper option, I travelled either on foot or by using the bus service; I quickly learned that, in rural areas, the bus stops aren't marked by signs on posts, but are written on the road!  I also quickly appreciated that many roads are much narrower than I'm used to and, unless you can pursuade your Range Rover to breathe in, you're better advised to leave it behind.  I've lost count of the number of times that my face was only inches from the hedge, or wall - and how thankful I was that there was a window between us.  Likewise, too, the occasions when the bus had to mount the kerb to allow a motor to pass.  One morning, about five minutes were taken up as both the bus and the oncoming small lorry were manoeuvred to and fro to make best use of someone's drive!  It's easy to see why there's an island-wide 35mph speed limit!

After that note of caution, and relief that I had left the van behind, I have to conclude with the associated tale of woe . . . and shame, as a professional driver.  I wondered whether the van would be safe left unattended for a week, so I parked it conspicuously in the middle of the park rather than at one side.  What I hadn't considered was the possibility that I might forget to make sure the radio was turned off.  A year or more ago, I overlooked this on Friday night, didn't need the van on Saturday, and found on Sunday that the battery was flat.  Since then I've had a new battery, and have tried to ensure that I turn the radio off every night.  So far so good, until last Saturday morning.  You've guessed it!  The excitement of the holiday departure thrust routine completely aside, and it needed only a moment last night to guess the reason why my door wouldn't open as I pressed the key!  Good old AA!  I had a moment's fright as I realised that my membership card was one of the 'won't be needing that' things that had been left at home for safety.  However, they were quite satisfied with post code and registration no., and had someone with me in under an hour, with the happy result that the van and I arrived safely home about 1.30 this morning.

What was that about work tomorrow?  Dash it - holiday's over for another year!

On the Brink of ...

The other week I had a very lopsided week that balanced out overall, through a particularly demanding Friday.  This week has been totally different, but merited the same headline, "Mustn't Grumble".  Having used it so recently, though, I felt I couldn't be so boring, so instead, I'm looking forward to my holiday, which is why this post is published just a little earlier than usual.

The boss has been on holiday this week, so a different mind has been controlling my activities.  Though equally efficient, this chap has a totally different way of working, and in many ways this week has shown me just how 'typecast' one can become to he who is doing the casting!  Certain jobs that come up regularly and which have often been my lot have disappeared from my job sheet, although I'd be willing to bet (if I were a wagering sort) that they've been done, but by someone else.  Instead, I've had a varied and interesting, if demanding, week, in which I've earned more in four days than in many a five-day week.

The week began with the men's breakfast at church, which I've had to miss for two weeks because of an early start.  I had been given a job, but it was a 9.0 collection in Cambridge for Luton, so I was able to make it in good time after leaving my friends.  As soon as I was back from this, the change of controller was obvious.  Instead of the customary comfortable wait until the next job should come along, I was immediately whisked off to collect, with the instruction, "ring when you're loaded", which usually carries the implication that, if there's room in the van, another job will be forthcoming to accompany it.  Thus it was that I then set off for Maidenhead and Dorchester, from which I returned just too late for bellringing practice.

This set the pattern for the next day, which started with a job to Milton Keynes, followed quickly by Eaton Socon with Lichfield.  Wednesday began with a couple of regulars, that haven't come up for a few weeks, firstly to Haverhill, and then on to collect at West Suffolk Hospital in Bury St Edmunds for the laboratory in Royston.  Following that came what was the event amusement of the week; when I reported in detail to the office, the response was only half intelligible through the laughter, "I won't tell a soul about that ... only everybody!"  It seemed quite a normal job when I collected it: a heap of equipment piled onto a pallet and shrink-wrapped.  It was just light enough for two burly men to lift onto the van manually, although when I tried to adjust its position, I couldn't budge it.

It was going to an address in Horley, Surrey, but when I got there I discovered that this was in fact not an industrial estate as I'd expected, but an ornamental office block on the outskirts of Gatwick Airport.  Suspecting trouble, I announced to the receptionist that I had a pallet of equipment for such-and-such a firm, and was told, "That's OK, bring it in, please."  I explained patiently that this was a pallet, and although two men had loaded it, so it wouldn't require a fork-truck, it would need a couple of men to get it off the van.  The receptionist called her supervisor, an equally slim and smart young lady, who immediately took charge.  Stepping boldly forth on her high heels, she came out to look at the problem.  "Can we get it off together?" she asked, almost daring me to suggest that we couldn't.  I eyed her business suit, but agreed that this was worth a try.  I stayed outside with the van while she went in to change her shoes.

She emerged a moment later accompanied by the receptionist, similarly shod in 'flatties', and a older woman, who was quickly instructed to "hold the door open."  While she held one door, and I held the other, these two un-amazon-like athletes grasped the offending consignment as if it were no more than a single plank of wood, and in a trice had deposited it on the floor of the reception area.  As I waited for a signature, one of them told me that the company whose goods they were was no longer there, but had phoned a few hours previously to say they were expecting a delivery, and would these good souls receive it for them?  I think that may be the last time such a favour is granted!

After an evening delivery of some medicine to Papworth hospital, I managed a few hours' rest before the busiest Thursday for many a month.  I had been given a gentle 'circuit' of three jobs before leaving for Papworth, starting with a 7.30 collection in Stevenage for Milton Keynes, to be followed by Nuneaton to Foxton and then Cambridge to Royston.  I rang in once I'd had five minutes to cool down after this (suspecting, quite correctly, that there would be little respite otherwise), and was promptly sent to collect two deliveries in Northampton before meeting another driver to be given one for Wigston on the outskirts of Leicester.  One after another, I presented these goods to someone about to leave for home, finally making Wigston by 5.55 pm!  Twice this week, I've enjoyed an evening meal at the truckstop; the first time for several weeks, yesterday's making a fitting end to this half of the year.

Today has seen me up almost at work time, in order to have my tyres and steering checked over,  get the van cleaned inside and out, and generally prepare to spend a week flitting between the Channel Islands.