Good, Better, Best!

I wrote last week about 'bad days': my definition of them, and how difficult they can be to cope with.  This week's principal story is an extension of that theme.  Monday brought me four jobs, which took me to Crawley, Bourne End, Colnbrook and, in the evening, to Ash Vale, near Aldershot: although financially beneficial, definitely in the 'bad' range.  Tuesday began with prayer for something 'generally north'.  (I like north for many reasons; not least the attraction of a number of possible eating places - aka truck stops!) In contrast, the working day began with a job to Greenford and then one around the M25 from Cuffley to Esher.

As I made my way homeward, a call came to ask if I'd like 'a trip to the Emerald Isle.'  'I would, sir,' I replied, rolling the 'r' in an attempt at an Irish burr.  A job was then described that could be collected on my way home, for delivery 'in Belfast' the next morning.  Thankfully it turned out to be to a hotel some distance away from the city, to the north-west.

Realising that there could then be an interval before the departure of the return ferry, my thoughts turned to my family history, and the problem of confirming that a will, of which I'd obtained a copy some while ago, was actually that of my great-uncle.  The name was right, George Evans, and the date was certainly possible, but this man's profession as a farmer, and his location, were at odds with what I already knew of my great-uncle's life; and his son and executor had 'acquired' an additional forename I'd not known before.  I'm fairly sure this problem can only be satisfactorily resolved in Belfast - if at all - so I left home armed with all the details in case this might be an opportunity to take the matter forward a stage.

Mary McAleese Boyne Valley Bridge
(picture - RTÉ)

I've said here before that my preference is always to go to Ireland via Holyhead, to avoid the long trek to Stranraer.  Although the M1 north from the end of the excellent Port Tunnel (only a €3.00 toll outside the rush-hour!) is now becoming familiar, I confess to not having previously appreciated the Mary McAleese Boyne Valley Bridge, although it's been there since June 2003!
Maybe my eye caught the roadside announcements of its change of name last year in honour of the former president; the last time I had passed over it would have been before that event.

As I drove on up the A1 towards Newry, my PDA bleeped, and I noticed at the same moment a text message on my phone.  These had originated from the ever-vigilant Milton Keynes office, who had spotted on their screens that I was prowling around on the other side of the Irish Sea, and had linked this with a request for a collection from a military base not far from my destination.  In my twelve years of this work, I've only been to Ireland eight times, and up to now I've neither achieved, nor heard of other drivers enjoying, a return load on such a trip.

The job proved no more difficult than to any other military establishment. The main difficulty is always identifying to the security staff just where your contact is to be located.  On the last such occasion I found myself trying to make a delivery to someone who was no longer there!  Once that hurdle was overcome, it was simply a case of sitting and waiting; the boxes were brought to me, loaded into the van, and I was on my way, all thoughts of any diversion to the Public Record Office completely forgotten.  Instead I enjoyed a drive round the country lanes of Antrim and Down, before rejoining the A1 for my journey south.

As I neared my destination, pleased with a likely arrival in Dublin just before the check-in time, the phone rang.  It was Dave, my controller.  "I hear you went into an Irish church, and came out with another job," he said, with teasing geniality.  When I replied that there had been no church involved, implying simply prayer - although not expecting so generous an outcome! - he said how pleased he was that I'd been able to do the extra job, and asked whether I'd still be able to make the ferry booking, since this had been made on the basis of just the one job.  I have to confess to not a little pride as I told him, "No problem.  I'm driving through the Port Tunnel as we speak!"

The fact of a job to Ireland was 'better' than the 'something north' that I'd prayed for; the extra job was something even better, but for me, Dave's call was the icing on the cake ... the 'best' of this week's headline.  It wasn't until later that I noticed another fine detail.  Our ferry bookings are usually made showing the vehicle on the outward journey as 'laden', i.e. carrying goods, but on the return journey as 'empty'.  On this occasion, both journeys were declared as 'laden'.  A slip of the pen or ...?

After an early delivery of the goods I'd picked up, I spent the rest of Thursday in recovery mode, and yesterday was fairly normal, beginning with jobs to Haywards Heath and Hove.  When I was then offered an evening ride to Salford, I had to say no, but collected the goods from West Drayton for another driver to take north.

Today, our ringers were supposed to take part in the county Striking Competition, but had to withdraw at the last minute owing to illness, so I'm left with the opportunity to visit one of the FA Cup ties taking place this afternoon.  I'm fortunate in having little cause for boredom, the curse of so many these days!