This week's post is something of a review of that to which I'm assigning the code 'PR#1', i.e. 'Phased Retirement, week 1'. There have been a number of occasions when I have met someone at a time when I might have expected to be miles away, and have had to explain myself. Usually, the justification begins with 'I'm retired this week,' which might seem a rather strange construction for the meaning people usually assume, when they reply, 'Oh, that's nice, I hope you'll find things to occupy your time,' or similar. It's not a strange construction at all, however, when taken in the context of the meaning I seek to convey, so I embark on the essential detail. The conversation runs something like this. 'I'm back at work on Monday.' 'Oh, you're on holiday then.' 'No. I'm in phased retirement. It's a plan I've devised to prevent myself falling off a cliff.' I've already outlined this plan here and the amount of detail I then provide depends on how much time either of us has, and how close I relate to them.
So, what have I actually been doing? There are three main areas that I'm hoping to develop in this next couple of years, leading into full-blown retirement towards the end of next year. The first is a deeper exploration of our fair and pleasant land, to a greater degree than has been possible in the last thirteen years. To this end I have purchased a motorhome, and am now gradually gathering all the 'stuff' that one has to put into it to make it a viable place to live in for two weeks or more at a time, along with getting to know how all the domestic paraphernalia works. The second line is cooking for myself, in order to live somewhat more economically, and hopefully more healthily than the past unpredictable and ready-meals existence. And the third one is to explore further the family history that has occupied me on-and-off for the last thirty years, perhaps(!) leading one day to compiling it into a book for my nearest and dearest.
The week has yielded some progress on each of these fronts. There have been a number of comings and goings with the motorhome, the first of which was lodging her for a couple of days with the garage both to have a good mechanical check, and also to benefit from the experience of the proprietor who owned a much bigger motorhome for several years, and could offer not only advice but a few 'leftovers' stored above his office. He also discovered signs of damp under one of the cushions, so a trip was made to the dealer where I bought it, to have this investigated further under the warranty. This was reassuring, since the damp level was about half what he had expected to read on his damp-meter. This would seem to indicate that there had, indeed, been some water ingress in the past, but that it had been sorted. Further examination revealed the possible location, and to be safe, when the weather is better, he has suggested cleaning and re-sealing the site. To complete the week, today I have had the radio replaced. The old one offered FM and a CD player, but the vandal-proof aerial fitted to the motorhome is very susceptible to interference. The new, DAB-equipped radio by-passes the interference with its own aerial.
When it comes to cooking, I keep finding things my present kitchen is short of. Yes, I did cook in the past, but not 'properly', and during recent years, when life has been so unpredictable, I gave away many of the things that were 'cluttering up' my kitchen, so I'm now having to replace them. I've also started collecting recipe books - though time alone will tell whether I'll benefit from the collection!
A few weeks ago, my attention was drawn to two obituary notices in my former local paper, the subjects of which bore two familiar names from my ancestors. A quick check revealed a distant link to one, but the other proved more elusive. After following the name - Brickham, which is fairly uncommon but, I found, easily confused with Briskham, or Buckham - through all the censuses from 1841 to 1911, I now have a couple of sketched family trees, but establishing a link between them and my own is somewhat more difficult. It's fortunate that many Norfolk parish registers are viewable on line, but it's a long trawl, even so.
And how have I felt about being retired, albeit only temporarily at present? I've experienced a variety of emotions. I've been busy, as the previous paragraphs will confirm; I've felt thorough, and as a result, satisfied, catching myself sorting stuff out when I discover a mess, rather than simply parking the idea as something to do 'one day'. At other times I've found myself not actually bored, but rather lacking in focus, unable to get on with what I'd like to, frustrated by the weather.
Now, with the onset of a 'normal' weekend, and work gear already prepared, I'm beginning to build up a list of things that I shall be attempting to fit into PR#2 in a few weeks' time.
Saturday, 31 January 2015
Saturday, 24 January 2015
All up One End
I may have used that title before ... if so, I apologise, but that's how this week feels from where I'm sitting now. Let's dispense with the statistical evidence first. The week involved thirteen jobs, seven of which filled the last two days, with only one job in the first three days exceeding 70 miles; and by the end of that third evening, I had achieved less than two days' expected income.
It's been a strange week for where I've been, too. The one job I did on Monday, from a customer in Letchworth to one of their regular deliveries in Bedford, was exactly repeated on Tuesday, but an even stranger occurance happened later in the week. Crawley isn't a place I get sent to often; just thirty-eight times in the whole period up to Christmas 2014, i.e. in the nearly thirteen years that I've been doing this work. Already in 2015, I've been there four times. The second of these was on Wednesday morning, when I took some steelwork to a building site in the town centre. The next afternoon, I was asked to collect a CD from an office near my home to go to a large defence establishment there: a routine sort of job, with a simple hand-over in the security office at the gate.
Yesterday afternoon, I was sent to a different customer in Bedford, who had something to be taken to the very same location - three visits in three days, compared to an average of about three in a year normally. On the way back I refuelled at the same filling station, and was served by the same cashier ... to whom I was just another face, of course, so he didn't recognise me second time around.
As regards visiting the same destination for different customers ... it does happen occasionally. There was one a few months ago, although I don't recall the details, simply having the thought that it was a delivery point that I'd been to for someone else fairly recently. I think the strangest incidence like that was several years ago, when I collected something in Hitchin for Canary Wharf (London E16). Just as I got there, I had a phone call saying that another customer in the same road also had something for Canary Wharf. When I made the second collection, not only was it for the same road, but for the same man at the same building!
The 'all up one end' feeling was also true in respect of the location of the week's deliveries, Only one job took me north rather than south from my home area, when I went to Redditch on Thursday. My resentment of an 'overdose of M25' was exacerbated by the fact that my Friday visit to Crawley came hot on the heels of an early start that morning. I had been asked on my way home on Thursday to divert to Houghton Regis, to collect some display material for a location in Carshalton. This was to be delivered by 7.30 am next day, and I was determined that it wouldn't overshadow the day by getting me caught in the rush-hour traffic in either direction. Consequently, I limited my Thursday evening activities to the bare essentials, had an early night, and set off just before 5.0 am. I had expected an hour or so to 'chill out' (in more ways than one!) upon my arrival but, to my amazement, there was already someone there, so by 6.40 I was on my return journey, and looking for breakfast on the way!
Life for me now takes on a slightly different, and hopefully more relaxed, aspect; this weekend sees the start of my much-heralded plan of tapered retirement. I fully expect that it will feel just like any other week of holiday from work, but it will carry with it many thoughts of how these non-working weeks will begin to form a pattern in the coming months, and I shall endeavour to sow some seeds of a new routine to life. Time alone will reveal how successful this plan will prove.
It's been a strange week for where I've been, too. The one job I did on Monday, from a customer in Letchworth to one of their regular deliveries in Bedford, was exactly repeated on Tuesday, but an even stranger occurance happened later in the week. Crawley isn't a place I get sent to often; just thirty-eight times in the whole period up to Christmas 2014, i.e. in the nearly thirteen years that I've been doing this work. Already in 2015, I've been there four times. The second of these was on Wednesday morning, when I took some steelwork to a building site in the town centre. The next afternoon, I was asked to collect a CD from an office near my home to go to a large defence establishment there: a routine sort of job, with a simple hand-over in the security office at the gate.
Yesterday afternoon, I was sent to a different customer in Bedford, who had something to be taken to the very same location - three visits in three days, compared to an average of about three in a year normally. On the way back I refuelled at the same filling station, and was served by the same cashier ... to whom I was just another face, of course, so he didn't recognise me second time around.
As regards visiting the same destination for different customers ... it does happen occasionally. There was one a few months ago, although I don't recall the details, simply having the thought that it was a delivery point that I'd been to for someone else fairly recently. I think the strangest incidence like that was several years ago, when I collected something in Hitchin for Canary Wharf (London E16). Just as I got there, I had a phone call saying that another customer in the same road also had something for Canary Wharf. When I made the second collection, not only was it for the same road, but for the same man at the same building!
The 'all up one end' feeling was also true in respect of the location of the week's deliveries, Only one job took me north rather than south from my home area, when I went to Redditch on Thursday. My resentment of an 'overdose of M25' was exacerbated by the fact that my Friday visit to Crawley came hot on the heels of an early start that morning. I had been asked on my way home on Thursday to divert to Houghton Regis, to collect some display material for a location in Carshalton. This was to be delivered by 7.30 am next day, and I was determined that it wouldn't overshadow the day by getting me caught in the rush-hour traffic in either direction. Consequently, I limited my Thursday evening activities to the bare essentials, had an early night, and set off just before 5.0 am. I had expected an hour or so to 'chill out' (in more ways than one!) upon my arrival but, to my amazement, there was already someone there, so by 6.40 I was on my return journey, and looking for breakfast on the way!
Life for me now takes on a slightly different, and hopefully more relaxed, aspect; this weekend sees the start of my much-heralded plan of tapered retirement. I fully expect that it will feel just like any other week of holiday from work, but it will carry with it many thoughts of how these non-working weeks will begin to form a pattern in the coming months, and I shall endeavour to sow some seeds of a new routine to life. Time alone will reveal how successful this plan will prove.
Saturday, 17 January 2015
Looking Back
After commenting - some readers might suggest I was complaining, but I did say that slackness was typical of early January - that there wasn't much work last week, this week has brought much more in terms of both variety and overall activity.
I have often said over the last twelve years that I could never go back to an office job. The excitement of not knowing until the last minute what I'm going to do next, and yet being confident in my basic ability to deal with whatever it might be, was the very thing that evoked my delight in the first place, and has maintained it ever since. This wouldn't suit everyone ... and doesn't! Some try it for a week or two and are not seen again; others hear of certain regular jobs and negotiate to be allocated to them, or else have already made it plain that this would suit them better, should such an opportunity arise.
For example, one of my colleagues a few years ago, whose family circumstances it suited, liked to start work every morning from about 6.0 knowing that he would be home most days from about 3.30, or at least by then he'd know for certain what time he would return. From time to time, customers ask for someone to perform a specific run early each morning, and Peter was often assigned to these tasks. Once he went on a fortnight's holiday and I was asked to stand in for him. The particular job he was doing at the time involved collecting boxes from an office in Welwyn Garden City at 6.30 am, taking them to a similar office in Wokingham, and bringing back the empties from previous days. The task was simple and straightforward, but by the end of the first week, I was yearning for his return, even though I was back home by mid-morning and that the rest of the day brought the variety I craved.
Another such regular job, which has been performed daily since long before I joined the team, consists of providing an internal mail service between the many sites operated by our local college. There were always a small number of drivers who knew this run, and I was invited to become one of them soon after I arrived on the scene, although I was clearly a 'reserve', since records indicate that I performed it only 34 times in just over two years. I hadn't been asked to do it for almost ten years ... until this week, when one of the current 'regulars' was in France, another was already committed, and the third had pressing family business that required his absence from work for a day. Who, then, could the controller turn to but ...? I was asked to undergo a verbal update via a phone call to the one who would be away, and learned of a couple of new twists to the routine, but in some ways it was just like turning the clock back.
Talking of clocks in reverse gear, three other things have happened this week that fall into that category. First was the appearance on facebook of the school photo from 1969. This was the year after I'd left the establishment, but naturally most of the faces were familiar, and it was interesting - and not a little embarrassing - to discover that some of those names that I ascribed to unlabelled faces, I then found had been correctly applied to a different face on another page!
Then the local paper published a picture from five years earlier of the pupils at one of the primary schools in the town. Although this wasn't the school I had attended, I did recognise some of the faces as belonging to children from my own street, or who had appeared later at the high school when I was there.
Full credit for the final ocurrence of 'historic' significance should go to my 'number one cousin', who spotted the remarkable coincidence of two sur-names from our family history appearing in the same obituary column. I have identified one of them as being the widow of our fourth cousin, and in so doing I discovered a number of details in my records that still require verification, along with more recent relatives from the newspaper announce-ment who can now be added to the family tree. As to the other lady, further investigation is required to link her family - whom I have now traced back to the late 19th century - to that of our great-great-grandfather.
I have often said over the last twelve years that I could never go back to an office job. The excitement of not knowing until the last minute what I'm going to do next, and yet being confident in my basic ability to deal with whatever it might be, was the very thing that evoked my delight in the first place, and has maintained it ever since. This wouldn't suit everyone ... and doesn't! Some try it for a week or two and are not seen again; others hear of certain regular jobs and negotiate to be allocated to them, or else have already made it plain that this would suit them better, should such an opportunity arise.
For example, one of my colleagues a few years ago, whose family circumstances it suited, liked to start work every morning from about 6.0 knowing that he would be home most days from about 3.30, or at least by then he'd know for certain what time he would return. From time to time, customers ask for someone to perform a specific run early each morning, and Peter was often assigned to these tasks. Once he went on a fortnight's holiday and I was asked to stand in for him. The particular job he was doing at the time involved collecting boxes from an office in Welwyn Garden City at 6.30 am, taking them to a similar office in Wokingham, and bringing back the empties from previous days. The task was simple and straightforward, but by the end of the first week, I was yearning for his return, even though I was back home by mid-morning and that the rest of the day brought the variety I craved.
Another such regular job, which has been performed daily since long before I joined the team, consists of providing an internal mail service between the many sites operated by our local college. There were always a small number of drivers who knew this run, and I was invited to become one of them soon after I arrived on the scene, although I was clearly a 'reserve', since records indicate that I performed it only 34 times in just over two years. I hadn't been asked to do it for almost ten years ... until this week, when one of the current 'regulars' was in France, another was already committed, and the third had pressing family business that required his absence from work for a day. Who, then, could the controller turn to but ...? I was asked to undergo a verbal update via a phone call to the one who would be away, and learned of a couple of new twists to the routine, but in some ways it was just like turning the clock back.
Talking of clocks in reverse gear, three other things have happened this week that fall into that category. First was the appearance on facebook of the school photo from 1969. This was the year after I'd left the establishment, but naturally most of the faces were familiar, and it was interesting - and not a little embarrassing - to discover that some of those names that I ascribed to unlabelled faces, I then found had been correctly applied to a different face on another page!
Then the local paper published a picture from five years earlier of the pupils at one of the primary schools in the town. Although this wasn't the school I had attended, I did recognise some of the faces as belonging to children from my own street, or who had appeared later at the high school when I was there.
Full credit for the final ocurrence of 'historic' significance should go to my 'number one cousin', who spotted the remarkable coincidence of two sur-names from our family history appearing in the same obituary column. I have identified one of them as being the widow of our fourth cousin, and in so doing I discovered a number of details in my records that still require verification, along with more recent relatives from the newspaper announce-ment who can now be added to the family tree. As to the other lady, further investigation is required to link her family - whom I have now traced back to the late 19th century - to that of our great-great-grandfather.
Saturday, 10 January 2015
New Year ... Same old Life!
I find this every year. As the summer fades into autumn, I realise that instead of - in this case - 2014 feeling new while 2013 is still familiar, my outlook has gradually transformed so that 2014 is the familiar one, and this new prospect, 2015, is being felt just over the horizon. So, as the 'old year' has drawn to its close, the image of the new one has become stronger until at last, with a great cheer, the sound of the pipers, and copious amounts of alcohol - not forgetting a lump of coal, if you can find one - it's HERE!
Now it has become reality and, having spent my first week back on the road, I can say that it feels little different from the old one; I expect it's the same for most working people. For a start, I'd forgotten just how slack the first proper week of the new year is for the courier industry. After the first few years I'd been doing the work, it was expected, and the big question would be 'how long before it picks up?' Somehow, in 2015, this phenomenon had slipped my mind. It wasn't until I looked back from Wednesday morning that I realised that this week is just like other years, and by the end of it, I find I've earned less than four days' income in five days. How long, I wonder, will it last in this year of gradual recovery?
Other things, too, haven't changed. There was a good slice of hospital confusion to mirror the same from before Christmas. I was asked to take something from Lister in Stevenage to Addenbrooke's in Cambridge; this combination comes up quite often and, although not having the precise detail, I went out of habit to the ward where I usually collect specimens for the laboratory in Cambridge. After quite a wait, I learned that they had nothing for me. Whilst waiting, I reflected how - unlike my work - the 'feel' of this workplace has changed ... in complete accord with the current news bulletins. No longer are there two or three nurses (I use the term in my ignorance to include various other grades on the ward) at the ward desk, beavering away, and exchanging the odd word of conversation. One person only was present, and she busily engaged on the phone. Others pass quickly to and fro, far too intent on what they're doing to divert their attention to resolve my presence.
I sought clarification of my mission from the office, was eventually called back by another depot, who had taken the job in the first place, with the bald comment, "have you tried pathology?" I hadn't, of course, so did so, only to find two other drivers there, each apparently quite clear what they were doing, and the laboratory staff scratching around (or so it seemed to me) to find something that I might be expected to take. It was most unsatisfactory, and unsatisfying.
Another thing that has been by no means uncommon in the past, was an evening collection that could be transformed into an overnight job. It was 8.0 pm when I was called by the night controller and offered a job to Trowbridge. It could be collected in nearby Royston at 10.0 pm, and had to be at its destination by 7.30 the next morning. In the intervening hour or so, I calculated that, by the time I were to get back home it would be 10.30, and I should have to set the alarm for 4.30 if I were to avoid the early morning traffic and be sure of meeting the deadline. I could remember going to Trowbridge for this customer before; I googled the likely consignee, hoping that I would recognise a name from the results of my search of the industry and the town's name. I was in luck, and it took only a phone call to establish that they did run a 24-hour operation, and that the night shift personnel would be able to receive the goods. So, once loaded, I made my way straight there, delivered, and was home and in bed by 5.0 am. Though short, my sleep was uninterrupted by fears of missing the alarm, and any anxiety about the job to be done, and I surprised myself by the length of time later in the day that I was able to keep driving without getting drowsy.
Just to make me feel at home in the new year, it seemed, there was an evening when I delivered a vanload of drinks to a public house, albeit on Thursday instead of Friday. And to round things off there was a job that was too big for the van. In this case, that wasn't strictly true, but the pallet that had been used only had loading holes down the long sides, which meant that the length of the pallet would have to fit across the width of the van ... which it didn't. Apparently this particular establishment only have pallets of this design, but I usually only collect from them in individual units, so the problem hadn't arisen before. At least I hadn't remembered the one previous occasion, until the fork truck driver asked me to watch out that he didn't touch the door steadies of the van with the pallet as he offered it up to see if there were room for it between the wheel-arches. It was then that I recalled that earlier experience, my resulting anger and the furious attempts I'd made to straighten the bent article sufficiently for the door of the van to close!
But it hasn't been a week without some good points. I've been able to make good use of the gaps between jobs, even down to the minute, measuring all sorts of aspects of the interior of my newly-acquired motorhome, and making appropriate plans for an extended shopping expedition today to get some of the necessary items to equip it for more adventurous use than seeing it parked outside my window!
Now it has become reality and, having spent my first week back on the road, I can say that it feels little different from the old one; I expect it's the same for most working people. For a start, I'd forgotten just how slack the first proper week of the new year is for the courier industry. After the first few years I'd been doing the work, it was expected, and the big question would be 'how long before it picks up?' Somehow, in 2015, this phenomenon had slipped my mind. It wasn't until I looked back from Wednesday morning that I realised that this week is just like other years, and by the end of it, I find I've earned less than four days' income in five days. How long, I wonder, will it last in this year of gradual recovery?
Other things, too, haven't changed. There was a good slice of hospital confusion to mirror the same from before Christmas. I was asked to take something from Lister in Stevenage to Addenbrooke's in Cambridge; this combination comes up quite often and, although not having the precise detail, I went out of habit to the ward where I usually collect specimens for the laboratory in Cambridge. After quite a wait, I learned that they had nothing for me. Whilst waiting, I reflected how - unlike my work - the 'feel' of this workplace has changed ... in complete accord with the current news bulletins. No longer are there two or three nurses (I use the term in my ignorance to include various other grades on the ward) at the ward desk, beavering away, and exchanging the odd word of conversation. One person only was present, and she busily engaged on the phone. Others pass quickly to and fro, far too intent on what they're doing to divert their attention to resolve my presence.
I sought clarification of my mission from the office, was eventually called back by another depot, who had taken the job in the first place, with the bald comment, "have you tried pathology?" I hadn't, of course, so did so, only to find two other drivers there, each apparently quite clear what they were doing, and the laboratory staff scratching around (or so it seemed to me) to find something that I might be expected to take. It was most unsatisfactory, and unsatisfying.
Another thing that has been by no means uncommon in the past, was an evening collection that could be transformed into an overnight job. It was 8.0 pm when I was called by the night controller and offered a job to Trowbridge. It could be collected in nearby Royston at 10.0 pm, and had to be at its destination by 7.30 the next morning. In the intervening hour or so, I calculated that, by the time I were to get back home it would be 10.30, and I should have to set the alarm for 4.30 if I were to avoid the early morning traffic and be sure of meeting the deadline. I could remember going to Trowbridge for this customer before; I googled the likely consignee, hoping that I would recognise a name from the results of my search of the industry and the town's name. I was in luck, and it took only a phone call to establish that they did run a 24-hour operation, and that the night shift personnel would be able to receive the goods. So, once loaded, I made my way straight there, delivered, and was home and in bed by 5.0 am. Though short, my sleep was uninterrupted by fears of missing the alarm, and any anxiety about the job to be done, and I surprised myself by the length of time later in the day that I was able to keep driving without getting drowsy.
Just to make me feel at home in the new year, it seemed, there was an evening when I delivered a vanload of drinks to a public house, albeit on Thursday instead of Friday. And to round things off there was a job that was too big for the van. In this case, that wasn't strictly true, but the pallet that had been used only had loading holes down the long sides, which meant that the length of the pallet would have to fit across the width of the van ... which it didn't. Apparently this particular establishment only have pallets of this design, but I usually only collect from them in individual units, so the problem hadn't arisen before. At least I hadn't remembered the one previous occasion, until the fork truck driver asked me to watch out that he didn't touch the door steadies of the van with the pallet as he offered it up to see if there were room for it between the wheel-arches. It was then that I recalled that earlier experience, my resulting anger and the furious attempts I'd made to straighten the bent article sufficiently for the door of the van to close!
But it hasn't been a week without some good points. I've been able to make good use of the gaps between jobs, even down to the minute, measuring all sorts of aspects of the interior of my newly-acquired motorhome, and making appropriate plans for an extended shopping expedition today to get some of the necessary items to equip it for more adventurous use than seeing it parked outside my window!
Sunday, 4 January 2015
Becalmed ... with a Cough!
I'm sure you'll forgive the fact that there are no long journeys to report this week, only a couple of medium ones to be implied from the following narrative, and lots of local running about. A few years ago, it was my habit to work during the holiday period ... or more precisely, be available for work: there was usually very little over these two weeks. Then I would go along to the Society of Genealogists for their 'closed week', as a volunteer to assist in those library tasks that could only be done in the absence of browsing members. Sadly this took a toll on the muscles of my thumbs, which are unaccustomed to lifting a number of volumes single-handed, and I decided against this strategy.
You could argue that the later policy of taking two complete weeks off at the turn of the year is simply going with the flow of much of the country's workforce. This year, I'm undecided whether the reason is this compliance with everyone else, or because I'm feeling the need of a rest, or that this is the beginning of the 'semi-retirement' plan that I've been trumpeting for some while now. However, the fact remains that I wasn't working last week, and I shall begin again tomorrow morning ... coinciding with the resumption of the early Monday breakfast group at the church.
Meanwhile, I paid an extended visit to my cousin and her family; at least part of it, with her son also present, enjoying part of his long break with his parents. It was here that I celebrated my birthday, since my cousin had expressed a wish to host a party for the occasion, and although some of the expected guests were unable to make it, the atmosphere - and the cake! - was excellent.
Some weeks ago, I finally took the decision to buy a motorhome in which I can 'amuse myself' in my retirement. On the basis of a number of incidences through my life, I was fighting against the temptation to snap up the first one I looked at. However, three weeks after looking at this particular vehicle, and allowing its attraction to crystalise in my mind just what it was I was seeking, I happened to pass by in the course of my work, and notice it standing there, still unsold. One of the other dealers I'd visited had said that the weeks before Christmas were the ideal time to buy, before they stocked up with newer models for the new season, and I began to wonder whether some external Force might be working for me, and if this very one was the motorhome for me after all.
To cut a long story short, a number of factors came together that weekend, and on the Sunday afternoon I put down a deposit on it, on the condition that the dealer was content to await my receipt of a lump-sum from my pension before I would be able to complete the purchase. He was, and so the deal was agreed.
While I was making my Birthday-cum-New-Year visit, I learned that my bank had received the cash, and so my return home was the start of two hectic days, arranging membership of a caravanning organisation, negotiating insurance cover, extending my existing breakdown recovery provision, sorting out the vehicle tax, and the ultimate acquisition of the vehicle, which finally took place yesterday morning.
Now I'm on a steep learning curve, getting to grips with all the features of a motorhome, which far exceed any boasted by the three smaller campers that I've owned before. Alongside this, the vehicle is quite a bit bigger than my regular van, and in some aspects, I shall need to 're-train' in order to drive it safely on the roads, not least in respect of knowing which gaps will now be too small for me to pass, and where I must now be prepared to give way to other drivers!
Sleepless nights of anticipation have now given way to sleepless nights of list making, as I become aware of all the 'extras' that I now need to get to equip the motorhome, from kitchen utensils to mats and brushes, and supplies like gas to heat the water and the living area, and the chemicals for the toilet.
This morning dawned cold ... in fact there was ice to scrape off the van before I could go for my usual bell-ringing exercise. The journey was hampered by freezing fog, which didn't lift until lunchtime, and common sense told me that my afternoon shopping trip would have to be postponed until a day of better weather. In the meantime, the motorhome sits idly peering out of its rear window over the wall that surrounds my car park, fully dressed up in the legality of its new ownership, but with nowhere to go!
If I'm honest, it has worked out just right, because I've managed to catch a cold, and the experience - however unwelcome - of sitting indoors in the warm is much better for me than scrabbling about outside in a vehicle that has no heating until I can buy some gas. Sometimes patience can be learned; at other times pressure has to be applied!
You could argue that the later policy of taking two complete weeks off at the turn of the year is simply going with the flow of much of the country's workforce. This year, I'm undecided whether the reason is this compliance with everyone else, or because I'm feeling the need of a rest, or that this is the beginning of the 'semi-retirement' plan that I've been trumpeting for some while now. However, the fact remains that I wasn't working last week, and I shall begin again tomorrow morning ... coinciding with the resumption of the early Monday breakfast group at the church.
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| Cutting the birthday cake |
Some weeks ago, I finally took the decision to buy a motorhome in which I can 'amuse myself' in my retirement. On the basis of a number of incidences through my life, I was fighting against the temptation to snap up the first one I looked at. However, three weeks after looking at this particular vehicle, and allowing its attraction to crystalise in my mind just what it was I was seeking, I happened to pass by in the course of my work, and notice it standing there, still unsold. One of the other dealers I'd visited had said that the weeks before Christmas were the ideal time to buy, before they stocked up with newer models for the new season, and I began to wonder whether some external Force might be working for me, and if this very one was the motorhome for me after all.
To cut a long story short, a number of factors came together that weekend, and on the Sunday afternoon I put down a deposit on it, on the condition that the dealer was content to await my receipt of a lump-sum from my pension before I would be able to complete the purchase. He was, and so the deal was agreed.
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| Going nowhere! |
Now I'm on a steep learning curve, getting to grips with all the features of a motorhome, which far exceed any boasted by the three smaller campers that I've owned before. Alongside this, the vehicle is quite a bit bigger than my regular van, and in some aspects, I shall need to 're-train' in order to drive it safely on the roads, not least in respect of knowing which gaps will now be too small for me to pass, and where I must now be prepared to give way to other drivers!
Sleepless nights of anticipation have now given way to sleepless nights of list making, as I become aware of all the 'extras' that I now need to get to equip the motorhome, from kitchen utensils to mats and brushes, and supplies like gas to heat the water and the living area, and the chemicals for the toilet.
This morning dawned cold ... in fact there was ice to scrape off the van before I could go for my usual bell-ringing exercise. The journey was hampered by freezing fog, which didn't lift until lunchtime, and common sense told me that my afternoon shopping trip would have to be postponed until a day of better weather. In the meantime, the motorhome sits idly peering out of its rear window over the wall that surrounds my car park, fully dressed up in the legality of its new ownership, but with nowhere to go!
If I'm honest, it has worked out just right, because I've managed to catch a cold, and the experience - however unwelcome - of sitting indoors in the warm is much better for me than scrabbling about outside in a vehicle that has no heating until I can buy some gas. Sometimes patience can be learned; at other times pressure has to be applied!
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