Everyone has two sets of grandparents (in theory, at least), and most people have countless cousins of one degree or another. However, in my childhood there was one grandad, since the other one had died scarcely a year after I was born, and I never knew him. Likewise, there was only one cousin, to my early knowledge, she being the daughter of my mother's sister, for I had never met any others. So, when I talk of 'my cousin', with no supplementary description, it is this one to whom I still refer.
My cousin has a habit of tackling puzzles. She claims - and I believe her - that to use the mind and keep it 'sharp' will prolong its usefulness as we advance into old(er!) age. So it was, prompted by I know not what, that I was doing mental arithmetic in my bath this morning, and have determined that, on 17th April, i.e. in just under three weeks' time, I shall have reached the precise age that the aforesaid grandfather had on the day that I was born.
I thought I'd share these musings, dear reader, because there is little to tell of the working week that preceded them. It was good, and reasonably productive, but there were few highlights. The traffic was so bad on the M25 on Monday morning, that the week got off to a very bad start. I had thought that an extra half-hour ought to be enough to allow me to get to Camberley for 7.30, but I eventually arrived at 8.35! As I made my profuse apologies, my ears seemed to hear music, for I was kindly, but promptly told that had I arrived at 7.30, there would have been no one there! This was followed by a puzzled enquiry what it was that I was hoping to collect, for they had not requested a collection. Eventually all was made clear, that I was there to correct an error made by another courier company on the previous Friday, by picking up a parcel they had delivered by mistake, and take it where it should have gone. Why people can't correct their own mistakes, I don't understand!
On Tuesday came a job that I was determined would not be late! Last time I did this run, from Baldock to Slough, I had been diverted to another job, and then delayed by an accident along the way, so that delivery had come a massive five hours after collection. So, I was on the doorstep promptly at 8.0, had no holdups at all, and had remembered that the entrance to the destination building was on a different road, which had added a further five minutes to my time on the last occasion!
The biggest job of the week - nay, of the year, I think - came to me on Wednesday, when I was given a box to be delivered between 8.0 and 9.0 the following morning in a tiny place called Cwmfelinfach. You will have already concluded that this is in Wales; in fact it's not far from Newport, but is more easily reached from the north than by going into the town. This justified, if justification were necessary, my normal decision to go to south Wales via the M1 and Ross-on-Wye rather than the M4 and the Severn tolls.
Somewhere in the distant past, I've heard a saying about sleep and late night habits, 'one hour before eleven is worth two after.' This certainly proved true on this occasion. I had made my preparations and was into bed on Wednesday evening by about 8.0, only to wake up just before 10.0. As is often the case when I try to shunt my night's sleep forward a few hours, I was awake again by 1.0am, and only really dozed after that. By 2.50, I decided to get up rather than toss and turn for another half-hour until the alarm should go off. When I did leave, at about 3.30, I didn't stop at all until I got to Monmouth, and didn't need any delay for a doze. Although unnecessary for financial reasons (the toll is payable going into Wales, but not coming back to England), I decided to return the same way, and stopped at the High Noon services on the A40 just north of Monmouth for breakfast. I've been there before, and enjoy the tranquility and the super view of the hills between the road and the Wye.
Amazingly, I was spotted on my way back by the office at Warwick, who invited me to choose between two jobs for which they would like to enlist my help. These were two of a whole cluster to be picked up at a warehouse near the A5 in Lutterworth, going to a variety of destinations across a swathe of the midlands. The choice I had was either Derby and Mansfield, or Nottingham, so partly because of the distance, and partly because I know the place better, I chose Nottingham, and was rewarded in that what appeared on paper to be two deliveries, were in fact to the very same building.
As if to bear out the truth of that saying, I arrived back in Letchworth about 4.30, and wasn't even feeling tired! Sadly, the same can't be said of today, however, after a day's bell-ringing. In our annual spring outing, we visited six churches, none more than a dozen miles from home, but with bells either heavier or harder work - sometimes both - than our own, it proved quite an exhausting, if enjoyable day.
Now for a work-free week in which to recover!
Saturday, 28 March 2015
Saturday, 21 March 2015
Home and Away
When I set up this blog, I chose the name Fourwheeler because I drive something with four wheels. Although I have no intention of changing the name, I have to remember that I now possess eight wheels: four on the van, and four on the motorhome ... a fact of which I was reminded with financial force this week.
Now I'm only working some weeks and not others, I try to fit servicing and detractions of that sort into the weeks when I'm not working. So I'd booked the van in for a service on Monday. While the van was at the garage, I gave the bus pass some exercise and did a couple of errands. One of these was the renewal of my passport, and once I'd got the pictures, I returned home to complete the form, which wasn't so formidable as it appeared. While I exercised my body by walking to the post office with this, I learned that the van was now ready, so made a neat circuit to complete the day's business.
Tuesday was more practical. A number of things had hit my 'to-do list' regarding preparing the motorhome for its first serious outing after Easter, so I took advantage of the warmer day to clean the roof vents, empty the water tank and fill it with fresh water, and generally clean up the interior. Then off to the tyre specialists. I had noticed that the tread pattern on one of the front tyres didn't match the other three, although the treads looked OK on them all, But you never know, appearances can be deceptive; it was well that I went. Three of the wheels were found still to have the original tyres that were fitted when the vehicle was built in 1997/8 (and the fourth was on the spare wheel underneath). The outcome was four new tyres. At least I shall know what to expect if I still have the motorhome in four years' time (the recommended change interval for this class of vehicle)!
In the evening, I decided to visit nearby Hertford, our county town. It's a pretty market town, with a long history (unlike my home town, founded in 1903), but, apart from work, I go there so rarely that I know little of it. I had seen that the local museum's Friends were hosting a talk based on the diaries of a local dignitary around the end of the 18th century. The first hurdle was coping with the car park, where a notice announced that, even though because of the hour parking was free, a ticket must be displayed. However, it wasn't clear how to persuade the machine to issue a ticket without first inserting a coin. As I mused upon this problem, a kind-spirited local came along, pushed the green button, and said, 'Here, have this one!'
I then made my way to the nearby hall. It's a modern building, with a partition across the main room, enabling it to be hired in two halves as required. Unfortunately this was still in place, so there was considerable kerfuffle while it was skillfully removed by someone who was more familiar with this that I had been with the car park machine! Then came the organisation's Annual General Meeting - unexpected, but efficiently executed - before the talk finally got under way about half an hour later than the advertised time. I did find it well worth the adventure, though, and came home satisfied.
The highlight of Wednesday was, surprisingly, a funeral. The daughter of one of our parishioners had died some weeks ago while abroad on holiday. At last the body had been recovered and all the official procedures completed, so at last the funeral could take place. I was one of a number of representatives of our congregation who had gone along to support the mother of the deceased, a small, unimposing woman, whom one would sometimes see serving coffee, but otherwise was just another 'face in the crowd'. I hadn't expected to find the church so full. However, this lady was part of a large family, and the daughter had been a successful business-woman in earlier years. There were many personal tributes, and much emotion, as one might expect, and amidst them came the moving rendition of an appropriate song by one of her daughters, possessed of a most powerful voice.
Perhaps the greatest moment of the event for me was emerging from the church to see waiting outside, with the coffin now inside it, the most magnificent hearse I have ever seen. I wouldn't have been out of place on the stage for Snowhite or Cinderella: bright white and shining gold, a crystal coach, drawn by two great white horses with red plumes, the whole crowned by a top-hatted coachman to steer the way. It was a fitting finish for someone so clearly dearly loved.
And finally ... earlier in the week my attention had been drawn to the re-showing by the BBC of a two-part journey around Ireland made at the time of his retirement by Sir Terry Wogan, and first broadcast in January 2011. I had watched it at the time, but seeing it again now it had a greater impact because of two intervening events in my life that took place a week apart in the spring of 2013. I have written about the actual trips on this blog here and here.
Because of the route Sir Terry had taken these were revealed to me in reverse order, but following the sequence of the BBC, the 'first' of these was the fact that he said that his father had been born in Enniskerry. The name rang a bell at the time, but when he explained that the whole village worked for - indeed was owned by - Lord Powerscourt, and later visited the village and estate (episode 1, about 8 minutes in), I was sure that this was where I'd delivered early on a Monday morning, before venturing into the Wicklow Hills, and to Wicklow town itself.
The second event took place some six days previously, and is more personal. About 22 minutes into episode 2, after Sir Terry's visit to Derry, suddenly out of nowhere there emerged on the screen a picture that I have only secondhand, but instantly recognised. The Wogan limo was driving around the war memorial in Enniskillen, made famous by the IRA bombing on Remembrance Day 1987. I didn't get to see it when I visited the town in search of evidence of my great uncle's family, but I am assured that on it are inscribed the names two of my father's cousins, Henry, who died on the first day of the Battle of the Somme, and his brother Samuel, who had been killed at Festubert in May 1915. Both had served in the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, successor to the 27th Regiment of Foot, which had taken my great uncle to Ireland in the 1870s.
Whatever you may think of Terry Wogan - I know he's a bit like Marmite - if you have any spark of interest in the Emerald Isle, I recommend these two hour-long programmes to you. The scenery is beautiful and some of the commentary quite instructive and revealing. They are available on i-Player for the next three-to-four weeks (but probably only in the UK).
Back to the road next week!
Now I'm only working some weeks and not others, I try to fit servicing and detractions of that sort into the weeks when I'm not working. So I'd booked the van in for a service on Monday. While the van was at the garage, I gave the bus pass some exercise and did a couple of errands. One of these was the renewal of my passport, and once I'd got the pictures, I returned home to complete the form, which wasn't so formidable as it appeared. While I exercised my body by walking to the post office with this, I learned that the van was now ready, so made a neat circuit to complete the day's business.
Tuesday was more practical. A number of things had hit my 'to-do list' regarding preparing the motorhome for its first serious outing after Easter, so I took advantage of the warmer day to clean the roof vents, empty the water tank and fill it with fresh water, and generally clean up the interior. Then off to the tyre specialists. I had noticed that the tread pattern on one of the front tyres didn't match the other three, although the treads looked OK on them all, But you never know, appearances can be deceptive; it was well that I went. Three of the wheels were found still to have the original tyres that were fitted when the vehicle was built in 1997/8 (and the fourth was on the spare wheel underneath). The outcome was four new tyres. At least I shall know what to expect if I still have the motorhome in four years' time (the recommended change interval for this class of vehicle)!
In the evening, I decided to visit nearby Hertford, our county town. It's a pretty market town, with a long history (unlike my home town, founded in 1903), but, apart from work, I go there so rarely that I know little of it. I had seen that the local museum's Friends were hosting a talk based on the diaries of a local dignitary around the end of the 18th century. The first hurdle was coping with the car park, where a notice announced that, even though because of the hour parking was free, a ticket must be displayed. However, it wasn't clear how to persuade the machine to issue a ticket without first inserting a coin. As I mused upon this problem, a kind-spirited local came along, pushed the green button, and said, 'Here, have this one!'
I then made my way to the nearby hall. It's a modern building, with a partition across the main room, enabling it to be hired in two halves as required. Unfortunately this was still in place, so there was considerable kerfuffle while it was skillfully removed by someone who was more familiar with this that I had been with the car park machine! Then came the organisation's Annual General Meeting - unexpected, but efficiently executed - before the talk finally got under way about half an hour later than the advertised time. I did find it well worth the adventure, though, and came home satisfied.
The highlight of Wednesday was, surprisingly, a funeral. The daughter of one of our parishioners had died some weeks ago while abroad on holiday. At last the body had been recovered and all the official procedures completed, so at last the funeral could take place. I was one of a number of representatives of our congregation who had gone along to support the mother of the deceased, a small, unimposing woman, whom one would sometimes see serving coffee, but otherwise was just another 'face in the crowd'. I hadn't expected to find the church so full. However, this lady was part of a large family, and the daughter had been a successful business-woman in earlier years. There were many personal tributes, and much emotion, as one might expect, and amidst them came the moving rendition of an appropriate song by one of her daughters, possessed of a most powerful voice.
Perhaps the greatest moment of the event for me was emerging from the church to see waiting outside, with the coffin now inside it, the most magnificent hearse I have ever seen. I wouldn't have been out of place on the stage for Snowhite or Cinderella: bright white and shining gold, a crystal coach, drawn by two great white horses with red plumes, the whole crowned by a top-hatted coachman to steer the way. It was a fitting finish for someone so clearly dearly loved.
And finally ... earlier in the week my attention had been drawn to the re-showing by the BBC of a two-part journey around Ireland made at the time of his retirement by Sir Terry Wogan, and first broadcast in January 2011. I had watched it at the time, but seeing it again now it had a greater impact because of two intervening events in my life that took place a week apart in the spring of 2013. I have written about the actual trips on this blog here and here.
Because of the route Sir Terry had taken these were revealed to me in reverse order, but following the sequence of the BBC, the 'first' of these was the fact that he said that his father had been born in Enniskerry. The name rang a bell at the time, but when he explained that the whole village worked for - indeed was owned by - Lord Powerscourt, and later visited the village and estate (episode 1, about 8 minutes in), I was sure that this was where I'd delivered early on a Monday morning, before venturing into the Wicklow Hills, and to Wicklow town itself.
The second event took place some six days previously, and is more personal. About 22 minutes into episode 2, after Sir Terry's visit to Derry, suddenly out of nowhere there emerged on the screen a picture that I have only secondhand, but instantly recognised. The Wogan limo was driving around the war memorial in Enniskillen, made famous by the IRA bombing on Remembrance Day 1987. I didn't get to see it when I visited the town in search of evidence of my great uncle's family, but I am assured that on it are inscribed the names two of my father's cousins, Henry, who died on the first day of the Battle of the Somme, and his brother Samuel, who had been killed at Festubert in May 1915. Both had served in the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, successor to the 27th Regiment of Foot, which had taken my great uncle to Ireland in the 1870s.
Whatever you may think of Terry Wogan - I know he's a bit like Marmite - if you have any spark of interest in the Emerald Isle, I recommend these two hour-long programmes to you. The scenery is beautiful and some of the commentary quite instructive and revealing. They are available on i-Player for the next three-to-four weeks (but probably only in the UK).
Back to the road next week!
Saturday, 14 March 2015
Slow, Quick, Slow, Slow, Quick
I think it was the dance-band leader Victor Sylvester who coined the original phrase, or at least who was the subject of it. Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow, was the time theme to one of the popular dances of his era. Not being a dancer at all, I have no intention of embarrassing myself by suggesting which one! Nevertheless, the idea of two of one sort and three of the opposite does characterise the past week in my working life.
After my usual early start on Monday for the men's breakfast at church, I returned home for quite a long wait, before I was given two jobs, one from Letchworth to Burnham (near Slough), and the other collecting on the way from Luton for an address not far from Heathrow airport. I'd just delivered this, when my onboard computer told me there was another job to interleave with the one I was left with, collecting from Colnbrook and delivering in Slough. That left me an almost complete afternoon to myself.
Tuesday was much better, with an early departure with a small box I had collected on my way home on Monday, to be delivered at Loughborough University by 8.30. I was home late morning, and there was just time to make a cup of tea - but not to drink it - before the second job of the day came, to take some luxury bathroom parts to a village not far from Portsmouth. Again I collected a job on the way home for the next morning, this time from nearby Stotfold, for a firm in Haverhill. This was the start of a busy but not very productive day, just returning home from one job to be given another one, and all of them quite short. I finished up at Stansted airport, at which point the vigilant Brentwood office (to whom I owed most of my Essex tour last Friday) spotted me, and offered me a run to Cardiff that evening. Ordinarily, I would have snapped this up, but having been up since 5.30 am, and now not in the habit of long runs, I was certain that I would need to stop for an essential sleep at least on the way home, if not on the outward leg! I quickly added to this the fact that, from Stansted, the logical way to Wales would be via the Severn bridge, with its associated toll, and decided against it.
Instead, on my way home I was asked to collect the regular run to Pinewood Studios, and this week I was in no mind to argue with that. Thursday morning, therefore, found me almost home, but turned around at one of the Stevenage junctions to collect from Hertford for Milton Keynes. I was back by 12.45pm, but by then the day had - almost literally - finished. I learned the next day that the phones hadn't rung at all after 2.0 pm! In a way this was a blessing in a completely different direction, however, for I found a crie-de-coeur in my inbox when I checked my e-mails, from a friend who was feeling quite swamped by pressures from a number of different sources, and sought advice and prayer. With no interruptions from incoming jobs, and yet tied to my phone and desk by still being 'on call', I was able to give considerably more time and thought than might otherwise have been the case, to devising my response.
Friday began with a regular Lenten prayer meeting at church, during which I was asked how my week was going. I suggested a long job would ease my situation greatly, and someone suggested 'perhaps Lincoln ... that's a nice peaceful direction'. A couple of hours later I was sent first to Bishops Stortford, and was almost back from there when two jobs appeared. One was to Huntingdon, the other to Hull, so the prayer was rather answered more than 100%. I returned via the truck stop near Peterborough, and was home soon after 8.30pm.
Today - apart from joining with some other men from the church making posies for tomorrow's Mothering Sunday services - I've been digging into my past, via an old photo album. Just over 25 years ago, I took my children on a camping holiday in France, and when this came up in an e-mail exchange with my daughter the other day, it revealed how different our memories were of what had taken place.
That's not to say either's recollections were in error, but simply that each of us recalled different incidents. It was the work of a little longer than I had anticipated to scan some of the pictures to send her, since this isn't something I do every day, but at last a successful transmission had been achieved, and I was able to turn my attention to the usual Saturday chores.
All in all, I think I have danced through the week quite well. It's worth trading a bow for a courtsey, anyway!
After my usual early start on Monday for the men's breakfast at church, I returned home for quite a long wait, before I was given two jobs, one from Letchworth to Burnham (near Slough), and the other collecting on the way from Luton for an address not far from Heathrow airport. I'd just delivered this, when my onboard computer told me there was another job to interleave with the one I was left with, collecting from Colnbrook and delivering in Slough. That left me an almost complete afternoon to myself.
Tuesday was much better, with an early departure with a small box I had collected on my way home on Monday, to be delivered at Loughborough University by 8.30. I was home late morning, and there was just time to make a cup of tea - but not to drink it - before the second job of the day came, to take some luxury bathroom parts to a village not far from Portsmouth. Again I collected a job on the way home for the next morning, this time from nearby Stotfold, for a firm in Haverhill. This was the start of a busy but not very productive day, just returning home from one job to be given another one, and all of them quite short. I finished up at Stansted airport, at which point the vigilant Brentwood office (to whom I owed most of my Essex tour last Friday) spotted me, and offered me a run to Cardiff that evening. Ordinarily, I would have snapped this up, but having been up since 5.30 am, and now not in the habit of long runs, I was certain that I would need to stop for an essential sleep at least on the way home, if not on the outward leg! I quickly added to this the fact that, from Stansted, the logical way to Wales would be via the Severn bridge, with its associated toll, and decided against it.
Instead, on my way home I was asked to collect the regular run to Pinewood Studios, and this week I was in no mind to argue with that. Thursday morning, therefore, found me almost home, but turned around at one of the Stevenage junctions to collect from Hertford for Milton Keynes. I was back by 12.45pm, but by then the day had - almost literally - finished. I learned the next day that the phones hadn't rung at all after 2.0 pm! In a way this was a blessing in a completely different direction, however, for I found a crie-de-coeur in my inbox when I checked my e-mails, from a friend who was feeling quite swamped by pressures from a number of different sources, and sought advice and prayer. With no interruptions from incoming jobs, and yet tied to my phone and desk by still being 'on call', I was able to give considerably more time and thought than might otherwise have been the case, to devising my response.
Friday began with a regular Lenten prayer meeting at church, during which I was asked how my week was going. I suggested a long job would ease my situation greatly, and someone suggested 'perhaps Lincoln ... that's a nice peaceful direction'. A couple of hours later I was sent first to Bishops Stortford, and was almost back from there when two jobs appeared. One was to Huntingdon, the other to Hull, so the prayer was rather answered more than 100%. I returned via the truck stop near Peterborough, and was home soon after 8.30pm.
Today - apart from joining with some other men from the church making posies for tomorrow's Mothering Sunday services - I've been digging into my past, via an old photo album. Just over 25 years ago, I took my children on a camping holiday in France, and when this came up in an e-mail exchange with my daughter the other day, it revealed how different our memories were of what had taken place.
 |
| The barrel-maker's house in beautifully medieval Riquewihr, Alsace |
All in all, I think I have danced through the week quite well. It's worth trading a bow for a courtsey, anyway!
Saturday, 7 March 2015
Looking up!
I suspect it's been that way since the stone age. As the days pass, and the sunshine - when it happens - gets warmer, we see more and more signs of spring, and we realise that the dismal days of winter are behind us. In my case, there have been other signs of the passage of time. Apart from my transition into retirement, I recall a couple of years ago when our firm moved into new offices on an industrial estate about five miles away. For those of us who live locally, this meant an additional ten unproductive miles per day, and there were a few mutterings. Then it was realised that we could be more useful if we stayed at home, nearer to the customer-base and, happily, so it proved. Last week saw the next move, as the office sorted itself out in another new location. This time it's to a modern unit here in Letchworth, and the layout is very much in keeping with other CitySprint offices I've seen in the last few months, with the control room on the upper floor. Whether the staff enjoy going up and down the stairs all day is another matter!
The week began for me with a prompt start. Having located the new office and delivered some outstanding paperwork, I was out on a job by 8.0, on my way to collect in a nearby village for an equally rural delivery near Dunmow. The day was completed by a pair of jobs to Slough and High Wycombe, which were delayed by a motorway accident. Tuesday was off to a slow start but eventually I was sent to Buckingham. After my return came a collection in Cheshunt for a customer in Buntingford. I'm always surprised how much my van will carry. This challenge accentuated my surprise, as two trolleys were wheeled out, one with three large boxes, the other with four! With one standing on end, these just filled the van, and also nonplussed the consignee, who had requested delivery to his home, only to find that these seven boxes filled the hallway and virtually prevented him going upstairs! As ever, I have no idea of the contents; I only hope he was able to deal with them before domestic upset ensued!
I've written here before about my suspicions concerning the balance between the recovery of work levels after the new year break and the possibility of uneven allocation of jobs. On Tuesday afternoon, after unrewarded availability since 2.30, I gently rejected an invitation at 4.0 to collect the next morning's delivery to Pinewood Studios, and after the controller said he'd find someone else and respected my decision to wait for something better, I wondered if I'd put my foot in it. Not so; about half-an-hour later another call brought me two 8.0 a.m. collections. One was in Stevenage for St Albans, and the other in Welwyn Garden City for Abingdon. Both the controller and I were aware that the Stevenage pick-up was from an office that opened at 7.30, and the staff there had three small boxes all ready for collection when I arrived. A nice early start like that meant that I was home in time to do other work afterwards, so when I arrived at church in the evening for a Lent study gathering (admirably complemented by an optional evening meal!), I was in a good mood!
My good mood was maintained the next day, with another early duo, this time to St Albans and Aldershot, followed by a couple of local jobs. I'd just got home from these, when the controller asked if I was able to do a hospital run from Stevenage to Cambridge. Of course I was, and this was rather mirrored by the first job I did on Friday morning, this time between hospitals in Hitchin and Sawbridgeworth. Along with this came another job to Billericay and, as I made my way along the A127 on the last stretch of that journey, I was spotted on the computer screen by the controller at Brentwood, who asked if I were interested in deliveries for him in Colchester and Braintree. I was pleased to be asked, and enjoyed the trip in the sunshine.
Luckily, although it was the first of the two to be collected, I noticed that the Braintree job was 'for delivery by 16:00', while the other was more urgent. So I was in the middle of Colchester when I received another job, this time for collection in Brightlingsea. Coincidence - or was it that Genie, since Colchester appears on my radar an average of two or three per year? - dictated that this delivery was in the next street to the one I'd just made. Even after that, the Braintree delivery was well within the time limit, and I was warmly received by the receptionist in the showroom of a new development on the outskirts of the town. The day closed with a transfer to the office in Hemel Hempstead, and I thought this might be the end of the week, but with lots of work today, my help was sought in clearing up a very local job at 8.0 this morning, covering a distance of just two miles between one depot and another of the same customer.
This has enabled me to fit in the conclusion of an experimental re-orientation of my bedroom, aimed at making better use of the heater, which is in one corner of the room. As in so many rooms, the distribution of electrical sockets in that room has never suited precisely where they were needed. For years now, I have had an extension lead stretching across the floor, under the bed, and waiting to trip me up if I'm either exceptionally tired at night, or still half asleep when I get up. Now, I've re-sourced the supply from a different socket located behind a cupboard on the other side of the room. To do this, of course, I had to empty the cupboard to move it out - inevitably prompting incidental cobweb removal - fit the plug of the extension lead, and then replace and refill the cupboard: a classic case of a two-minute job taking an hour!
Pleased with my success, I decided to take advantage of the sunshine and walk up to the local football ground, where the reserve team were playing a side from a nearby town. Sadly, although the team is called 'the Eagles', they played more like sciatic sparrows, rather in the schoolboy 'kick the ball anywhere' mode that I recall from my own young days. It's wrong of me, I know, to be so cutting without making allowances for the fact that this match was four to six leagues lower than those I usually watch, but I found it less than satisfying, and so left after the interval. I did enjoy the walk home, though, and can now look forward to another few days of fine spring weather stretching into next week. What will it hold, I wonder? ... watch this space!
The week began for me with a prompt start. Having located the new office and delivered some outstanding paperwork, I was out on a job by 8.0, on my way to collect in a nearby village for an equally rural delivery near Dunmow. The day was completed by a pair of jobs to Slough and High Wycombe, which were delayed by a motorway accident. Tuesday was off to a slow start but eventually I was sent to Buckingham. After my return came a collection in Cheshunt for a customer in Buntingford. I'm always surprised how much my van will carry. This challenge accentuated my surprise, as two trolleys were wheeled out, one with three large boxes, the other with four! With one standing on end, these just filled the van, and also nonplussed the consignee, who had requested delivery to his home, only to find that these seven boxes filled the hallway and virtually prevented him going upstairs! As ever, I have no idea of the contents; I only hope he was able to deal with them before domestic upset ensued!
I've written here before about my suspicions concerning the balance between the recovery of work levels after the new year break and the possibility of uneven allocation of jobs. On Tuesday afternoon, after unrewarded availability since 2.30, I gently rejected an invitation at 4.0 to collect the next morning's delivery to Pinewood Studios, and after the controller said he'd find someone else and respected my decision to wait for something better, I wondered if I'd put my foot in it. Not so; about half-an-hour later another call brought me two 8.0 a.m. collections. One was in Stevenage for St Albans, and the other in Welwyn Garden City for Abingdon. Both the controller and I were aware that the Stevenage pick-up was from an office that opened at 7.30, and the staff there had three small boxes all ready for collection when I arrived. A nice early start like that meant that I was home in time to do other work afterwards, so when I arrived at church in the evening for a Lent study gathering (admirably complemented by an optional evening meal!), I was in a good mood!
My good mood was maintained the next day, with another early duo, this time to St Albans and Aldershot, followed by a couple of local jobs. I'd just got home from these, when the controller asked if I was able to do a hospital run from Stevenage to Cambridge. Of course I was, and this was rather mirrored by the first job I did on Friday morning, this time between hospitals in Hitchin and Sawbridgeworth. Along with this came another job to Billericay and, as I made my way along the A127 on the last stretch of that journey, I was spotted on the computer screen by the controller at Brentwood, who asked if I were interested in deliveries for him in Colchester and Braintree. I was pleased to be asked, and enjoyed the trip in the sunshine.
Luckily, although it was the first of the two to be collected, I noticed that the Braintree job was 'for delivery by 16:00', while the other was more urgent. So I was in the middle of Colchester when I received another job, this time for collection in Brightlingsea. Coincidence - or was it that Genie, since Colchester appears on my radar an average of two or three per year? - dictated that this delivery was in the next street to the one I'd just made. Even after that, the Braintree delivery was well within the time limit, and I was warmly received by the receptionist in the showroom of a new development on the outskirts of the town. The day closed with a transfer to the office in Hemel Hempstead, and I thought this might be the end of the week, but with lots of work today, my help was sought in clearing up a very local job at 8.0 this morning, covering a distance of just two miles between one depot and another of the same customer.
This has enabled me to fit in the conclusion of an experimental re-orientation of my bedroom, aimed at making better use of the heater, which is in one corner of the room. As in so many rooms, the distribution of electrical sockets in that room has never suited precisely where they were needed. For years now, I have had an extension lead stretching across the floor, under the bed, and waiting to trip me up if I'm either exceptionally tired at night, or still half asleep when I get up. Now, I've re-sourced the supply from a different socket located behind a cupboard on the other side of the room. To do this, of course, I had to empty the cupboard to move it out - inevitably prompting incidental cobweb removal - fit the plug of the extension lead, and then replace and refill the cupboard: a classic case of a two-minute job taking an hour!
Pleased with my success, I decided to take advantage of the sunshine and walk up to the local football ground, where the reserve team were playing a side from a nearby town. Sadly, although the team is called 'the Eagles', they played more like sciatic sparrows, rather in the schoolboy 'kick the ball anywhere' mode that I recall from my own young days. It's wrong of me, I know, to be so cutting without making allowances for the fact that this match was four to six leagues lower than those I usually watch, but I found it less than satisfying, and so left after the interval. I did enjoy the walk home, though, and can now look forward to another few days of fine spring weather stretching into next week. What will it hold, I wonder? ... watch this space!
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