Slices of Life ... and Death

It's been strangely symetrical, this holiday week ... and I do call this one a 'holiday' week, rather than simply one when I've been retired rather than working, because in many ways it has been my summer holiday ... even if I may have one or more such trips before the end of the season.  It began with the news that, early on Sunday morning, one of the stalwarts of our church had died.  She had been ill for some while, so it was not unexpected, but even so, it came as a shock to many of us when the announcement was made.

All my preparations were made, and all I had to do after the service was to return home, swap vehicles and within an hour I was setting off on my travels.  The week took me to three caravan and camping sites, each different from the others, carrying with it its own atmosphere and experiences for me.  I had planned that, staying two nights at each site, I would make an excursion during the full day there to some other place of interest.  In the event, two of these extra visits were made on the way to the respective sites, and the third was simply abandoned.  Coincidentally, all three site names begin with 'B'.

From Blackshaw Grange, near Leek, Staffs., I had planned to use two bus services to get to Leek and then to Ashbourne, but I realised that since time was on my side, it would be just as easy to make my visit on the Sunday afternoon.  My aim was the Airfield Industrial Estate, to see whether there were any remaining evidence of the former airfield, since it was there that my cousin was based during the Second World War, and he had left there as a volunteer for the mission that claimed his life on D-Day.  Since the airfield was closed about sixty years ago, and has since been slowly but surely taken over by industry, relics were few and far between.  It was as well that I did go on Sunday, because Monday was wet all day, and I got to know the inside of my motorhome very well indeed!

A pitch beneath the trees

The site at Blackshaw Grange is a small one run by the Camping and Caravanning Club, within sight of the open moorland.  The facilities are in stone-walled buildings which look authentic, but are probably purpose-built in sympathy with the countryside around.  It felt homely, the staff were helpful, and the only problem was picking a pitch under the trees, so that it sounded as if it were raining, even when it wasn't!

Haymaking at Llanuwchllyn

On Tuesday morning I set out for my second 'B' - Bwch-yn-Uchaf, at Llanuwchllyn, near the southern tip of Llyn Tegid, also known as Lake Bala.  This is part of a working farm, and when I arrived haymaking was in progress.  It's situated between river and railway line, with Afon Twrch on the left, and the Bala Lake Railway on the right.  I was the only visitor at that time, and was sited back to the fence of the station, so I could see and hear all the comings and goings with no effort at all.  It was interesting, too, to chat to the proprietor of the site and hear of all his plans for the future, to maximise all the attributes his land has to offer.

I had planned while there to drive round the lake to see a new development at Llanycil on the northern side, but like Sunday, I realised that I would be passing this on my way, with time to stop, so to do so would avoid the need to secure everything in the motorhome in order to drive round the next day. The place I visited was called Mary Jones World, and I shall be writing about this in the next few days on my other blog, Gospel Around Us, so to find out more, visit http://gospelaroundus.blogspot.co.uk/ and look out for "So who was Mary Jones?".

The site at Bwch-yn-Uchaf (the name means 'The Highest Buck', I think) was a little more primitive than the bespoke club sites, but the facilities were clean and adequate, and on reflection I think it was, for me at least, the most pleasant of the three locations.

Thursday found me at the other end of the spectrum, as I arrived at a large club site on the outskirts of Kidderminster, a place with rolling neatly-trimmed grass slopes, dotted over which were caravans and motorhomes, great and small, with the occasional tent hidden amongst the awnings.  I chose a pitch back to the hedge, but made sure I wasn't under a tree!  This wouldn't have mattered, because the weather was fine and for the most part sunny, too.  The site, called Brown Westhead Park, while busy and commercial, boasting information and recreation rooms as well as all the expected facilities - which were spotlessly clean! - wasn't at all impersonal, as I found when I had a couple of small problems, which were dealt with both promptly and thoroughly.

While there, I had planned to take a look at the Severn Valley Railway, whose terminus is next to the main line station at Kidderminster, but in the event, realising that the bus tmes were somewhat inconvenient, I decided to walk into the town.  Having done so, my thoughts were elsewhere than on the railway, my first purpose being to locate the departure point of a bus back to the site, since I had no desire to walk back again!  I found the centre somewhat characterless in its newness, but clearly a good place to shop.

On my way home today, I planned to visit my cousin in Birmingham, the sister of the one who had been based at RAF Ashbourne.  On leaving Brown Westhead Park, I made my way through the Worcestershire countryside to the southern suburbs of the city, to the last address I had for my cousin.  A strange face met  me at the door, and this lady explained that, not only had my cousin and her husband moved into a care home some while ago, but also that, since then, they had both died!  We had not been close - the distance and lack of transport had meant that no one else from Norfolk had visited them, although they had made the trip in the opposite direction many times over the years - but this would have been my fourth visit in twenty years, and I was quite fond of her.  She was only a few years younger than my mother and, being my father's eldest neice, she had provided some interesting insights into the family's life between the wars.  I now have an address for her son, and this might be a source of more information in the months to come.

Rolling, neatly-trimmed grass slopes:
Brown Westhead Park

A Drop of the Old Stuff

It's been very much a week in the old vein.  Perhaps, being the third successive working week, my name had become 'part of the scenery' once more, rather than 'the man who comes and goes'; perhaps it was because Dave - still the principal controller, despite no longer running the operation - has been on holiday; or perhaps it's just been 'that sort of a week'.  I neither know nor care.  Suffice to say that I've been tested, and enjoyed it.

After a weekend of desk-clearing, shaking off lots of financial burdens and planning a touring week that's about to begin, Monday started quite quietly. Luckily I remembered reading on Saturday evening as I submitted my Tax Return that there would be a delay before it appears on my record, and that, during this approximately three-day window, there would be an opportunity to make amendments.  As I tidied things up in the aftermath, I discovered something that I had wrongly declared, and there was just time to go online and put this right before my PDA beeped to call me into work mode once more.

The first job was a local delivery to Bedford, but on the way I was called to pick up something in a nearby village for Westerham ... my first visit to Kent for quite a while.  As if to prolong last week's theme of things in pairs, I was diverted to collect from the office something another driver had picked up, which was going to West Malling, not far away.  Later came another trip south, to Stevenage and Enfield, from which I returned just too late to be able to fit in my weekly ringing practice.

Tuesday began with a collection - though that might not be the best word! - in Stevenage.  When I arrived and announced where I was going (Maidenhead), I was told where to park along with the comment, "There's a lot of stuff in that bay; you won't get it all in that little van!"  Then the manager arrived to organise the loading and, with the efforts of both of us, with Mr. Doom-and-Gloom passing one item after another, it did all fit ... just.  When I rang in, as requested, to say I was loaded, I was invited to go back to Letchworth, where another driver was collecting a small consignment which they'd like me to take if I could fit it in, bound for Barnstaple.  This consisted of one large box for which there was just room inside the door, and six small ones, which filled a gap in the 'eaves'.  I returned home just before midnight.

After a late start, Wednesday brought me a string of five jobs, no further than Aylesbury, the last of which was a collection for a nationwide parcel company from a nursery in Hertford, to go to their regional distribution depot in Enfield.  Being the first time I had done such a job, I wasn't aware how the program on my PDA was, of necessity, being 'misused'.  It appeared that I was to make a delivery to the same place from which I'd just collected, but this element had been added simply in order to record the number of packages I had picked up.

Thursday's curtain-raiser was a call at about 9.30 from the office.  "I don't know if you'd be interested in this job, Brian, but it's a rather juicy one!" Intrigued, I asked where it was going.  "Whitehaven" came the reply.  I told him I was interested, and within minutes was on my way to Luton to collect ... a small package containing, as I later discovered, some fuses.  By the time I arrived, the manager was just walking through his warehouse 'to see if they'd arrived'.  We spotted each other simultaneously.  As I walked towards him he asked, "Have you brought my fuses?"  I could only say where they'd come from, which satisfied him.  He said he'd been wondering if I'd make it in time, since he now had to get them to his customer ... presumably by the close of business that evening.  After stopping for a meal at KFC in Penrith, I was home this time at 12.35 am.

I would have been quite content yesterday with the delivery of three bottles of wine in Stevenage and two kegs of beer in Hertford, but I was asked if I could accommodate four tyres as well.  Although they were for a Porsche, I found there was just room, so my week finished in Reading, faced with a lengthy journey trying to avoid the regular crush around the M25.  It's been an enjoyable one, I have to say.  Apart from the pleasant back lanes of Kent getting between the two deliveries on Monday, there was also the delight of seeing part of Bath that was new to me, as I diverted from the motorways on my way home from Devon, and both Barnstaple and Whitehaven are places I'd never visited before.  Coincidentally, my two 'near misses', to South Molton and Workington respectively, were during the summer and autumn of 2002, soon after I'd started doing this work.

Now for what one friend has described as a 'busman's holiday', of which I shall tell you more when it's over!

Two by Two

It's been a Noah's Ark of a week.  Everything, it seems, has been coming in pairs.  Well, I admit 'everything' is an exaggeration, but let me give you some examples.  In my prayers on Monday morning I thought of two particular ladies with whom I had been in communication in the past week or so.  I had e-mailed one, asking about a particular matter that needed an answer ... there had been no answer.  I had had an exchange of text messages with the other, whose daughter's illness might have prevented a family holiday.  My final comment had been, 'let me know how things progress, if you're able, before you go'.  Again, I had heard nothing; was I to presume that all was well, and they'd departed as planned on Saturday ... or had the holiday been cancelled?  No obligation was due to me, of course, but I would still have liked to know.

As I mentioned last week, I had an early delivery at Shepperton Studios, so those prayers were indeed early in the morning!  After my return I was sitting at my desk, reading e-mails and so on, when within minutes, text messages arrived from each of those ladies.  The first gave me a four-word answer to my e-mail, with the explanation that family illnesses had delayed a proper response; the second told me that last-minute efforts had procured a doctor's certification of the daughter's safety in flying, and secured an alternative flight, enabling a foreshortened holiday to commence on Tuesday.

In recent weeks I have been dealing with some investments.  I had some money left over from buying and fitting out the motorhome that I'm now getting familiar with in readiness for some travel in the early years of my retirement.  This had been 'parked' in a savings account ready for the new tax year to begin, and last week I decided that I really ought to do something productive with those funds, and took the first step towards that end.  On Tuesday I discovered that this money had landed in my bank account so, in a gap between jobs, I issued the on-line instructions for its investment.  As I did so, I discovered that another matter I'd set in motion some weeks ago, the transfer of my pension from one firm to another where its growth is more likely and more firmly in my own control, had now progressed to a stage where I must take some action.  Another metaphorical 'heap' on my desk!

Wednesday afternoon, workwise, found me in Luton.  I'd picked up some goods in Hertford, and although I know the road where they were to be delivered, this was the first time, I think, that I'd arrived there from that particular direction, so I was content to let SatNav direct me.  I was just thinking surprise that I was going by what, even in my supposed ignorance, seemed rather a circuitous route, when I found myself being directed onto the new busway that has been built in the last year or so on the route of a former railway line.  It was then that I realised that SatNav had been misled by the fact that the busway actually passes above the road I would normally turn off, close by the small industrial estate I was making for!

By this time, as I quickly re-routed myself for the right destination, I had been spotted by another office, and had been given a pick-up in Luton, to take to Brentwood.  The collection point was only a few streets away, and I was soon there, knowing the familiar name of the firm I was collecting from, and that it was at unit 20.  I quickly identified the sequence of unit numbers, following 14,15,16 and 17 up a little side turning, and noticing 18 at the far end as I turned around.  On the next corner was a sign directing deliveries to unit 21, and the unit beyond that was clearly marked 22.  19 and 20 were not to be found.  As I drove up and down, looking at the numbered units and the names outside, I finally spotted 'member of the W...... group' - at last the name I sought.  I parked and went inside, only to be told, 'Yes, but it's not us you want - it'll be the other W...... company ...'.   Naming it, he directed me to another side turning in the far corner of the estate, beyond unit 23!  I began to protest about the numbers.  'Yes, I know, they're all over the place round here.  We're always getting people in, asking about them.'

This placid acknowledgement did nothing to soothe my demeanour.  Nor did the fact that, when I did eventually find the place, tucked away in the corner as the man had said, I was told that the job had been cancelled!  More frustration, and lots of phone calls to and fro, established that a previous job from the same place had indeed been cancelled, but that my job was definitely there.  I should return, and go to the side of the building.  Having previously enquired at the collections desk as is normal for these places, I now did as instructed, and found a small pallet waiting by a fork truck, to be loaded by someone wearing a totally different livery, bearing a name that had hitherto not been mentioned to me by anyone!  Within minutes, I was on my way.

While all this had been unfolding in Luton, my own office had called to ask me travel to Brentwood via them, because they had another job going to the same place.  In point of fact, neither was to Brentwood itself, but one to Warley and the other to Childerditch, from which as I drove away in the late afternoon haze, I was treated to a wonderful vista of the Thames valley.  The trials of Wednesday thus assuaged, I was happy to be asked to collect a consignment from the office before going home, for delivery by 8.0 the following morning in Sheffield ... the first of two annoying Thursday twosomes.

I arrived, according to plan, at about 7.50, driving along a single road between large industrial sites, towards a retail park at the bottom end. Having been unable to identify my target as I'd slowly progressed down the road, I parked on the retail park to investigate further.  Google verified the address, but provided no better directions.  There was a phone no. however, and this connected me to a very helpful receptionist, who told me to look 'behind Homebase, but to ignore their service entrance.  We're right opposite.'  Sure enough, as I approached from the retail park, there was the gateway, clearly marked, but by one sign only, facing down the hill.  All efforts to obtain a return job from local offices having failed, I was home by lunchtime.

After a couple of local jobs, I was sent to a mailing office at Farlington near Portsmouth, with several boxes of printed matter for Chelsea FC (name-dropping again!)  I remember hoping when I left that there would still be someone there when I arrived, because it was already nearly 3.0.  The M25 was predictably slow, and I eventually discovered that there was a broken-down car in the middle lane of the five-lane stretch just north of junction 12. He had my sympathies, sitting there with his hazards on, hoping that everyone would realise in time that he was stationary and go around him. The A3 was little better when I eventually reached it.  Here I felt little sympathy when I discovered another stationary vehicle.  This one had stopped two feet or more from the road's edge, its occupants wisely obeying the security advice sitting up on the verge well away from the carriageway. On a busy two-lane road, however, everything had to squeeze into one lane to pass, causing queues for several miles back.  Why, oh why, I wondered, don't people who are breaking down use the last remnants of their motive power to position their vehicles where they can cause the least obstacle?  If these folks, for example, had run up the low kerb, getting half the car's width off the road, there would still have been room for two lines of traffic to pass carefully by.

I finally arrived at Farlington around 5.25, and began to search for the name on my delivery note.  There was no sign.  In fact, where SatNav had pointed, there was no turning from the road at all!  Up and down I searched, in at least two little side roads, but there was no trace of the name I sought.  I was thinking of the research I'd undertaken that morning, some 200 miles away ... but here there was nowhere suitable to park.  And then - on the opposite side of the road from where SatNav had pointed - was the name I wanted! Luckily, although the delivery shutters were down, there were still people about, and the delivery could be made, but as I left, relieved at having an empty van once more, I noticed that here, too, was a clear sign on its own, facing the opposite way from that whence I had approached!  There is no chance of finding a place thus identified ... unless in child-minding mode, i.e. with eyes facing to the rear!

By yesterday morning, the theme for this blog was clearly in my mind, and I wondered how it would conclude.  I had to wait until the last job of the week to find out.  I had been sent to a local drinks distributor to collect a consignment for a pub in Stevenage - a nice local job to round off what had been a hot day.  Typically, as I rounded the penultimate corner, my PDA beeped, to announce that this job had been cancelled.  Before I could acknowledge this, the phone went, as the controller called to explain that he was sending me a different but more profitable job from the same customer. The pub in Stevenage was replaced by a hotel in Huntingdon and ... TWO Cambridge colleges!

Finding the delivery entrance to the hotel was a doddle, and there was no real problem making the second delivery to Robinson College, apart from reversing at an angle across a busy cycle lane and up a narrow ramp to the door nearest the bar.  Jesus College, however, was a mystery.  SatNav directed me along Jesus Lane, and as I marvelled at the eternal beauty and atmosphere of one of England's oldest collegiate cities, I debated parking on the roadside to make enquiries down a long roadway, or seeking a back entrance by driving around the block.  I opted for the latter, only to be thwarted by a dead end, separated from the college by a row of pretty cottages.  Back to Jesus Lane, then, where I chose the third option, an open driveway marked 'Master's Lodge - Private'.

I rang the doorbell.  There was no reply.  I tried the gate leading to the porter's lodge.  It was unlocked.  I entered the lodge, where I was met by a neat, possibly ex-military man, waistcoated, but unjacketed, in his late forties or early fifties.
"This is Jesus College ...?" I sought confirmation.
"It is," he replied, "and you have just entered from the Master's garden."
"That's right," I confessed, "how did you know."
"CCTV."
I explained my business: delivering a keg of Budweiser, clearly something that needed to get the van to the right place; clearly not a carryable item.
"Where are you parked - in the lane?"
"No; through there ..." I pointed to the gate.
"In the Master's driveway!  You will not be popular!"
"In my experience," I struggled to regain equality, "with appropriate apologies, that proves to be a useful way to overcome a problem like this."

I think he appreciated the humour and earnestness of my remark.  He showed me an aerial photograph of the college, and indicated that, if I were to back-track my original approach, I would find an intercom-equipped wrought-iron gate, through which he would admit me, and how I could get from there to the rear entrance to the bar.  Armed with this key information, and after expressing my gratitude for his help, making the actual delivery was a simple matter and I could make my way home, being very thankful that this didn't involve a long crawl around the M25 as last Friday had done - that would have been one pair too many!

Here We Go Again!

I have to apologise to any would-be readers who were distressed at the total absence of a blog last week.  Somehow the weekend got a bit out of control, and the blog rather fell between the cracks ... in other words, I simply forgot to write it!  I'm glad to say that there isn't a repeat performance today.  And perhaps this is even more surprising when I tell you some of the things that have been happening this week - it's been one repeat after another!

Let's begin with Monday, which got off to a late start.  I suspect I might have been overlooked, although the office staff vigorously denied this when I rang in at noon to check.  'Yes, you were on the list, but not any longer ... would you go round to <customer> and load two deliveries in the CV area.'  The fact that this response came after quite a lengthy delay aroused my suspicions.  But the week was under way, that was the main thing; nothing could be done about the morning, whatever the reason for its silence.

One of these CV deliveries was to the Jaguar-Land Rover plant at Gaydon, a place I haven't been to for several years, since a motor industry provider in Letchworth went out of business.  This morning, as it happens, I went past where their factory had been and noticed how well the new housing development on the site is progressing.  As to Jaguar, it's good to go somewhere that I've been to before: a place where I know the layout, even if only in a rudimentary way.

The same could be said of Tuesday's principal job, too.  I was asked to take ten boxes to a firm in the High Street in Lincoln, which I know from experience is partly pedestrianised.  I spent the journey there wondering how accurately SatNav would direct me along the other streets, and how far away from my target I should be able to park.  The boxes were perfectly carryable, but only one at a time, so I envisaged ten trips to and fro, unless I could engage 'local support'.  I advanced cautiously along the High Street, watching the numbers with one eye, while the other minded the traffic.  I spotted the right name, thankfully just a short way before the road closure, and manoeuvred into the loading bay right outside.  As I got out of the van, I was approached by someone from the company I was delivering to, who explained they had two properties, almost adjacent, but either side of a junction, and opened the door of one, to show me where to take the goods.

Wednesday began with a seasonal anomally.  I took Mother's Day flowers to the Waitrose HQ in Bracknell.  I rather suspect these were samples for next year's event, however.  Later I took some items from another customer to the same destination.  Twice in a day was something of a record, but it was one I nearly matched as the week progressed.  Thursday started the 'Corby season'.  I had been to this particular printing company only a few weeks ago, and recalled how well I'd been treated on that occasion.  The customer for whom I was collecting is, to say the least, cautious.  On the previous visit, I had turned up about fifteen minutes after the prescribed time, and was about to apologise, when I was told, "You're early; they aren't ready yet!" I remembered this precedent as I was told I should have to wait about ten minutes.  Unsurprised this time, I took advantage of the opportunity to clean my van's windows while I waited.  Then, with the parcel safely in the van, I made for home.  I'd gone about six or seven miles when the phone rang.  Would I please go back ... there was more to collect.  Well, there would be, I found, once the extra copies had been produced!

Friday morning found me heading to Corby again, this time with goods to deliver to a company in the next road to the printers.  I then went back to the printers, where the same familiar play unfolded once more.  It was almost an hour before I was on the return journey, but this time I wasn't recalled. The scene now moves further south.  Just as I had arrived at Waitrose (for the first time) on Wednesday, I had been spotted by the Reading office, who asked me to collect some goods in nearby Wokingham, for a company in Ware.  On Friday, after returning from Corby, I was given a tender to take to Epping, and also a parcel for this same company in Ware ... yet again, I now knew where to go.  I was also given another job to go in the same direction, but had to turn it down, because there wouldn't have been time to collect this and still get the tender to Epping by the required deadline.  This rejection also duplicated a circumstance earlier in the week.  As I had made my way from Gaydon to Coventry on Monday afternoon, for my second delivery, I'd been called by the Warwick office to collect in Coventry for Leicester.  This collection, however, had to be before the people left at 4.30, and I wouldn't be making my delivery in Coventry until after that time, so I had had to turn that one down too.

The week's duplication phenomenon hadn't done with me yet.  Later on Friday afternoon, I collected some cables from Hertford to take to Shepperton Studios.  As I was given these, our customer told me with great 'professional excitement' that they were for the set of 'Beauty and the Beast'. Apart from having heard the title, this meant little to me, but I did recall a similar situation some years ago, when I had to take some far larger cables to a site in Oxfordshire where one of the Harry Potter films was being made. Now, on Saturday evening, I've only recently returned from a visit to Chigwell, where I collected a small package to deliver to the same engineer at Shepperton early on Monday morning.  I just hope that he doesn't oversleep ... I know I won't!

If your mind has kept up with all these comings and goings, look in again next week, for another thrilling instalment of life on four wheels!