I described last week as 'interesting'. This week was possibly more so; I leave it to my readers to decide which meaning they apply to the word this time. Monday was a good day. When I received a mail order delivery on Tuesday evening, the driver saw my uniform as I answered the door and asked me about working for CitySprint. 'How many jobs do you get in a day?' he asked. He has to take well over 100, as a multi-drop driver, and only gets paid for the ones he actually delivers. I told him 'anything from one to eight', and used Monday's experience as an 'average' illustration.
I began with a visit to a tiny village near Oundle, where all the houses are in 'Main Street', and have names instead of numbers. As usual, I found the right one on my way back through the village, and delivered to the man who had waved to me as I went past on my first pass. On then, to Grantham and District Hospital, a neat and modern place, much of which is on a single floor. By late morning I was almost home again, and given two more jobs, one from Letchworth to Welwyn Garden City, and the other from Stevenage to High Wycombe. I think it was while driving round the M25, that I was asked to collect some white goods in Hemel Hempstead on my way home, for delivery in Hereford for 8.0 the next morning. I had nearly got to High Wycombe when a change of plan was announced. In my present location, I was the only chance, the controller decided, of achieving a collection that afternoon from the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford, to be returned that evening to our depot in Letchworth. Any fear of an early start the next morning was cast aside, and I went to bellringing practice as usual, where there were many old faces, some of whom hadn't been there for a considerable time.
Tuesday started off in fine form, as I hoped for a long job to make up for losing Hereford. A collection from Bedford for Milton Keynes was complemented by a pick-up in Flitwick on the way back for exchange at Elstree film studios, and return to our customer. Now, Tuesday morning was subject to sporadic but heavy rain showers, and as I passed Toddington Services on my way back to Flitwick, my windscreen wipers decided to take a holiday. In fact one part beneath the surface had had enough, after going to and fro for a quarter of a million miles. I completed my delivery and then made my way to the garage, seeking restoration of rain-shifting services. Sadly, the required part couldn't be delivered until the following morning, but one of the staff was able to arrange a temporary 'fix', using the wiper mechanism from his own car to keep me going. Wednesday, therefore started on time in the morning, but consisted only of a handful of very local jobs, until I attended the garage in mid-afternoon for the job to be completed.
As I reported to the office my status as once more available, I was asked if I'd like an 8.0 am collection in Letchworth on Thursday. This was a job to Gloucester that had been requested by the Swindon office. I accepted this, and duly presented myself at a factory opposite my home at the required hour. Unfortunately (the job having been arranged by their customer), they weren't aware that I would be calling so early for the goods; these were already packed, but I had to wait some while for the paperwork to be completed. Once this job had been delivered, I called Swindon, with a fair hope, I thought, of getting more work from them. I wasn't disappointed, and a few minutes later they called me back with a pick-up in Bishop's Cleeve near Cheltenham, for central Birmingham. In the afternoon, the triangle was completed by a job from the Warwick office, collecting in Nuneaton, for delivery in Harlow.
I had called the office on my way home to explain my situation, because this delivery couldn't be made until the following morning. However, the message wasn't passed on in its entirety, because when I received a call about an hour later, it was to ask if I fancied a trip to Wales ... that evening! I pointed out that, while this would be quite acceptable (it would compensate nicely for the work I'd lost through the wiper malfunction earlier in the week), I wouldn't be home early enough to contemplate an 8.0 delivery almost thirty miles from home the next morning! "Leave it with me." I was told.
When there's a willing driver to do a potentially awkward job, there's usually a way, and someone was coerced to make the Harlow delivery yesterday morning. I took the goods to the depot and made my way to our customer in Hitchin. Since venturing to North Wales in my motorhome in June, I've decided to pick up once more the Welsh tutorial that I'd abandoned some forty-five years ago and, as I drove up to the customer's premises, I realised that I could now form an appropriate sentence. There are building works going on in the yard, so I stopped where I could be seen some distance from the door, and got out of the van. As the customer walked over with the expected lightweight parcel, I greeted him with "Yr wyf i yn mynd i Gymru!" I had to stifle my smile at the man's face: something between shock and amusement. "Are you Welsh, then?" he asked. I explained, but decided not to translate, leaving him to think that it was something more elaborate than 'I'm going to Wales.'
The job itself was not difficult, although it would have been easier in daylight. It was to a private house in a one-street village, where a group of new houses have been given a separate name. SatNav - misguidedly helpful as ever - decided that this was another street, running parallel to the real one. It tried to find me the right lane to use to get there, as a result of which I now have an intimate knowledge of several inapplicable garage drives. Fortunately the parcel's recipient had heard a slow-moving van passing to and fro, and opened her door! The rest echoes the history of many previous late-night jobs; I was home and snug in bed by about 3.30 am.
The protracted nature of Thursday meant that Friday began at lunchtime, and I confess I was not expecting anything exciting. Au contraire, the controller was most relieved to take my call. He was runned off his feet, and didn't even need to call me back to request a collection in Hitchin for a hospital in Nottingham, and a pick-up in Biggleswade for a factory in Newark on the way. A leisurely drive to places I'm familiar with, on a sunny afternoon at the end of the week was ... delightful!
Today has seen a bit of tidying up, before going to watch a football match. We all stood in silence for a minute before the start in memory of players Matt Grimstone and Jacob Schilt of Worthing Utd. and the others killed in the Shoreham Airshow tragedy last weekend. In keeping with the last match I saw, two weeks ago, the team I support - in this case Biggleswade Town - was one goal down soon after the start, but on this occasion things livened up in the second half. There were four more goals, at least three yellow cards, two sendings-off, one saved penalty, and the result was a 3-2 home win. Oh, and the man sitting next to me won a prize in the raffle ... the nearest I've been to a prize in years!
Now for another 'retired week', beginning with a family visit for the Bank Holiday.
Saturday, 29 August 2015
Friday, 21 August 2015
An 'Interesting' Week
I use the word 'interesting' in the sense I first discovered in the words of an erstwhile Rhodesian colleague, who applied it to the sort of incident that was unforseen, and the resolution of which would require some ingenuity. And, in that sense, I have to confess to some exaggeration, too; for most of the week did not fall into that category.
And so to the detail. Monday got off to a slow, but triumphant start. I related last week the problems associated with the aquisition of the laptop computer. This was delivered on Monday morning, but not until an hour or so before the actual event did I know precisely when this would be, so I was uncertain whether I would be doing any work that day or not. In the event, it was so conveniently early that I was able to achieve a most acceptable job to the hospital at Cosham, just outside Portsmouth, and be home in time for bell-ringing practice.
Tuesday saw the first of three jobs this week to the Manchester area. Before making this delivery I had already been spotted and given a collection 'just round the corner' (in fact about five miles away) to take to a private address in Maidenhead. It was then that the week's 'interesting' elements began, because to cover those five miles took an absolute age owing to a hole having appeared just before the evening rush-hour (so I was told) in one of the city's key through routes. Certainly the traffic on the south side of centre was gridlocked!
I made my pick-up about 6.30, and stopped at a filling station to collect something for tea. In my excitement, I must have omitted to set the handbrake for, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my van moving as I walked away from it. I wasn't quick enough to stop it, and it rolled gently into the back of the taxi parked in front of it. Fortunately, there was no apparent damage to either vehicle, and I was most relieved when the driver, emerging from the store, agreed with me, clasped me by the shoulder and went on his way. I then discovered that SatNav - not for the first time - was working on its internal battery rather than from the lead plugged into the van. If left unheeded, the eventual outcome of this would have been a complete lack of power, and no directions so, once I had established the best route across country, I switched it off until I neared my target. The remedy to this unfortunate state, I have discovered, is to plug it into the computer to update it, which I did next day.
After this administrative chore Wednesday was, by contrast, almost uneventful with a local collection to start, and then deliveries to Aldershot and Alton. Once more my presence was noticed by another office, and I collected fourth job in Bordon to bring me halfway home. At this point it was discovered that the Alton job also involved a return leg, so I had to divert to pick this up on my way back. By then it was too late to deliver this before the end of the working day, so it had to be taken to our customer in Hertford the following morning.
Thursday followed that same pattern, with a local collection, followed by two deliveries, this time to Leicester and Salford. After picking up the second of these in Hitchin, I set SatNav to take me to the first delivery point ... Leicester. When I realised that, in order to get to my target, I was being taken out of the city towards Peterborough, I began to lose faith in my electronic 'friend' once again. Surely, in this instance, it would have been quicker to avoid Leicester itself, and go via Peterborough, than to be tormented by the continuing miles of roadworks and speed restrictions on the M1?
I'm not sure whether it was the lingering frustration at this apparent lack of judgement, or the test match commentary, or simply the flow of traffic that cause me to be in the wrong lane for my motorway exit. Whatever the cause, I therefore had to take a cross-country route to get to Manchester. It was beautiful, but took at least half an hour more. Fortunately the recipient was willing to wait for me to arrive ... and there were no holes to delay me this time! With no return job, I was able to enjoy a much needed leisurely break and meal on my way home.
Today, when I eventually declared myself 'fully turned around' after the late night return from Salford, I was surprised - nay astonished - to discover that the first job I was given was from nearby Melbourn to Stockport! I decided there and then that I wouldn't be looking for anything else, but that a leisurely drive there and back would round off the week nicely. So I was making my way up the A14, with the cricket commentary for company when I noticed that the image in the mirror by my side was unsteady. In what seemed to be quite a long moment, I remember thinking to myself, 'Uh oh, I know what's going to happen in a minute ...' and by the time I'd managed to cross the intervening traffic lane and get onto the verge, it had happened. The glass from my offside mirror was laying on the road some distance behind me, and I was sitting in a vehicle that I could no longer drive!
I called the office to arrange another driver to take my job off me, and the AA for rescue. Meanwhile I had been spotted by a passing police patrolman, whose main concerns - given that there is no hard shoulder there, and about a fifth of my van's width was still actually on the carriageway - were to get it and me to a place of safety, and to remove the risk of an accident being caused as passing traffic might swerve to avoid me. He explained the strategy that we would adopt, which seemed quite straightforward. I would drive slowly along the road the quarter-mile or so to the next exit, keeping to the extreme edge of the carriageway. Meanwhile, he would be a short but safe distance behind me, blue lights flashing, keeping well over to the other side of the lane, as a shield. I would then park in the layby just off the roundabout.
It seemed so simple, and was quickly executed; but at the end of it, I was shaking. As I said to the officer when he walked up to make sure all was well, "You have no idea how scarey that was!" Actually, he probably did have, but ... After assuring me that to remain there, in what was actually a bus stop, would be OK, he was on his way. My load was transferred to an Aberdeen driver who had been delivering nearby and was embarking on an empty journey home, and as we were discussing his best route out of England via Stockport, the AA man arrived. After completing formalities, he went to collect a replacement mirror, and later duly returned to fit it and arrange payment. Although, once home again, I presented myself as once more available for work, I was rather glad not to be called.
The weekend has started a little early this week, and I'm hoping it will lack the 'interest' of the week it follows.
And so to the detail. Monday got off to a slow, but triumphant start. I related last week the problems associated with the aquisition of the laptop computer. This was delivered on Monday morning, but not until an hour or so before the actual event did I know precisely when this would be, so I was uncertain whether I would be doing any work that day or not. In the event, it was so conveniently early that I was able to achieve a most acceptable job to the hospital at Cosham, just outside Portsmouth, and be home in time for bell-ringing practice.
Tuesday saw the first of three jobs this week to the Manchester area. Before making this delivery I had already been spotted and given a collection 'just round the corner' (in fact about five miles away) to take to a private address in Maidenhead. It was then that the week's 'interesting' elements began, because to cover those five miles took an absolute age owing to a hole having appeared just before the evening rush-hour (so I was told) in one of the city's key through routes. Certainly the traffic on the south side of centre was gridlocked!
I made my pick-up about 6.30, and stopped at a filling station to collect something for tea. In my excitement, I must have omitted to set the handbrake for, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my van moving as I walked away from it. I wasn't quick enough to stop it, and it rolled gently into the back of the taxi parked in front of it. Fortunately, there was no apparent damage to either vehicle, and I was most relieved when the driver, emerging from the store, agreed with me, clasped me by the shoulder and went on his way. I then discovered that SatNav - not for the first time - was working on its internal battery rather than from the lead plugged into the van. If left unheeded, the eventual outcome of this would have been a complete lack of power, and no directions so, once I had established the best route across country, I switched it off until I neared my target. The remedy to this unfortunate state, I have discovered, is to plug it into the computer to update it, which I did next day.
After this administrative chore Wednesday was, by contrast, almost uneventful with a local collection to start, and then deliveries to Aldershot and Alton. Once more my presence was noticed by another office, and I collected fourth job in Bordon to bring me halfway home. At this point it was discovered that the Alton job also involved a return leg, so I had to divert to pick this up on my way back. By then it was too late to deliver this before the end of the working day, so it had to be taken to our customer in Hertford the following morning.
Thursday followed that same pattern, with a local collection, followed by two deliveries, this time to Leicester and Salford. After picking up the second of these in Hitchin, I set SatNav to take me to the first delivery point ... Leicester. When I realised that, in order to get to my target, I was being taken out of the city towards Peterborough, I began to lose faith in my electronic 'friend' once again. Surely, in this instance, it would have been quicker to avoid Leicester itself, and go via Peterborough, than to be tormented by the continuing miles of roadworks and speed restrictions on the M1?
I'm not sure whether it was the lingering frustration at this apparent lack of judgement, or the test match commentary, or simply the flow of traffic that cause me to be in the wrong lane for my motorway exit. Whatever the cause, I therefore had to take a cross-country route to get to Manchester. It was beautiful, but took at least half an hour more. Fortunately the recipient was willing to wait for me to arrive ... and there were no holes to delay me this time! With no return job, I was able to enjoy a much needed leisurely break and meal on my way home.
Today, when I eventually declared myself 'fully turned around' after the late night return from Salford, I was surprised - nay astonished - to discover that the first job I was given was from nearby Melbourn to Stockport! I decided there and then that I wouldn't be looking for anything else, but that a leisurely drive there and back would round off the week nicely. So I was making my way up the A14, with the cricket commentary for company when I noticed that the image in the mirror by my side was unsteady. In what seemed to be quite a long moment, I remember thinking to myself, 'Uh oh, I know what's going to happen in a minute ...' and by the time I'd managed to cross the intervening traffic lane and get onto the verge, it had happened. The glass from my offside mirror was laying on the road some distance behind me, and I was sitting in a vehicle that I could no longer drive!
I called the office to arrange another driver to take my job off me, and the AA for rescue. Meanwhile I had been spotted by a passing police patrolman, whose main concerns - given that there is no hard shoulder there, and about a fifth of my van's width was still actually on the carriageway - were to get it and me to a place of safety, and to remove the risk of an accident being caused as passing traffic might swerve to avoid me. He explained the strategy that we would adopt, which seemed quite straightforward. I would drive slowly along the road the quarter-mile or so to the next exit, keeping to the extreme edge of the carriageway. Meanwhile, he would be a short but safe distance behind me, blue lights flashing, keeping well over to the other side of the lane, as a shield. I would then park in the layby just off the roundabout.
It seemed so simple, and was quickly executed; but at the end of it, I was shaking. As I said to the officer when he walked up to make sure all was well, "You have no idea how scarey that was!" Actually, he probably did have, but ... After assuring me that to remain there, in what was actually a bus stop, would be OK, he was on his way. My load was transferred to an Aberdeen driver who had been delivering nearby and was embarking on an empty journey home, and as we were discussing his best route out of England via Stockport, the AA man arrived. After completing formalities, he went to collect a replacement mirror, and later duly returned to fit it and arrange payment. Although, once home again, I presented myself as once more available for work, I was rather glad not to be called.
The weekend has started a little early this week, and I'm hoping it will lack the 'interest' of the week it follows.
Saturday, 15 August 2015
A 'Winter Holiday' Week
I've chosen my title for this week's blog in recollection of of times when - in certain industries at least - holidays had to be taken within set periods of the year. My dad, for example, was entitled to a week in the summer and a week in the winter. While it was a valuable break from the hard work of the other fifty weeks, the winter week was always a bit flat for him. Once he'd done what he needed to get the garden straight, I don't think he knew what to do with the rest of the time.
For me, this week has been dominated by three things ... one of which shouldn't have been a dominant item in the first place. I agreed to use my van to take some of the inevitable post-holiday club 'clutter' from the church to the local dump: one van-load would save a number of car trips, so it made sense. At least it did until I got there on Monday morning. There I learned that a new permit scheme for all vehicles other than cars had been in force since the beginning of the year. I was annoyed, because I had been there within the last few months to dispose of an item I'd replaced in the home, and had been admitted without let or hindrance. I therefore knew nothing of the permit scheme. The permit is free, but needed to be applied for on line ... from an office in Liverpool! I made the application immediately, of course, but I'm still waiting for the permit to arrive! The cardboard, meanwhile, has been 'parked' in the motorhome.
Last weekend, I noticed that there was a small puddle of oil beneath said motorhome, so another task on Monday was to have this checked over. Now that I've got all the equipment I think I need to make proper use of the vehicle, I felt it would be a good point at which to check the overall weight against that permitted according to the official plate in the cab, so I also incorporated a trip to the nearest public weighbridge, where I learned I have about half a tonne capacity to spare! The garage cleaned the bottom surfaces and told me to run it for a few days and return.
On Tuesday, therefore, I sought somewhere interesting to visit not far from home, and discovered a nature reserve near Tring called Cottage Lake, which fulfilled both purposes i.e. a journey in the vehicle, and the ideal of time away from work: relaxation. When I returned to the garage on Thursday, there was no sign of a leak, so apart from keeping an eye out, all seems to be well.
Then there's the matter of the laptop. I decided it was time to replace my computer, which is getting a bit tired and, since it's a desktop machine, it puts me at a disadvantage when I go to meetings or for research, in that I need to use a less capable intermediate device. Following good advice, I ordered on line, thinking it would be in my hands by now. Sadly there was a problem with the credit card ... well actually a card-user interface difficulty, i.e. I had made an error when I filled out the order document on line ... and the simplest solution was to let that order lapse and re-order it 'properly' later. I was waiting until this morning, therefore, for confirmation of the order and provision of a delivery date in order to know that all is well at last.
When things aren't going well, I find I tend to think of times long ago, and the other morning I recalled an office where I'd worked some 45 years ago. In particular, I recalled a typist at that establishment who had a comparatively uncommon surname, and I wondered how easy it would be to find anything out about her now. I have to praise findmypast.co.uk (although I did complain heavily about their new website last year). Within little more than half an hour I'd traced the girl's marriage, the birth of her daughter, and a recent address and, thanks to Google Maps, I had found a picture of the neat dwelling that she and her family have occupied for the last thirty-odd years. Fantastic!
This weekend has seen the first encounters in a competition that will end next May with two top football teams meeting at Wembley ... yes, it's the extra-preliminary round of the FA Cup. As on the Friday evening of the comparable weekend two years ago, I ventured into Norfolk to support my native team, Diss Town in their efforts. Sadly, as on that previous occasion at Thetford, today's match ended in a home win, but what a different Diss team set foot on the park at the Elgood Fenland Stadium. The eighth minute goal that determined the result was very much against the run of play, even up to that early point in the game. All through the ninety minutes, whenever there was a loose ball, there seemed to be an orange shirt to meet it, and most of the activity seemed to be in the Wisbech half. The only - but crucial - thing Diss seemed to lack was finishing power. So many shots landed directly in the goalkeeper's hands and, while not denying that man's power and skill, he didn't have a lot of work to do.
Today also marks the 70th anniversary of VJ-Day. I had felt that I wouldn't be observing the occasion at all, apart from pondering over my researches concerning the uncle whom I grew up being told that I closely resembled, and who died of malaria while a PoW working on the Burma Railway. This morning, however, as I drove into town, I happened to notice a gathering by the war memorial. Putting two and two together, I walked back after parking the van, and was able to join in a short service of commemoration. Having been unable to take part in the ringing of bells for the occasion, owing to a mis-match of other commitments among the ringers, I felt this more than compensated.
For me, this week has been dominated by three things ... one of which shouldn't have been a dominant item in the first place. I agreed to use my van to take some of the inevitable post-holiday club 'clutter' from the church to the local dump: one van-load would save a number of car trips, so it made sense. At least it did until I got there on Monday morning. There I learned that a new permit scheme for all vehicles other than cars had been in force since the beginning of the year. I was annoyed, because I had been there within the last few months to dispose of an item I'd replaced in the home, and had been admitted without let or hindrance. I therefore knew nothing of the permit scheme. The permit is free, but needed to be applied for on line ... from an office in Liverpool! I made the application immediately, of course, but I'm still waiting for the permit to arrive! The cardboard, meanwhile, has been 'parked' in the motorhome.
Last weekend, I noticed that there was a small puddle of oil beneath said motorhome, so another task on Monday was to have this checked over. Now that I've got all the equipment I think I need to make proper use of the vehicle, I felt it would be a good point at which to check the overall weight against that permitted according to the official plate in the cab, so I also incorporated a trip to the nearest public weighbridge, where I learned I have about half a tonne capacity to spare! The garage cleaned the bottom surfaces and told me to run it for a few days and return.
 |
| Ducks doing what ducks do best |
Then there's the matter of the laptop. I decided it was time to replace my computer, which is getting a bit tired and, since it's a desktop machine, it puts me at a disadvantage when I go to meetings or for research, in that I need to use a less capable intermediate device. Following good advice, I ordered on line, thinking it would be in my hands by now. Sadly there was a problem with the credit card ... well actually a card-user interface difficulty, i.e. I had made an error when I filled out the order document on line ... and the simplest solution was to let that order lapse and re-order it 'properly' later. I was waiting until this morning, therefore, for confirmation of the order and provision of a delivery date in order to know that all is well at last.
When things aren't going well, I find I tend to think of times long ago, and the other morning I recalled an office where I'd worked some 45 years ago. In particular, I recalled a typist at that establishment who had a comparatively uncommon surname, and I wondered how easy it would be to find anything out about her now. I have to praise findmypast.co.uk (although I did complain heavily about their new website last year). Within little more than half an hour I'd traced the girl's marriage, the birth of her daughter, and a recent address and, thanks to Google Maps, I had found a picture of the neat dwelling that she and her family have occupied for the last thirty-odd years. Fantastic!
This weekend has seen the first encounters in a competition that will end next May with two top football teams meeting at Wembley ... yes, it's the extra-preliminary round of the FA Cup. As on the Friday evening of the comparable weekend two years ago, I ventured into Norfolk to support my native team, Diss Town in their efforts. Sadly, as on that previous occasion at Thetford, today's match ended in a home win, but what a different Diss team set foot on the park at the Elgood Fenland Stadium. The eighth minute goal that determined the result was very much against the run of play, even up to that early point in the game. All through the ninety minutes, whenever there was a loose ball, there seemed to be an orange shirt to meet it, and most of the activity seemed to be in the Wisbech half. The only - but crucial - thing Diss seemed to lack was finishing power. So many shots landed directly in the goalkeeper's hands and, while not denying that man's power and skill, he didn't have a lot of work to do.
Today also marks the 70th anniversary of VJ-Day. I had felt that I wouldn't be observing the occasion at all, apart from pondering over my researches concerning the uncle whom I grew up being told that I closely resembled, and who died of malaria while a PoW working on the Burma Railway. This morning, however, as I drove into town, I happened to notice a gathering by the war memorial. Putting two and two together, I walked back after parking the van, and was able to join in a short service of commemoration. Having been unable to take part in the ringing of bells for the occasion, owing to a mis-match of other commitments among the ringers, I felt this more than compensated.
"When you go home, tell them of us and say,
For your tomorrow, we gave our today."
- Kohima Epitaph
Saturday, 8 August 2015
All a Bit of a Blur
The week got off to a slow start, but boy - did it take off! I was somewhat thankful that my first call on Monday didn't come until almost lunchtime, because after last week's demands, there were still things to be 'polished off'. I went to Biggleswade to collect a pallet of metal for a firm in Basingstoke; on my way there, a second job came onto my screen to collect in a village near Bedford to take to Stevenage. When I arrived at my first collection there was some consternation because they had two pallets for me which, although I could have physically taken them, would have exceeded my weight limit. On then, to the second point, while another vehicle was organised for the first. The place was out in the wilds and took some while to find. My report of eventual success was met with an invitation to repeat the job I'd done last Thursday, which took me to Weymouth.
Tuesday's late uprising heralded a busy, but comparatively local day, including five jobs, but venturing no further than Reading. Even so, I wasn't home until about 8.0pm. Wednesday began with another semi-local demand, to a village just beyond Newport Pagnell. In its usual whimsical way, SatNav took me there via Bedford and home via the M1, providing variety if nothing else. I was still about ten miles from home when I was diverted to Luton for the next job, going to Dudley, and with it some fabricated items for Tamworth. The customer who consigned these has a reputation for sluggishness but somehow waiting in the sunshine, knowing that two good jobs were virtually in the bag, was not unwelcome. The jobs themselves were not difficult either, and by mid-afternoon I was on the M6 heading homewards again, looking forward to a lazy evening, but just wondering if anyone would spot me on their screen. Beep! Beep! I'd been spotted. Now, the nature of this onboard computer device is such that, because of the colours and type face, I can't see the details of the job in normal light, to know whether I want to accept it or not. I'm learning the wisdom that, if I don't want more work for the moment, I can sign off. If I leave the machine switched on, I can still be seen, but the situation is clear.
So, midway through Wednesday afternoon came the second seaside job of the week, a collection in Nuneaton for Clacton-on-Sea. I made the delivery about 7.30pm, took time out to stroll briefly along the esplanade musing on former times, and then bought a 'service station salad' for tea before heading for home. Thursday repeated the same pattern, with a reasonably local job first, this time to West Horndon in Essex. I confess, I was so distracted by the cricket commentary as the first six Australian wickets fell within half an hour or so, that I missed my turning off the M25, and committed myself to an additional ten miles to make my delivery!
Next came a collection of instruments to be taken to a hospital in Worcester, but before I'd reached the M1, I'd been spotted by the astute staff of Milton Keynes, who realised that, if I were willing, I could fit in this job with one they'd just taken for the National Grid, to collect some samples in a Buckinghamshire village, for analysis at a laboratory in Ellesmere Port, needing to be delivered there by 9.0pm. They were considerate and phoned me first, rather than simply allocating the job, but I didn't see any problem with it, beyond the distance. I would be late enough to miss my evening in any case, so it seemed sensible to make it worthwhile.
I returned from what was, to all intents and purposes, a third 'seaside' mission by about 1.0 am, but didn't sleep much beyond my normal waking up time, and after a late breakfast and a bit of admin, I decided to pay my weekly visit to the office to hand in the paperwork I'd collected so far. When I walked in the door, the controller said he'd spotted me on his screen and had just given me a job. This was to collect in Royston for Trowbridge, and was complemented en route by another to pick up in Letchworth for a Reading address. Finally, since these were both small, could I fit on a pallet from Hitchin to go to Ascot on the way? These three went together well, for the 'Reading address' was along the so-called 'Floral Mile' of the A4, and the only real problem was a major incident on the M4, which threw the whole area into west-bound chaos.
After two good weeks, I felt justified in stopping at a pub just short of the M4 on my return journey to get a decent meal before continuing. Now I can look forward to a 'retired' week with some comfort and satisfaction!
Tuesday's late uprising heralded a busy, but comparatively local day, including five jobs, but venturing no further than Reading. Even so, I wasn't home until about 8.0pm. Wednesday began with another semi-local demand, to a village just beyond Newport Pagnell. In its usual whimsical way, SatNav took me there via Bedford and home via the M1, providing variety if nothing else. I was still about ten miles from home when I was diverted to Luton for the next job, going to Dudley, and with it some fabricated items for Tamworth. The customer who consigned these has a reputation for sluggishness but somehow waiting in the sunshine, knowing that two good jobs were virtually in the bag, was not unwelcome. The jobs themselves were not difficult either, and by mid-afternoon I was on the M6 heading homewards again, looking forward to a lazy evening, but just wondering if anyone would spot me on their screen. Beep! Beep! I'd been spotted. Now, the nature of this onboard computer device is such that, because of the colours and type face, I can't see the details of the job in normal light, to know whether I want to accept it or not. I'm learning the wisdom that, if I don't want more work for the moment, I can sign off. If I leave the machine switched on, I can still be seen, but the situation is clear.
So, midway through Wednesday afternoon came the second seaside job of the week, a collection in Nuneaton for Clacton-on-Sea. I made the delivery about 7.30pm, took time out to stroll briefly along the esplanade musing on former times, and then bought a 'service station salad' for tea before heading for home. Thursday repeated the same pattern, with a reasonably local job first, this time to West Horndon in Essex. I confess, I was so distracted by the cricket commentary as the first six Australian wickets fell within half an hour or so, that I missed my turning off the M25, and committed myself to an additional ten miles to make my delivery!
Next came a collection of instruments to be taken to a hospital in Worcester, but before I'd reached the M1, I'd been spotted by the astute staff of Milton Keynes, who realised that, if I were willing, I could fit in this job with one they'd just taken for the National Grid, to collect some samples in a Buckinghamshire village, for analysis at a laboratory in Ellesmere Port, needing to be delivered there by 9.0pm. They were considerate and phoned me first, rather than simply allocating the job, but I didn't see any problem with it, beyond the distance. I would be late enough to miss my evening in any case, so it seemed sensible to make it worthwhile.
I returned from what was, to all intents and purposes, a third 'seaside' mission by about 1.0 am, but didn't sleep much beyond my normal waking up time, and after a late breakfast and a bit of admin, I decided to pay my weekly visit to the office to hand in the paperwork I'd collected so far. When I walked in the door, the controller said he'd spotted me on his screen and had just given me a job. This was to collect in Royston for Trowbridge, and was complemented en route by another to pick up in Letchworth for a Reading address. Finally, since these were both small, could I fit on a pallet from Hitchin to go to Ascot on the way? These three went together well, for the 'Reading address' was along the so-called 'Floral Mile' of the A4, and the only real problem was a major incident on the M4, which threw the whole area into west-bound chaos.
After two good weeks, I felt justified in stopping at a pub just short of the M4 on my return journey to get a decent meal before continuing. Now I can look forward to a 'retired' week with some comfort and satisfaction!
Saturday, 1 August 2015
Serinaded by Seagulls!
By whatever measure you like - some that I've related here over the years and some I haven't, like simple 'gut-feeling' - this has been a good week. In 1,929 miles I have criss-crossed England, heard almost every ball of an enthralling Test Match, indulged in a bit of 'haven't been here for years' and a slice of 'uh-oh, school's out: the refurb. season has started', heard (with good explanation in mind, although not required) a touch of 'what time do you call this?' ... and had a seaside 'holiday' into the bargain!
The week began with an early alarm and a collection from a village about 15 miles away at 7.00. I was given another job to go with it, but when I arrived to collect it, I was told with some mystery, 'there was a job for Slough, but it's gone ... it's not here anyhow.' Somehow I wasn't bothered, and took my collection of thirteen boxes to a smart office block a few streets from Kew Gardens, where, in the absence of ground floor post room or a trolley, I was offered the strong arms and cheerful personality of a young Irishman to assist with conveying them through the front door, and up to the first floor.
As is so often the case now that one's progress can been viewed 'on screen', I was just leaving the M25 when I was diverted to the office, where my next job was already waiting for me, and another was being collected for me by another driver. These took me to an industrial estate in Bletchley, and on to a school in Dudley. Afterwards, as I made my way up the M5, wondering if I'd done right to opt for M6 rather than M42 to get around Birmingham, such considerations became irrelevant, as the local office spotted me and gave me a job from the centre of Birmingham down to a pharmacy in Luton. I collected this somewhat abruptly at about 4.45. I say 'somewhat abruptly' because, just as one eye spotted the target premises on the opposite side of the road, the other caught sight of a bus coming round the corner towards me. Rather than being caught in the middle of the road, I 'landed' front first between two parked cars on the forecourt, a parking position that I would normally avoid, and which I usually condemn with almost religious fervour because of the limited observation available when emerging.
Extricating myself from this awkwardness, I was on my way out of the city, when the phone rang again. "You couldn't do me a favour, before you head south, could you?" It sounded simple: B5 to B15; Heartlands Hospital (no department name given) collect ... blood ... (no shortage of that there, methinks) ... going to ... National Blood Service. I was reminded of my only previous visit to Heartlands, and a parallel angst over where to park, what entrance to use, etc. The difficulties were overcome, and the job completed, but it meant that I didn't leave Birmingham until nearly 6.0, leaving me no time at all to get to Luton by the time any normal pharmacy would be closing its doors. I was reassured to find that this one would be open until 10pm. Even so, by the time I arrived the proprietor was wondering if her delivery would be delayed until the follwing day!
That was just Monday! The week continued with a visit on Tuesday morning to the Ford engine plant at Dagenham, for the first time since the recession forced the closure of a motor component factory in Letchworth. Quickly on the back of that came another 'collected for me' job, this time to a laboratory of the National Grid on the outskirts of Leeds. While I waited for this, I was asked to collect a small package to deliver afterwards to Washington hospital. Needless to say, I didn't return from the north until almost midnight, and I was glad that Wednesday was comparatively local. I set off mid-morning with a piece of electronic equipment for rural Suffolk, and a small parcel for Cambridge.
My visit to Suffolk was both amusing and indeed rural, and all the more enjoyable for that. Soon after leaving the A14, I found myself approaching a crossroads where a pigeon sat, almost defiantly, atop the signpost. Only when I drew quite close, could I discern that this was a very clever model, clearly placed there to deceive and distract strangers! A short distance further, as I drove down a narrow lane, I had to squeeze into the hedge to make way for a tall load of straw going the other way. A little way on I discovered that this had half-removed a branch from a tree. This was now dangling in the middle of the road, preventing my further progress. To the amusement of the driver of the car behind me, I had to get out and manhandle this to one side, unable to remove it completely, but at least I could jam it into the hedgerow to allow us to pass. Finally I arrived at the village, where many cottages surround the neatly maintained green. Very efficiently, the parish council had provided signs along the roadway, and beside each little drive, indicating which houses lay down each one, and urging anyone not visiting these to reverse out of the drive because there wasn't room to turn around between the soft verges.
Thursday presented me with the earliest start I can remember, a 5.30 collection in Letchworth. This was a daily delivery of pharmaceuticals to a medical centre in a Norfolk market town, involving no more difficulty than the frustrations of the despatching supervisor because she had been sent yet another driver not familiar with their internal procedures! Upon my return, I was quite promptly sent to Rochester, and after getting almost home from that, I was diverted to Hitchin to collect something for Weymouth. I hadn't been there since a bell-ringing holiday in 1993! As I neared the town (and the Test Match neared its climax!) the office rang me to offer a job for Friday morning. A few minutes later Southampton office spotted me on-screen and offered me a job to Cobham, should I want it. I explained to both callers that, after being on the road since 5.30 am, I couldn't face the 160-mile journey home once I'd delivered, and was considering a B&B instead. The man in Southampton immediately said that he had a job the next morning from Weymouth up to Kidlington, just past Oxford, "it's yours if you want it." I couldn't have been better provided for!
The delivery made, I wondered how easy it would be to find a bed for the night ... and at what price! The first two places I tried didn't answer; the third had only twin or family rooms, and the fourth was asking a bit more than I was prepared to pay. The next lady was most obliging. She did indeed have a room and the price would be ... more than twice the one I'd just rejected, although she could make a slight reduction if I were to pay in cash! I explained, and asked where I might get a cheaper lodging. She responded - I believe with sincerity - that I would be best advised to go back to the one I'd been offered. I reflected as I retraced my steps and, considering the advancing hour, decided to accept her advice and the room I'd been offered at the Royal Hotel.
The Royal was built towards the end of the 19th century, at a cost of £25,000, on the site of a former establishment that had been a favourite of King George III, and it still retains much of its Victorian charm and splendour, despite refurbishment only a few years ago. The war memorial is just across the road, and it's said that Glenn Miller played at the hotel with his band during World War II.
Yesterday morning's experience provides this week's title, but after their performance, the flock became noticeably quieter, as if moving along the esplanade to another engagement. When I got up it was to a morning of tranquil beauty overlooking a sun-drenched townscape, which set me up wonderfully for my return home. The consignment I was to collect at 9.0 was almost ready by 8.0, and I was on my way by 8.25. I was back in Letchworth for the 1.0 service in church (it being the final Friday, our monthly day of prayer), and in the afternoon my week concluded with a print delivery to a housing development near Banbury. The site was quiet for the weekend, and the sales office manager was about to leave. As I neared the door it opened. "Brochures?" she asked. "Seven boxes," I replied, and we chatted amiably as I carried them in one by one. In the bright sunshine, this was perhaps the ideal end to what feels a near-perfect week.
The week began with an early alarm and a collection from a village about 15 miles away at 7.00. I was given another job to go with it, but when I arrived to collect it, I was told with some mystery, 'there was a job for Slough, but it's gone ... it's not here anyhow.' Somehow I wasn't bothered, and took my collection of thirteen boxes to a smart office block a few streets from Kew Gardens, where, in the absence of ground floor post room or a trolley, I was offered the strong arms and cheerful personality of a young Irishman to assist with conveying them through the front door, and up to the first floor.
As is so often the case now that one's progress can been viewed 'on screen', I was just leaving the M25 when I was diverted to the office, where my next job was already waiting for me, and another was being collected for me by another driver. These took me to an industrial estate in Bletchley, and on to a school in Dudley. Afterwards, as I made my way up the M5, wondering if I'd done right to opt for M6 rather than M42 to get around Birmingham, such considerations became irrelevant, as the local office spotted me and gave me a job from the centre of Birmingham down to a pharmacy in Luton. I collected this somewhat abruptly at about 4.45. I say 'somewhat abruptly' because, just as one eye spotted the target premises on the opposite side of the road, the other caught sight of a bus coming round the corner towards me. Rather than being caught in the middle of the road, I 'landed' front first between two parked cars on the forecourt, a parking position that I would normally avoid, and which I usually condemn with almost religious fervour because of the limited observation available when emerging.
Extricating myself from this awkwardness, I was on my way out of the city, when the phone rang again. "You couldn't do me a favour, before you head south, could you?" It sounded simple: B5 to B15; Heartlands Hospital (no department name given) collect ... blood ... (no shortage of that there, methinks) ... going to ... National Blood Service. I was reminded of my only previous visit to Heartlands, and a parallel angst over where to park, what entrance to use, etc. The difficulties were overcome, and the job completed, but it meant that I didn't leave Birmingham until nearly 6.0, leaving me no time at all to get to Luton by the time any normal pharmacy would be closing its doors. I was reassured to find that this one would be open until 10pm. Even so, by the time I arrived the proprietor was wondering if her delivery would be delayed until the follwing day!
That was just Monday! The week continued with a visit on Tuesday morning to the Ford engine plant at Dagenham, for the first time since the recession forced the closure of a motor component factory in Letchworth. Quickly on the back of that came another 'collected for me' job, this time to a laboratory of the National Grid on the outskirts of Leeds. While I waited for this, I was asked to collect a small package to deliver afterwards to Washington hospital. Needless to say, I didn't return from the north until almost midnight, and I was glad that Wednesday was comparatively local. I set off mid-morning with a piece of electronic equipment for rural Suffolk, and a small parcel for Cambridge.
My visit to Suffolk was both amusing and indeed rural, and all the more enjoyable for that. Soon after leaving the A14, I found myself approaching a crossroads where a pigeon sat, almost defiantly, atop the signpost. Only when I drew quite close, could I discern that this was a very clever model, clearly placed there to deceive and distract strangers! A short distance further, as I drove down a narrow lane, I had to squeeze into the hedge to make way for a tall load of straw going the other way. A little way on I discovered that this had half-removed a branch from a tree. This was now dangling in the middle of the road, preventing my further progress. To the amusement of the driver of the car behind me, I had to get out and manhandle this to one side, unable to remove it completely, but at least I could jam it into the hedgerow to allow us to pass. Finally I arrived at the village, where many cottages surround the neatly maintained green. Very efficiently, the parish council had provided signs along the roadway, and beside each little drive, indicating which houses lay down each one, and urging anyone not visiting these to reverse out of the drive because there wasn't room to turn around between the soft verges.
Thursday presented me with the earliest start I can remember, a 5.30 collection in Letchworth. This was a daily delivery of pharmaceuticals to a medical centre in a Norfolk market town, involving no more difficulty than the frustrations of the despatching supervisor because she had been sent yet another driver not familiar with their internal procedures! Upon my return, I was quite promptly sent to Rochester, and after getting almost home from that, I was diverted to Hitchin to collect something for Weymouth. I hadn't been there since a bell-ringing holiday in 1993! As I neared the town (and the Test Match neared its climax!) the office rang me to offer a job for Friday morning. A few minutes later Southampton office spotted me on-screen and offered me a job to Cobham, should I want it. I explained to both callers that, after being on the road since 5.30 am, I couldn't face the 160-mile journey home once I'd delivered, and was considering a B&B instead. The man in Southampton immediately said that he had a job the next morning from Weymouth up to Kidlington, just past Oxford, "it's yours if you want it." I couldn't have been better provided for!
The delivery made, I wondered how easy it would be to find a bed for the night ... and at what price! The first two places I tried didn't answer; the third had only twin or family rooms, and the fourth was asking a bit more than I was prepared to pay. The next lady was most obliging. She did indeed have a room and the price would be ... more than twice the one I'd just rejected, although she could make a slight reduction if I were to pay in cash! I explained, and asked where I might get a cheaper lodging. She responded - I believe with sincerity - that I would be best advised to go back to the one I'd been offered. I reflected as I retraced my steps and, considering the advancing hour, decided to accept her advice and the room I'd been offered at the Royal Hotel.
The Royal was built towards the end of the 19th century, at a cost of £25,000, on the site of a former establishment that had been a favourite of King George III, and it still retains much of its Victorian charm and splendour, despite refurbishment only a few years ago. The war memorial is just across the road, and it's said that Glenn Miller played at the hotel with his band during World War II.
Yesterday morning's experience provides this week's title, but after their performance, the flock became noticeably quieter, as if moving along the esplanade to another engagement. When I got up it was to a morning of tranquil beauty overlooking a sun-drenched townscape, which set me up wonderfully for my return home. The consignment I was to collect at 9.0 was almost ready by 8.0, and I was on my way by 8.25. I was back in Letchworth for the 1.0 service in church (it being the final Friday, our monthly day of prayer), and in the afternoon my week concluded with a print delivery to a housing development near Banbury. The site was quiet for the weekend, and the sales office manager was about to leave. As I neared the door it opened. "Brochures?" she asked. "Seven boxes," I replied, and we chatted amiably as I carried them in one by one. In the bright sunshine, this was perhaps the ideal end to what feels a near-perfect week.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)