Joe, Barak and Me

It was impressive.  The White House in all its glory, as if the riot of two weeks ago had never happened, the key people seated in their overcoats (why does this pageant have to be in winter, when Washington DC is so cold? - Didn't I read somewhere that it used to take place in March?) and the touching sight of one of the National Guard crossing himself at the end of the prayer for the victims of Covid-19.

My thoughts went back to the occasion twelve winters ago, when Joe Biden was in the vice-presidential chair.  What a lot has happened in the twelve years since Barak Obama's inauguration.  I don't intend to offer an incompetent summary of world events in that time (you will be pleased to know!).  But, more out of curiosity than with any other intent, I wondered what I was doing at that particular time.  January 20th was a Sunday that year, so I plucked from my records the week either side.

By Wednesday of the first of those two weeks, the furthest I had gone was the Birmingham area, with deliveries in Shirley and Redditch, so on Thursday I was glad to land a pick-up from a railway depot in Hornsey for two drops in Preston.  Full of cheek and more in hope than expectation, I rang in to say, alliteratively, "I've done these ... is there a car-size collection in Kirkintilloch before I head back?"  I was in admiration - as ever - of my boss's wit as, quick as a wink, he responded, "Sorry, there was one, but I gave it away to someone else!"  On the way home I had a call to ask me to repeat a job I'd done on the Tuesday, collecting from RAF Wattisham in Suffolk for one of our customers in Luton.

January was always a slow month for us and some of my colleagues couldn't stand the wait for another job and went home.  Maybe they knew they could be more useful there, with gardening, decorating or whatever.  I was usually content to wait so long as I had a puzzle or a book to read and often my willingness was rewarded with a job no one else wanted.  One night, I recorded, I had taken an evening delivery to a pharmacy in Pinner.  It was a job that paid me just £24, but when I got there - the shop was closed, but the pharmacist had waited and was going to deliver the medication I'd brought to someone's home - he profusely thanked me for coming and said, "You may have saved someone's life tonight!"  Not all the rewards were pecuniary.

January was a slow month; the next week I'd earned about two-and-a-quarter day's income in the first four days ... and, apparently, I was one of the lucky ones.  One who, it seemed, was always luckier, was an ex-police inspector who had no need of the income, so we thought, to supplement his generous pension.  On the previous day, he had enjoyed a convenient pair of deliveries, one in Bristol, the second in Llanelli, and was now moaning because he 'hadn't got in until late', and therefore 'wasn't looking for much today.'  My notes said that I thought of 'Oliver' and the 'privilege of indigestion'.

Even in those slack times, there were good experiences.  I note that I had taken a job from Royston to Harwich: "... a pleasant morning, cruising through Suffolk in the sunshine and then down to Manningtree and Mistley to get there 'the pretty way'."  Regular readers won't be surprised to learn that I had noted my discovery that the distance from Royston to Harwich was the same as from RAF Wattisham to Luton.

On the home front, I had been having a clear-out.  I had long been a subscriber to Freecycle, the forerunner of today's 'Trash nothing' system, and it was often easier for me to deliver to someone wanting my offers, because I could never plan when I was going to be at home for anyone to call.  The previous weekend, I had delivered a 'big black overcoat, symbol of the junior exec.' and a 'made-for-the-RAF' raincoat.  The first of these had cost me £80 in about 1985, I noted, and the second was from a 'staff sale' when I worked for a bespoke clothing firm a couple of years later.  Now, I couldn't get into either of them and they were just cluttering up my wardrobe.

And finally a topical revelation.  Back in November, I wrote here about a traumatic day in which work gave way to an enforced visit to A&E ... all because I wasn't drinking enough.  Twelve years ago, I noted that, "I was going round the M25 this evening when I suddenly felt quite faint.  It's occurred several times over the last number of years always about this time of day, but usually when I've just got home from work.  This was the first time I'd experienced it while driving, though.  It's not a dizzy faintness, simply a weakness in the legs, like I knew that, at that moment, I wouldn't want to get out of the van and stand up."

That had clearly been going on for many years, although I haven't noticed it since I stopped working and life became a little more regular.  I went on, "I think it's just a by-product of self-neglect; I'm usually OK after eating and drinking something."  I called in at the Ram in Hayes (a pub that has long since been demolished for housing), where I knew I could "count on a good plate of 'home cooking'."

I wonder how - if at all - life will change now that Joe Biden has become president.