Of Boxes, Budgets and Foolish Virgins!

As I look back over this week, I see that it comprised two distinct parts.  From a standing start on Monday, I was out by mid morning, but it was only to Leatherhead and Bracknell, and I was back in embarrassingly good time to go ringing in the evening.  Tuesday's excursion into Kent was only as far as Strood, and I was back soon after lunch.  I had brought my little netbook with me, and spent the afternoon making a first stab at a budget for the new financial year.  The more realistically I tweaked the figures, the more depressed I became - especially when I realised that in those two days the results of my activity had only just exceeded one day's budgeted income! 

As I've explained to a number of interested friends, this inactivity at a personal level isn't entirely due to the recession or lack of recovery from it.  In part it is a simple consequence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Some drivers seem to drift effortlessly from one good job to another, to another, and collect another on their way back from far places, while others have days on end with only single jobs that aren't far away at all, just because of who is available when the jobs come in or are required.  So it was that, as Tuesday drew to a close, I heard with some envy that other drivers had been given multiple jobs at some distance, while I was selected for one that used to be quite a regular a year or more ago, and often came my way - a rather tame delivery from a factory in Luton to an RAF base in Suffolk.

Knowing that this would only take half a day, and would virtually guarantee another boring afternoon in the crew room, drifting pointlessly from coffee to crossword, I was none too pleased.  In my prayers on Wednesday, I sought the willpower to trust in God's provision for my needs.  Back from Suffolk by early afternoon, I did at least have the encouraging sniff of an evening run to the midlands, but then, instead of this, I had the earlier reality of a collection in Welwyn GC for Boston, and on my way there came a phone call offering me a 7.0 pick-up in Bedford for Preston on Thursday.  Naturally I said 'yes,' and this worked out very well for me, since Thursday evening was one of those rare times when I have an engagement that I don't like to cry off (although sometimes this has been unavoidable.)  I help one of a small number of teams on a rota to read items from the local free paper, providing a 'talking newspaper' for blind people in the area.  This week it was our turn, and I was able comfortably to take my place with my friends at the microphone.

Friday was beginning to resemble the old pattern once more, as I'd been allocated an 8.30 collection in Milton Keynes for Wantage.  But then, as I prepared my tea, came another call, inviting me to return to the office and collect some railway spares that had to be taken to MK next morning, which added value to the journey.  Then, as I sat in the crew room in the afternoon, wondering if that would be the end of the week, the controller walked in and asked for volunteers for a couple of decent jobs yesterday.  No one spoke up immediately, but after a few moments I realised that the 'important' jobs I'd been planning for Saturday morning could be postponed until Monday, so I declared myself available, and by 8.30am I was delivering a box to a food processing factory just a few miles outside Launceston.


My plan, such as it was, was to make good use of the trip to see somewhere new before returning home, and I took my camera for the purpose.  It was early afternoon before I'd escaped the dull and damp weather that seemed determined to cling to the west country, but at Shepton Mallet I found a brown tourist sign for East Somerset Railway, and followed where it led.  Although it was not open to the public, the men who were at work by the trackside didn't object as I began taking pictures. 
Then disaster struck.  The camera made it clear that it needed new batteries.  No problem; I always carry a spare set in the case and - very carefully, since I was by then at my vantage point looking over the parapet of the road bridge (which you can just make out here behind the white signal) - I removed the dead batteries and replaced them.  Sadly, the replacements too seemed to be in need of recharging.  I felt like a foolish virgin (Matt. 25:3), and retreated shamefully to my van, having been unable to record half of what I'd seen.

So, what has this experience taught me?  Let me just say that, after an evening of searching for the battery charger, which has now recovered pride of place on the kitchen shelf, I now have a functioning camera once more ... AND a monthly electronic reminder to check the batteries and recharge them if necessary.  I wonder what else in life ought to be subjected to the same treatment?

It's a long way ...

Yesterday I went to Camborne.  I first knew of the trip was at about 5.0 the previous afternoon.  I had time only for some essential admin, a little research, a snack and about five hours' sleep before I was on the road.  During the journey I was very glad of the company of my mp3 player and radio.  The mp3 facility is a facet of my mobile phone, so I don't run it constantly to avoid running down the battery and denying myself the use of the phone. 

I tend to favour Radio 4, and the regular news updates through the day - beginning at 5.30am - told and retold of the conviction of Levi Bellfield for the murder of Milly Dowler, and the unfolding unrest caused by the treatment of the Dowlers in the witness box, and the subsequent dismissal of the case against Bellfield in respect of the attempted abduction of Rachel Cowles.  Only so much of this repetition can be endured, and it was soon time to hit the off-button.

In the silence I reflected on the views expressed and reported in this case.  Obviously I sympathised with the Dowlers that they'd had to undergo the pain and embarrassment of their home life being revealed to all and sundry amid their lingering bereavement over Milly's death.  My thoughts turned to what lay behind all this.  Naturally I realise my inability to imagine fully their situation but, subject to this, I marvelled that in the nine years since these events the family seemed not to have moved on emotionally from their initial grief and loss.

Then there was the disappointment of Miss Cowles, at not having received justice in respect of the case that had had to be dismissed because of certain matters that had been made public after Bellfield's conviction on the murder charge.  I could understand the legal nuances of this decision, but my main reaction was to this lady's quest for justice.  What is justice?  How does it relate to revenge?  If justice is more closely allied to the determination of blame and thence to punishment, then surely (I contend), in her mind at least, blame was already determined, so what about punishment?

And this led my wondering further, to a fundamental point not touched on by anyone else I've listened to.  It was reported that Bellfield is already serving a life sentence for other crimes.  Unlike many life sentences, which result in the criminal being released after ten, fifteen or twenty years, or whatever term the judge has recommended, this was said to be 'all of life', so he was already committed to spending the remainder of his life in prison.  Since death sentences were abandoned many years ago, what further punishment could possibly inflicted upon him ... torture?

Amazingly, I found myself on the brink of dismissing the whole concept of prisoners' rights.  Of course there was the need to draw these cases to a close, to ensure that 'it was Bellfield what dunnit!' and that there was no possibility of a real offender escaping unprosecuted.  But, I asked myself, - given the impossibility of imposing any further sentence upon him - could this closure not have been achieved in a manner a lot less flamboyant and costly, and the associated pain, indignity and frustration completely avoided?

With my thoughts totally unresolved, and the radio on once more, I headed for home ....