Asparagus, Whisky & their Friends

It's certainly been an interesting week.  First of all, may I express the hope that all my readers had a Happy Easter (whatever that term might mean for you).  Aside from the religious observation, mine was a good one on the home front, for two reasons at least.  Firstly, during the break I managed to complete the transcription of a lecture that was started well before Christmas, and had stuck there on my desktop begging unsuccessfully for my further attention.  Secondly, came the family history research (that I've mentioned here more than once) following a link from my cousin in Seattle just before Christmas, which I brought to a conclusion over the holiday weekend, enabling me to send off some reports to her.

On Bank Holiday Monday, I had planned a football trip to Suffolk to watch my native Diss Town play a mid-table team in what could have been a critical 'get-out-of-relegation-trouble' match.  Midway through the morning I had a call from the office, noting that I had said that I might be available for work if required, and instead of my supporter's scarf I donned my courier uniform, to take some asparagus samples to the office of a well-known supermarket in Bradford.  I think I was fortunate to miss the match, which I later learned resulted in a 3-1 defeat, after being ahead by their one goal at half-time!

Tuesday saw a return to the more usual level of work, with just a trip to Northampton, and afterwards I began the intense phase of planning for my holiday, noting what I want to see, what can be planned with what else, when attractions are open, and so on.  Later I went to the office for my weekly paperwork session, and was handed details of a job which took up the whole of the next day.  One of our customers is in the interesting business of promoting the blending of whisky, by means of sponsored evening gatherings of afficionados.  Like other advertising events, we service these by taking appropriate materials to the venue one day, and collecting them the following day to return to the organiser.

St Cyprian's Church, Edge
Hill, Liverpool

Wednesday's job, therefore, was to take whisky and associated equipment to a bar in the centre of Liverpool, only five minutes' walk from the famous Cavern Club.  It's some while since I've been to the centre of the city, and the drive in along the A5047 has been dramatically uplifted visually in recent months.  New houses and a bright and eye-catching health centre now replace row upon row of empty, boarded-up terraces.  I was intrigued to find that the impressive Victorian church of St Cyprian remains standing in the middle of this flattened landscape. Research tells me that it is Grade II listed, was de-consecrated in 2006, and is likely to be redeveloped in conjunction with student accommodation.
 
Productivity-wise, Tuesday's solo had been a bit of a let-down, but Thursday, satisfactory of itself with three reasonable local jobs, had gone some way to restoring the benefit of a 'bonus' bank holiday assignment.  I was feeling a little smug, with a clear desk and the challenge of finding something worthwhile to occupy the rest of the evening when, at about 7.45 pm, the phone rang.  "I've got an interesting job here <pause>" is usually an accurate but demanding introduction, and this was no exception.  It consisted of collecting what was described as 'five noses' (but which actually looked like any other metal fabrication loosely packed in a cardboard box) from a factory on the outskirts of Leicester, and then delivering these to an address near Coventry at 7.30 the next morning.  Given the relative distances, and the lateness of the hour, regular readers will not be surprised that I decided against undertaking the two middle legs of this four-part assignment.

At 10.00pm, with a confidence born only of authority, I entered the darkened factory in Wigston and made my way through the dimly-lit building to the sound of machinery at the far end.  Eventually I discovered two men who were 'machine-minding', although the casual observer could have been forgiven for thinking he had interrupted a tea-break.  One of them, clearly expecting me, led the way to the afore-mentioned cardboard box, collected my signature on the accompanying document, and carried it out to my van.  I then drove the 31 miles to the destination, found a convenient car park right opposite the gate, and attempted the second challenge - sleep.

After my cold and only partially successful bid for success in this endeavour, the dawn revealed the fact that there were in fact three factories on this site, and by 7.30 two of them were showing signs of activity - but not the one I was interested in.  They don't start until 8.0, and both they and I were puzzled at my instruction to be there half-an-hour earlier than that.  The delivery made, I gladly took my leave and sought fuel for both body and vehicle, before heading home.

By late morning, refreshed in body and spirit, I was about to ring in with these tidings, when an incoming call sent me on the first of a sequence of four jobs, to Swavesey, near Cambridge.  The second was to a pharmacy in Tottenham, not far from the Spurs' ground, and the other two were both to Broomfield Hospital in Chelmsford - a smart and efficient place that involved quite a bit of walking to get from one requisite department to the other.  Suffice to say that I was glad to get home, and slept well this morning!

Dizzy!

Last year at this time I remember getting into a bit of online consternation as to the correct name for today.  Whether it's 'Easter Saturday' or 'Holy Saturday', in human terms it's part of a weekend that happens to fall between two Bank Holidays, so it must be time to write my blog.  With apologies to any American readers, I'm reminded of the joke about two American tourists who were looking out of the bus window.  One asked the other where they were; his pal checked his mobile phone and said, "It's Tuesday - this must be Belgium!"  That's how this week has felt to me.

To begin at the beginning ... for the third Monday in a row I missed the men's breakfast at church, needing to make a 6.00 collection in Luton for something wanted 'urgently' in Rhayader which, as I described to a friend at the weekend, is 'the belly-button of Wales'.  Getting there was an absolute delight since, after leaving the M5, I was on quiet(-ish) roads, where overtaking was either impossible or suicidal, and for many miles I followed a load of straw behind an artic.  When I decided that it was safe to overtake him, I think I went about a mile before I noticed in my mirror that he was indicating to turn off!  I'm pretty sure that this was the first time that I'd entered Wales on a B-road.

I was back in comfortable time for my weekly office-admin visit, and then prepared to make an awkward decision.  Some towers, including my own, have a tradition that there is no ringing during Holy Week, and I was faced with a choice of going with our men's group to play pool, or attending the first of the series of meditations in church.  At 6.30, the phone rang.  "You haven't got a job for tomorrow, have you?"  I confirmed that this was the case, and was asked if I were able to go and collect something nearby for delivery to University Hospital, Hartlepool by 9.00 next morning.

Tuesday, therefore started much earlier than had Monday.  I left with plenty of time to spare, and SatNav told me that I should arrive by 8.20.  Suddenly, there was electronic panic on my dashboard, as 'Road Closed' signs appeared in the matrices above my route.  I was diverted to avoid what turned out to be a planned closure roadworks that would be lifted at 6.00.  I got nearly to Leicester, when SatNav picked up the 'improvement in traffic conditions', and headed me back to the A1.  By now, my arrival time was said to be 9.17, and it was catch-up all the way.  I did manage to get there by 9.06, but that wasn't the end of the tale.  It was one of those hospitals where there were no signs for a delivery bay, and when I went to Reception for directions, I found that Reception was now redundant.

Eventually I parked outside the mortuary to look for an entrance, and the kind lady who told me I couldn't park there because the hearse wanted to come out, explained that I could stop outside the main entrance, and walk my goods easily to the theatre.  When I got there, half an hour later than instructed, far from getting a telling off no one seemed to know what to do with the things I'd brought.  So much for job satisfaction!  The day finished with a local job to Harlow, and in the evening I made it to the second meditative service.

Wednesday morning began with a pre-instructed collection from Haverhill at 8.45 which, by contrast with the previous days, was quite civilised.  I'd been home long enough to switch the computer on, but not to make coffee, when the next request came.  More healthcare materials, this time to Sandbanks which, I discovered, is between Bournemouth and Poole.  Delivery there was trouble-free, despite my fears to the contrary when I first saw the target hotel, the front of which was behind a steeply sloping, and completely full car park. I reflected that these three days had seen me going a considerable distance to the west, to the north and to the south, and I posted this fact on social media, adding the question, 'dare I hope for Yarmouth tomorrow to complete the set?'  I thought this rhetorical, and left for the third meditation at our 'village' church.  I returned home to find a comment upon this post asking, 'What about Beccles?', which bore some realism, since we have a couple of regular runs there, and this would have been much more likely than Yarmouth, while in the same direction, and meeting the same aesthetic aspiration.

Thursday dawned, and after breakfast I rang in to get on the list for what is traditionally the courier's busiest day of the year.  A couple of hours elapsed and then the phone rang.  Would I collect a parcel for ... Beccles?!  I explained my mirth to the controller and set off, not on one of those regular runs, but to a chemist's shop in the town centre.  After a diversion on my return journey to take a couple of pictures of some recent developments on the housing estate where I'd grown up, the phone went again when I was still an hour or so from base.  This delay was not a problem, but would I please collect in Royston on my way past, for Derby, and there would be other work, too.

In what seemed to be the second of two days in one, I took some quasi-concrete material in pots to Santa Pod Raceway, and then delivered three parcels to an engineering factory in Derby, missing of necessity my planned attendance at a meal-and-worship combination at church.  Instead, came a delicious meal at one of my favourite truck-stops, and I was home at bedtime.

Yesterday, in beautiful sunshine, I tidied the fall-out of an amazing week on the road, caught up with a few e-mails that had been queueing for attention, and tried to focus on the religious significance of the day, taking part in a walk of witness in the town in the morning,

Town centre service for Good Friday,
I'm invisible, about two rows behind
the red trousers!

and attending a meditative service in the afternoon.  But somehow I seemed to be going through the motions, without taking it all in.  I think the busy-ness of these four days had got to me.  There was so much still going round in my mind; with two early starts, poor sleep, and a late night I was just too tired to focus properly on the devotions.  Religion apart, I think that's why, in their wisdom, our Victorian forebears prescribed holidays, to make sure that workers weren't stretched beyond their physical capabilities.

Work is far easier these days, of course, and it's probably not right to compare their situations with my own.  I'll cut the waffle now, and just relax until Tuesday!