As many people who have had the unfortunate experience of seeing a loved one die of a terminal illness will agree, even though a death is expected, it's still a shock when it comes. If readers find it insensitive of me to refer to this truism in the circumstances I'm about to describe, then I apologise; it happens to describe for me what I felt last Friday evening when I returned home from the garage.
My van had been difficult to start all afternoon, and I called at the garage on my way home from my last delivery in Norwich, to get an opinion on what might be wrong, and how easy it might be to fix. After listening both to my observation of warning lights and of the van's behaviour, and to the engine itself, running smoothly but noticeably louder than usual, the engineer pronounced, "I think your timing chain is going." We discussed the next move briefly, and agreed that the van would rest over the weekend and then make one last trip to enable me to collect the car I'd already arranged to be its successor.
I outlined here a couple of weeks ago how my original phased retirement plan had gradually been curtailed, firstly only in vague and undefined terms, then to mid January, and finally to the weekend before Christmas. But that wasn't to be the final curtailment. Last weekend was one of making some plans and changing others. A phone call to the dealer was inconclusive because the salesman was on holiday, so I couldn't be sure how far advanced the pre-delivery routines were, given that as far as they were concerned they had two more weeks to get her ready. An e-mail was left, supplemented by a text message, and bright and early on Monday morning came the confirming call. Only one thing more was left to do, and I could collect the car that afternoon.
I'd had to wait until Monday to call the insurance broker to see if a parallel advancement could be arranged there. Luckily it would take a matter of minutes to cancel one policy and complete another, so I called the dealer back to say, "It's all systems 'go!'" Finally what had seemed all weekend to be very indefinite and unsatisfactory was now happening. My prayers were answered, and the van started first time, both at home as I set out, and more importantly, perhaps, when the salesman started it to drive it to the rear of the showroom. Documentation was completed, and within an hour of my arrival, I was on my way home.
On Friday evening, in my state of shock, I realised that while - as I opened this post by stating - there is a fine line between life and death, and yet the two are so different, so there are many other fine line distinctions in my present situation. The gap between work and retirement turned out to be only a weekend; as this week has progressed, I've realised the gap that exists between the semi-retirement I've been living this last year and the real thing. I'm coming to understand that there is no urgency to get done this week all the things on my To-Do list ... there will be another week next week ... and the week after, and so on.
There is a fine gap between doubt and certainty ... as I've already described in relation to the car, but I found another example during the week, when the letting agent came for her quarterly inspection of my flat. For some months now there has been a rumbling concern about the redecoration of my living space. It was always going to be difficult while I'm living in it, and even more so now that I'm no longer working ... even some weeks. Apparently, the designated tradesman was very reluctant even to consider such a piecemeal assignment as had been put to him, so the landlord has decided that, since I have no concerns at all about having the job done, it being perfectly satisfactory as it is for my unassuming needs, the matter will be left in abeyance until such time as I request something to be done. Doubt has given way to certainty.
This afternoon I discovered a more practical gap as I did my weekly supermarket shopping. With the van it was simplicity itself. I pushed my trolley up to the rear of the van, opened the door and tossed the bags inside. Given the prevailing rain, I wasn't prepared to go through the automated slowness of opening the boot, getting the contents wet, then unloading the bags and following up with the equally slow automated closing. These operations might be gentle and dignified in sunshine; in rain they simply afford the opportunity for an unwelcome soaking. I opted for the swift opening of the passenger door and putting the bags quickly into the footwell ... an impossibility under the former regime because of all the 'clutter' kept there for ready use.
And finally - nothing to do with retirement - I must share with my gentle reader a more intimate gap that I discovered yesterday afternoon. I decided that the time had come for a pre-festive tidying of my appearance, and visited the hairdresser. I explained that I wanted minimal adjustment to the length of my hair, merely a thinning out where it was growing too thickly to be easily managed (in itself a blessing at my age!), along with a neatening of the edges. There was a distinct gap between my explanation and his co-operation; or between his hearing and his understanding of my requirements. I emerged in growing levels of anger, feeling like a freshly-cropped schoolboy!
Most of these gaps are, or will be, resolved by the disappearance of one party. What will define the future for me, I think, is the extent to which I am able to resolve others - many of which have yet to emerge - by a gradual rapprochement of one side to the other.
Showing posts with label retirement. Show all posts
Showing posts with label retirement. Show all posts
Friday, 11 December 2015
Saturday, 5 December 2015
Hitting the Target: a Problem of Habit
When I started writing this blog nearly five years ago, I didn't aim for it to be just a diary. I didn't even aim for it to be extracts from a diary. I thought it would be interesting to provide an insight for others into what I had found a fascinating, but unexpectedly intrusive way for an ex-accountant to earn a living. From time to time I've digressed completely from tales of the courier life to provide the odd observation about life in general, to comment on pet grouses, and so on ... even bravely to dip the occasional toe into politics! On balance, I suppose I've met that original aim about forty percent of the time, but I hope you, dear reader, have found the end result interesting whatever its diary-like divergence from its purpose.
I intend to keep writing it in permanent retirement ... for a few more months at least. If I find I'm running out of topics to cover, then I hope I have the courage to kill it while it's still healthy, rather than let it stagger to an ungainly demise. As to its diary-like qualities, this decline has perhaps been inevitable since, in order to fuel a portrait of a courier's life, examples have to be drawn from the ... diary! It has become a habit to look first at the week's job-list to remind me of what I've done during the week and hence to pick up any commonality or running theme that may have developed.
It's amazing how easily habits form, not only in connection with the blog, but also in the life it has portrayed. I remember in the early years, for example, there seemed always to be problems resulting from the roadworks to widen one section after another of the M25, there was a constant battle to avoid the delays, and one had only to mutter 'M25 ... roadworks' to be excused for any and every delay. More recently, the same has been true of a long swathe of the M1, from Northampton up to the M6, although this week I was pleased to discover that it's now clear and free-flowing up to junction 18!
During the course of my courier career I've used a total of six vans, in addition to the car I used for the first few weeks. Of these, five have been Vauxhall Combos, and the other a Renault Kangoo. The first days in the Kangoo were strange; the cab was so much bigger compared to the old Mark I Combo, because of the storage space behind the seat, and although the van was rated to carry a heavier payload, there wasn't enough space to make full use of this facility, because the body of the van was so much shorter. The habit of fitting large items into the Combo had to go.
The next change, into a Mark II Combo, brought its own difficulties. The space behind the seat, that I'd then got used to in the Kangoo, had reduced once more, while the overhead 'pod' of the Mark I had been sacrificed for the new streamlined shape. Even the most recent van change was awkward when, for the first time, I acquired a Combo with a solid, steel bulkhead, so there was now nowhere to fasten my trolley. I took the bold step of giving it away, since I rarely used it, and haven't really missed it in the last four years.
The biggest batch of habits to be changed is yet to come; in a few days I shall say farewell to this van that has served more than a quarter of my career, and which I have nursed beyond the not insignificant 300,000 mile mark. I shall acquire in its place a small saloon whose dashboard will bear that same familiar format I've worked with for nearly ten of those courier years. But that's where the similarity will (have to) end. From the start, I must learn to keep my 'bits and pieces' in the boot!
Perhaps the biggest upset will be losing the box from the passenger footwell. As well as restraining certain hidden items (like a hard hat ... what will become of that?!) this has acted as a 'table' for all the paraphernalia I might want to utilise during a journey. In this case, definitely a bad habit to be expunged as soon as possible!
By contrast, one thing this new phase of life will not easily give up will be the driving style. I'm sure I shall - for a while, at least - still be impatient with slow deciders, cautious drivers and learners, although I hope I'll always allow space for delivery vehicles of all sizes, being sympathetically aware of the many challenges they face.
But, even when greater all-round visibility will make it less essential, I'm sure I'll always extol the virtues of reversing into a parking space!
I intend to keep writing it in permanent retirement ... for a few more months at least. If I find I'm running out of topics to cover, then I hope I have the courage to kill it while it's still healthy, rather than let it stagger to an ungainly demise. As to its diary-like qualities, this decline has perhaps been inevitable since, in order to fuel a portrait of a courier's life, examples have to be drawn from the ... diary! It has become a habit to look first at the week's job-list to remind me of what I've done during the week and hence to pick up any commonality or running theme that may have developed.
It's amazing how easily habits form, not only in connection with the blog, but also in the life it has portrayed. I remember in the early years, for example, there seemed always to be problems resulting from the roadworks to widen one section after another of the M25, there was a constant battle to avoid the delays, and one had only to mutter 'M25 ... roadworks' to be excused for any and every delay. More recently, the same has been true of a long swathe of the M1, from Northampton up to the M6, although this week I was pleased to discover that it's now clear and free-flowing up to junction 18!
During the course of my courier career I've used a total of six vans, in addition to the car I used for the first few weeks. Of these, five have been Vauxhall Combos, and the other a Renault Kangoo. The first days in the Kangoo were strange; the cab was so much bigger compared to the old Mark I Combo, because of the storage space behind the seat, and although the van was rated to carry a heavier payload, there wasn't enough space to make full use of this facility, because the body of the van was so much shorter. The habit of fitting large items into the Combo had to go.
The next change, into a Mark II Combo, brought its own difficulties. The space behind the seat, that I'd then got used to in the Kangoo, had reduced once more, while the overhead 'pod' of the Mark I had been sacrificed for the new streamlined shape. Even the most recent van change was awkward when, for the first time, I acquired a Combo with a solid, steel bulkhead, so there was now nowhere to fasten my trolley. I took the bold step of giving it away, since I rarely used it, and haven't really missed it in the last four years.
The biggest batch of habits to be changed is yet to come; in a few days I shall say farewell to this van that has served more than a quarter of my career, and which I have nursed beyond the not insignificant 300,000 mile mark. I shall acquire in its place a small saloon whose dashboard will bear that same familiar format I've worked with for nearly ten of those courier years. But that's where the similarity will (have to) end. From the start, I must learn to keep my 'bits and pieces' in the boot!
Perhaps the biggest upset will be losing the box from the passenger footwell. As well as restraining certain hidden items (like a hard hat ... what will become of that?!) this has acted as a 'table' for all the paraphernalia I might want to utilise during a journey. In this case, definitely a bad habit to be expunged as soon as possible!
By contrast, one thing this new phase of life will not easily give up will be the driving style. I'm sure I shall - for a while, at least - still be impatient with slow deciders, cautious drivers and learners, although I hope I'll always allow space for delivery vehicles of all sizes, being sympathetically aware of the many challenges they face.
But, even when greater all-round visibility will make it less essential, I'm sure I'll always extol the virtues of reversing into a parking space!
Saturday, 28 November 2015
The End is Nigh!
I remember when, many years ago now, I got engaged. I wasn't sure how it had happened, but happen it had, and I was now living with the con- sequences. Similar considerations apply to two later events in my life, and this week brought with it another one for the collection. It all started on Saturday morning, when I took my van to the tyre centre to have the pressures checked. It was noted that the front tyres were showing signs of uneven wear, and the forecast was that they would probably only last another few thousand miles. On Monday I had the van serviced, and asked for a second opinion. They decided that to swap front for rear would be a good idea, since the forces are different, and envisaged a further 10,000 miles from them.
For a number of weeks now, I've been toying with the idea of curtailing my phased retirement plan, but had come up with no firm decision. From the outset the plan had been circumscribed with the caveat that it would only be fulfilled so long as the van should last, but the question has thus far been unanswered, 'how - apart from an almighty explosion - can one tell when the van has had enough?' A further complication was that, whenever I were to stop work, I should need the van to be still roadworthy enough to effect an exchange with a replacement vehicle. After paying the garage bill - hefty, the same as last time, because other bits had needed to be replaced - my future course suddenly seemed clear. I would bring forward my planned two weeks' work in January, and finish for good on the 15th.
Next day, I followed up recent investigations into the availability of a suitable car, and arranged a test drive. I had a family engagement to fulfil on Wednesday, so it was Thursday morning when I got to try out my chosen car. Being basically the same controls and layout as the vans I've been driving for many years, the outcome was virtually predictable. I loved it, and we began filling in forms and making arrangements.
The big snag came when I asked for a completion date in the middle of January. The vendors didn't like the idea of a sold vehicle clogging up their yard for nearly a couple of months, but would entertain it provided I paid for it up front, and agreed to a hefty penalty clause should I change my mind in that time and ask for a refund. From their viewpoint, this made sense, but I said that, if I had to pay for it, then I'd take it before Christmas, thank you very much!
This was much more acceptable on both sides, so in Suetonius' words to Julius Caesar, 'iacta alea est' - the die is cast. I have three more weeks to work, and then on 21st December I shall collect the true symbol of my retirement ... the first saloon car I've owned for over ten years. Yesterday was our church's monthly day of prayer and fasting so, in between three gatherings there, I spent the day tying up loose ends. I re-arranged my finances, and made a payment to the car showroom; organised the insurance for the car and instructed the cancellation of the policy on the van ... timed to allow me to use it on the day for the exchange.
Today has offered a distinct contrast to the high excitement that has gone before, helping to clear the fallen leaves from around the church, and this afternoon gets the Advent and Christmas season under way as we see the decoration of the tree in the church hall, accompanied by the singing of the first Christmas carols.
For a number of weeks now, I've been toying with the idea of curtailing my phased retirement plan, but had come up with no firm decision. From the outset the plan had been circumscribed with the caveat that it would only be fulfilled so long as the van should last, but the question has thus far been unanswered, 'how - apart from an almighty explosion - can one tell when the van has had enough?' A further complication was that, whenever I were to stop work, I should need the van to be still roadworthy enough to effect an exchange with a replacement vehicle. After paying the garage bill - hefty, the same as last time, because other bits had needed to be replaced - my future course suddenly seemed clear. I would bring forward my planned two weeks' work in January, and finish for good on the 15th.
Next day, I followed up recent investigations into the availability of a suitable car, and arranged a test drive. I had a family engagement to fulfil on Wednesday, so it was Thursday morning when I got to try out my chosen car. Being basically the same controls and layout as the vans I've been driving for many years, the outcome was virtually predictable. I loved it, and we began filling in forms and making arrangements.
The big snag came when I asked for a completion date in the middle of January. The vendors didn't like the idea of a sold vehicle clogging up their yard for nearly a couple of months, but would entertain it provided I paid for it up front, and agreed to a hefty penalty clause should I change my mind in that time and ask for a refund. From their viewpoint, this made sense, but I said that, if I had to pay for it, then I'd take it before Christmas, thank you very much!
This was much more acceptable on both sides, so in Suetonius' words to Julius Caesar, 'iacta alea est' - the die is cast. I have three more weeks to work, and then on 21st December I shall collect the true symbol of my retirement ... the first saloon car I've owned for over ten years. Yesterday was our church's monthly day of prayer and fasting so, in between three gatherings there, I spent the day tying up loose ends. I re-arranged my finances, and made a payment to the car showroom; organised the insurance for the car and instructed the cancellation of the policy on the van ... timed to allow me to use it on the day for the exchange.
Today has offered a distinct contrast to the high excitement that has gone before, helping to clear the fallen leaves from around the church, and this afternoon gets the Advent and Christmas season under way as we see the decoration of the tree in the church hall, accompanied by the singing of the first Christmas carols.
Friday, 30 October 2015
When Nothing Much is Happening ..
I decided that, with no other plans for this non-working week, it would be a good opportunity to clean the flat. I've developed a great aversion to house- work over the years (never trained right as a lad, in my adult opinion); so long as everything is in its place, I'm inclined to leave the hoover in its place too. In fact after seeing my then dwelling for the first time some years ago, one lady commented, "It's dirty ... but tidily dirty!" But after some while, there were a lot of things not in their places ... especially things for which the proper place is the recycling bin, like five-year old catalogues, and even older railway timetables. It was time for action!
As a tempter, I resolved to clean one room per day, which more or less worked out, and the job is now done. I can hear sympathetic readers (the others have probably closed this bulletin already in disgust) saying, "There, that wasn't so bad, was it? Now try and keep it up from now on." And you're quite right, of course; I can only say I'll do my best.
Alongside this feverish unaccustomed domestic activity, I also started out taking a walk each afternoon, but this was thwarted on day three when the rain told me, "go home - there's no point getting wet just for the sake of it!"
There was also much feverish activity on the admin front, as I sought to make important and long-term decisions about funding my retirement when it is finally phased in ... all this being prompted by setting up a realistic budget for next year. After an extended evening's work constructing a spreadsheet, I went to bed exhausted, only to wake up a couple of hours later convinced that the whole effort was wasted because of a flaw in the thinking behind it: a flaw so basic as forgetting that, although sharing a pasture, tax years and calendar years are not the same beast. The next day found me doing exactly the same exercise ... but properly, this time!
During last week I discovered that my printer wasn't working as it should, and as I explored possible reasons, it occurred to me that a lack of bespoke ink might be the difficulty, so I placed an order. Meanwhile, as I dabbled further with the problem, I hit on the true remedy, and fixed it. Hence the order for ink dropped off the radar, and the other afternoon a delivery driver (not from my company, thank goodness!) tried to deliver the parcel, only to find me in the bath! No embarrassment was involved, I'm pleased to report; once dressed, I happily collected the card he'd put through the door, and drove across the town to collect the ink, which is now stored ready for use in due course.
The weekend promises to be a busy one, too. Tomorrow I'm planning to visit my native Norfolk, to watch an FA Vase tie, and on Sunday our church is holding its annual pets service, so anything could happen there! Sobriety returns in the afternoon, when there is a bereavement service for those who have lost loved ones during the past year, and a little later, at the other side of the town, the bellringers will gather for this year's final attempt to ring a quarter peal (1,260 changes, taking about three-quarters of an hour's intense concentration).
As a tempter, I resolved to clean one room per day, which more or less worked out, and the job is now done. I can hear sympathetic readers (the others have probably closed this bulletin already in disgust) saying, "There, that wasn't so bad, was it? Now try and keep it up from now on." And you're quite right, of course; I can only say I'll do my best.
Alongside this feverish unaccustomed domestic activity, I also started out taking a walk each afternoon, but this was thwarted on day three when the rain told me, "go home - there's no point getting wet just for the sake of it!"
There was also much feverish activity on the admin front, as I sought to make important and long-term decisions about funding my retirement when it is finally phased in ... all this being prompted by setting up a realistic budget for next year. After an extended evening's work constructing a spreadsheet, I went to bed exhausted, only to wake up a couple of hours later convinced that the whole effort was wasted because of a flaw in the thinking behind it: a flaw so basic as forgetting that, although sharing a pasture, tax years and calendar years are not the same beast. The next day found me doing exactly the same exercise ... but properly, this time!
During last week I discovered that my printer wasn't working as it should, and as I explored possible reasons, it occurred to me that a lack of bespoke ink might be the difficulty, so I placed an order. Meanwhile, as I dabbled further with the problem, I hit on the true remedy, and fixed it. Hence the order for ink dropped off the radar, and the other afternoon a delivery driver (not from my company, thank goodness!) tried to deliver the parcel, only to find me in the bath! No embarrassment was involved, I'm pleased to report; once dressed, I happily collected the card he'd put through the door, and drove across the town to collect the ink, which is now stored ready for use in due course.
The weekend promises to be a busy one, too. Tomorrow I'm planning to visit my native Norfolk, to watch an FA Vase tie, and on Sunday our church is holding its annual pets service, so anything could happen there! Sobriety returns in the afternoon, when there is a bereavement service for those who have lost loved ones during the past year, and a little later, at the other side of the town, the bellringers will gather for this year's final attempt to ring a quarter peal (1,260 changes, taking about three-quarters of an hour's intense concentration).
Sunday, 11 October 2015
Back in at the Deep End
The week began with harvest festival at the church. A new choir had been formed during the summer, which I had readily joined, and this was our first 'outing'. The service was followed by a simple lunch for about 120 ... no small task for the catering team, who did an excellent job! In the afternoon - across the town - the bellringers attempted a quarter peal, which was unsuccessful, although not before over 1,000 changes of good ringing had been achieved. A healing service in the evening rounded off a very busy day.
After two weeks of 'retirement', courier work this week came as more of a shock than any time since my reharnessing after Easter. And there was no gentle easing into it, either. After a couple of hours' wait (which allowed me to marshall my thoughts about entering to my various records all the stuff I'd collected at the record office on Friday), my first job was to Pontefract. This was a repeat run of one I'd done during my last working week, albeit that had been late in the day, so the road-busy-ness pattern was different. Returning about 4.0pm, I thought the day would be at and end, but I had to think again when I realised that the job that had appeared on my screen was for delivery that day, rather than Tuesday, and a run to Greenford neatly knocked out my attendance at bell-ringing practice.
This week has included a bit of most things that have made up my courier carreer, the cancellation of my evening plans being only the first. Next came the 'single job in a day', when Tuesday's job - to Cheltenham General Hospital - didn't begin until 11.0, so once more I had a morning at the keyboard, this time setting-up my newly installed computer Bible program. Wednesday's task was pre-announced, so I had the chance to research it online first. It took me to Jarrow, a place I had first visited over 24 years ago, as part of a 'Medieval Monks and Monasteries' course at Durham University. In fact this destination - reached midway through a day best described as 'a 6-hour car-wash' - was a small engineering works only a few hundred yards from St Paul's Church, where the Venerable Bede had started his ministry towards the end of the seventh century.
Thursday's experience was at the opposite end of the spectrum. I had phoned in as usual at 8.0, but having heard nothing by 2.15pm, by which time I had entered all my family history data and finalised my budget for 2016, I decided to ring again. I was told that I was their only driver (but wondered, perhaps ungraciously, whether I might have been overlooked completely). My suspicions were strengthened five minutes later when I received a call suggesting that, if I were willing to help out with a local job then, I could get a 'decent' job for the next day. The local job was to take some printed circuits to Newmarket; the 'decent' job turned out to be from Hertford (one of two that another driver was collecting) to Manchester airport ... for 9.0 am delivery!
Not having any idea what the effect of the morning rush-hour might be, I decided to allow almost an hour, and left home at 5.0. It worked. I arrived at 8.50, found the right office and made my delivery. Returning to the van, I called the local City Sprint office. Contrary to my expectations, I wasn't told to hang around while they waited to see what might come in; my next challenge was issued immediately, a collection near Crewe for an organisation in Melton Mowbray that, although I had never been there, I had registered many years ago as being one with whom I had had dealings in a past employment. My next phone in was nowhere near so productive ... so I headed home, thinking that early start had merited an early finish.
Just as the premature counting of unhatched chickens is decried, I had looked forward too early to a lazy evening. Before I had reached even the neighbouring county, let alone home, my screen had been visited by two more jobs, one to Leicester Royal Infirmary, and the other to a major industrial site in Nottingham. By the time I had stopped at a truckstop for an evening meal I had clocked up a sixteen-hour day ... and the week wasn't over yet!
Yesterday began with a short but futile attempt to achieve the usual weekend routines. Then, shortly after lunch, I set off on a personal journey. The first destination was to attend a football match in Bury St Edmunds ... part of the annual 'Non-league Day' celebration ... and then I paid a long overdue visit to my son and his wife, the excuse for this being to hand over my old computer which he had undertaken to coax on the next steps of its career.
At last comes the weekend rest ... all too short, I fear, before an early alarm heralds tomorrow's breakfast gathering!
After two weeks of 'retirement', courier work this week came as more of a shock than any time since my reharnessing after Easter. And there was no gentle easing into it, either. After a couple of hours' wait (which allowed me to marshall my thoughts about entering to my various records all the stuff I'd collected at the record office on Friday), my first job was to Pontefract. This was a repeat run of one I'd done during my last working week, albeit that had been late in the day, so the road-busy-ness pattern was different. Returning about 4.0pm, I thought the day would be at and end, but I had to think again when I realised that the job that had appeared on my screen was for delivery that day, rather than Tuesday, and a run to Greenford neatly knocked out my attendance at bell-ringing practice.
This week has included a bit of most things that have made up my courier carreer, the cancellation of my evening plans being only the first. Next came the 'single job in a day', when Tuesday's job - to Cheltenham General Hospital - didn't begin until 11.0, so once more I had a morning at the keyboard, this time setting-up my newly installed computer Bible program. Wednesday's task was pre-announced, so I had the chance to research it online first. It took me to Jarrow, a place I had first visited over 24 years ago, as part of a 'Medieval Monks and Monasteries' course at Durham University. In fact this destination - reached midway through a day best described as 'a 6-hour car-wash' - was a small engineering works only a few hundred yards from St Paul's Church, where the Venerable Bede had started his ministry towards the end of the seventh century.
Thursday's experience was at the opposite end of the spectrum. I had phoned in as usual at 8.0, but having heard nothing by 2.15pm, by which time I had entered all my family history data and finalised my budget for 2016, I decided to ring again. I was told that I was their only driver (but wondered, perhaps ungraciously, whether I might have been overlooked completely). My suspicions were strengthened five minutes later when I received a call suggesting that, if I were willing to help out with a local job then, I could get a 'decent' job for the next day. The local job was to take some printed circuits to Newmarket; the 'decent' job turned out to be from Hertford (one of two that another driver was collecting) to Manchester airport ... for 9.0 am delivery!
Not having any idea what the effect of the morning rush-hour might be, I decided to allow almost an hour, and left home at 5.0. It worked. I arrived at 8.50, found the right office and made my delivery. Returning to the van, I called the local City Sprint office. Contrary to my expectations, I wasn't told to hang around while they waited to see what might come in; my next challenge was issued immediately, a collection near Crewe for an organisation in Melton Mowbray that, although I had never been there, I had registered many years ago as being one with whom I had had dealings in a past employment. My next phone in was nowhere near so productive ... so I headed home, thinking that early start had merited an early finish.
Just as the premature counting of unhatched chickens is decried, I had looked forward too early to a lazy evening. Before I had reached even the neighbouring county, let alone home, my screen had been visited by two more jobs, one to Leicester Royal Infirmary, and the other to a major industrial site in Nottingham. By the time I had stopped at a truckstop for an evening meal I had clocked up a sixteen-hour day ... and the week wasn't over yet!
Yesterday began with a short but futile attempt to achieve the usual weekend routines. Then, shortly after lunch, I set off on a personal journey. The first destination was to attend a football match in Bury St Edmunds ... part of the annual 'Non-league Day' celebration ... and then I paid a long overdue visit to my son and his wife, the excuse for this being to hand over my old computer which he had undertaken to coax on the next steps of its career.
At last comes the weekend rest ... all too short, I fear, before an early alarm heralds tomorrow's breakfast gathering!
Friday, 25 September 2015
The Printed Page ... and Beyond!
Well, it's been a good week for learning how to do retirement. As a result, there are few eventful things to record, so they stand out just that much bolder, and command full attention here. Someone commented that I've been more present this week on Facebook ... that's another consequence of having a non-work week with an almost blank diary.
Something I learned from Facebook was that this was International Book Week. One was encouraged to "Grab the closest book to you; turn to page 52, and post the fifth sentence." The post I had spotted then continued with a sentence containing a clue of its source, Dickens' Bleak House. Another follower of this trend posted something from 'popular fiction' (not a genre with which I find any affinity). Willing to take part, however, I reached for the end book on the shelf next to my desk, and followed the formula. I do wonder what people made of a reference to King James issuing a religious declaration of not shedding blood 'so long as the Catholics remain quiet'! The book I had picked up was one of many that I've bought when the opportunity arose, but am yet to read, The Gunpowder Plot - Terror and Faith in 1605 by Antonia Fraser.
The literary theme continued later in the week, when I scoured the BBC's i-Player for something to watch over dinner, and discovered a film version of L.P. Hartley's The Go-Between. I watched the first half that night, and saw the rest of it yesterday evening. I remembered the salient points of the plot from reading the book at school, where it was part of a lesson bearing the loose title 'General English'. This was the headmaster's brainchild for the cultural development of all those in the sixth form who weren't taking English at A-level and, so far as I recall, consisted of nothing more than reading a 'modern classic' around the class. Other books we tackled included The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene, and A Passage to India by E. M. Forster.
Last night I dreamed about some of the characters in The Go-Between. I suspect this might have been due to the conjunction of the origin of my knowledge of the book, and the single item in this week's diary, which has been executed this afternoon ... a class reunion of some of those with whom I passed through high school, including some who had suffered that same reading exercise. Considering that a few of us hadn't seen each other 'in the flesh' (as opposed to seeing pictures on social media) for upwards of 45 years, it was quite remarkable that more "Now, who are you?" wasn't expressed than was actually the case!
There had been such an event fifteen years ago, but on that occasion the organiser had been unable to track me down, so I wasn't present. Apparently the talk then was of professional achievement; today there was more focus on the extent of life-threatening illnesses, and our plans for making the most of our retirement. The once-active sportsmen among us were now talking of 'a seat in the stand' rather than 'being selected for the football team this week'; and golf has now taken the place of cricket in many lives. Although the lady was never mentioned, I found my thoughts drawn to a comic sketch performed by Joyce Grenfell, the words of which were placed in the mouth of one 'Lumpy Latimer', who had been living in Kenya ... 'although you have to call it Ken-ya now'!
Other achievements this week have included some preliminary preparations for what may be this year's last 'serious' outing in the motor-caravan. This will be to a site in Cambridgeshire, popular for anglers. I hasten to add that this is not my own interest; I chose the venue for the prospect of tranquillity and maybe a little fenland walking. I have a number of things to deal with that require a few less distractions than regularly present themselves at home. I wonder how many will have been progressed significantly by the time I return!
Something I learned from Facebook was that this was International Book Week. One was encouraged to "Grab the closest book to you; turn to page 52, and post the fifth sentence." The post I had spotted then continued with a sentence containing a clue of its source, Dickens' Bleak House. Another follower of this trend posted something from 'popular fiction' (not a genre with which I find any affinity). Willing to take part, however, I reached for the end book on the shelf next to my desk, and followed the formula. I do wonder what people made of a reference to King James issuing a religious declaration of not shedding blood 'so long as the Catholics remain quiet'! The book I had picked up was one of many that I've bought when the opportunity arose, but am yet to read, The Gunpowder Plot - Terror and Faith in 1605 by Antonia Fraser.
The literary theme continued later in the week, when I scoured the BBC's i-Player for something to watch over dinner, and discovered a film version of L.P. Hartley's The Go-Between. I watched the first half that night, and saw the rest of it yesterday evening. I remembered the salient points of the plot from reading the book at school, where it was part of a lesson bearing the loose title 'General English'. This was the headmaster's brainchild for the cultural development of all those in the sixth form who weren't taking English at A-level and, so far as I recall, consisted of nothing more than reading a 'modern classic' around the class. Other books we tackled included The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene, and A Passage to India by E. M. Forster.
Last night I dreamed about some of the characters in The Go-Between. I suspect this might have been due to the conjunction of the origin of my knowledge of the book, and the single item in this week's diary, which has been executed this afternoon ... a class reunion of some of those with whom I passed through high school, including some who had suffered that same reading exercise. Considering that a few of us hadn't seen each other 'in the flesh' (as opposed to seeing pictures on social media) for upwards of 45 years, it was quite remarkable that more "Now, who are you?" wasn't expressed than was actually the case!
There had been such an event fifteen years ago, but on that occasion the organiser had been unable to track me down, so I wasn't present. Apparently the talk then was of professional achievement; today there was more focus on the extent of life-threatening illnesses, and our plans for making the most of our retirement. The once-active sportsmen among us were now talking of 'a seat in the stand' rather than 'being selected for the football team this week'; and golf has now taken the place of cricket in many lives. Although the lady was never mentioned, I found my thoughts drawn to a comic sketch performed by Joyce Grenfell, the words of which were placed in the mouth of one 'Lumpy Latimer', who had been living in Kenya ... 'although you have to call it Ken-ya now'!
Other achievements this week have included some preliminary preparations for what may be this year's last 'serious' outing in the motor-caravan. This will be to a site in Cambridgeshire, popular for anglers. I hasten to add that this is not my own interest; I chose the venue for the prospect of tranquillity and maybe a little fenland walking. I have a number of things to deal with that require a few less distractions than regularly present themselves at home. I wonder how many will have been progressed significantly by the time I return!
Friday, 4 September 2015
Neither One Thing, yet the Other!
As I announced last autumn here, and have mentioned in subsequent posts on this blog from time to time, I'm going through an indefinite period of 'phased retirement'. In conversation after the church service last Sunday, I found myself explaining just what this actually means and, under a title that came to mind in an echo of how my father might have described it, I'll begin this blog by sharing my thoughts.
My plan began simply with a pattern, as I described it to my then boss, of 'working complete weeks, but not so many of them'. So began a season, lasting up to a maximum of 21 months, when worker would be sandwiched with retiree, and during which I would be neither wholly one nor completely the other.
Early into this period I took a lump sum from my pension and purchased a motorhome ... more specifically a motor-caravan, although I haven't been able to decide just where the distinction between the two terms lies. Either is a bit of a mouthful, so she is commonly referred to alliteratively as 'Mary'. Sunday's conversation began with the question, 'have you been far in your motorhome?' As I mentally reviewed my travel diary to respond, I realised that the trips I've made so far don't in themselves really justify such a large financial outlay. What's Mary all about, then?
I explained that some of the early months (alongside the continuing demands of work) had been occupied with the business of equipping the vehicle, filling up some of the many cupboards and lockers with those items that are indispensable to life on the road, on the one hand making me independent of hotel accommodation and restaurant meals, and on the other eliminating the need for a major packing and carting of 'stuff' from home to vehicle every time it's used. In addition to this, has come an increasing experience of the routines involved in using the on-board equipment, such as making sure the gas is turned off, and the fridge turned over to electric operation before moving off ... quite apart from the significant differences in driving a larger and less manoeuvrable vehicle than the van I've been used to.
In thinking this through, I realise that in some ways the same can be said of this whole business of 'phased retirement'. It's a case of learning how to live a different life. Working life - especially in thirteen years of self-employ-ment - has been very largely one of discipline. If you don't get up and go to work, you don't have money to live on. With no holiday pay, or sickness benefits, there is no question of taking a day off, or 'throwing a sickie'.
As the business world has changed its dimensions over the years, so the demands on a courier's time have also changed. At the outset, I was almost always home by teatime, and evening commitments I'd entered into during paid employment could continue unabated. Slowly one after another had to be given up as I found myself unable to attend. Soon, I now realise, there will be the opportunity to take these up again ... at least where my own interests haven't also changed over the years! In the meantime, comes a time in which - during those weeks when I'm not working - I have to learn a new kind of normal life, rather looking on such weeks as just a lot more holiday.
This week began by spending the Bank Holiday - and a half-day either side of it - with my cousin, my 'second family'. When I returned home, and life quietened down, I noticed that I had become out of touch with programmes I usually listen to on the radio, or by podcast, in the van. My pattern has been to enjoy the silence of home after the constant buzz and activity of driving. So another aspect of retirement that I have to get used to is listening to the radio at home. They're all tiny things, but each requires a habit of years' standing to be consciously overturned.
Now, with the weather having taken a turn towards autumn, all the frenetic financial activity of starting a new month completed, and an air of boredom wafting around the flat, it's time to think about another few weeks on the road. An apologetic call from the office yesterday has already hinted of a couple of early starts to look forward to.
My plan began simply with a pattern, as I described it to my then boss, of 'working complete weeks, but not so many of them'. So began a season, lasting up to a maximum of 21 months, when worker would be sandwiched with retiree, and during which I would be neither wholly one nor completely the other.
Early into this period I took a lump sum from my pension and purchased a motorhome ... more specifically a motor-caravan, although I haven't been able to decide just where the distinction between the two terms lies. Either is a bit of a mouthful, so she is commonly referred to alliteratively as 'Mary'. Sunday's conversation began with the question, 'have you been far in your motorhome?' As I mentally reviewed my travel diary to respond, I realised that the trips I've made so far don't in themselves really justify such a large financial outlay. What's Mary all about, then?
I explained that some of the early months (alongside the continuing demands of work) had been occupied with the business of equipping the vehicle, filling up some of the many cupboards and lockers with those items that are indispensable to life on the road, on the one hand making me independent of hotel accommodation and restaurant meals, and on the other eliminating the need for a major packing and carting of 'stuff' from home to vehicle every time it's used. In addition to this, has come an increasing experience of the routines involved in using the on-board equipment, such as making sure the gas is turned off, and the fridge turned over to electric operation before moving off ... quite apart from the significant differences in driving a larger and less manoeuvrable vehicle than the van I've been used to.
In thinking this through, I realise that in some ways the same can be said of this whole business of 'phased retirement'. It's a case of learning how to live a different life. Working life - especially in thirteen years of self-employ-ment - has been very largely one of discipline. If you don't get up and go to work, you don't have money to live on. With no holiday pay, or sickness benefits, there is no question of taking a day off, or 'throwing a sickie'.
As the business world has changed its dimensions over the years, so the demands on a courier's time have also changed. At the outset, I was almost always home by teatime, and evening commitments I'd entered into during paid employment could continue unabated. Slowly one after another had to be given up as I found myself unable to attend. Soon, I now realise, there will be the opportunity to take these up again ... at least where my own interests haven't also changed over the years! In the meantime, comes a time in which - during those weeks when I'm not working - I have to learn a new kind of normal life, rather looking on such weeks as just a lot more holiday.
This week began by spending the Bank Holiday - and a half-day either side of it - with my cousin, my 'second family'. When I returned home, and life quietened down, I noticed that I had become out of touch with programmes I usually listen to on the radio, or by podcast, in the van. My pattern has been to enjoy the silence of home after the constant buzz and activity of driving. So another aspect of retirement that I have to get used to is listening to the radio at home. They're all tiny things, but each requires a habit of years' standing to be consciously overturned.
Now, with the weather having taken a turn towards autumn, all the frenetic financial activity of starting a new month completed, and an air of boredom wafting around the flat, it's time to think about another few weeks on the road. An apologetic call from the office yesterday has already hinted of a couple of early starts to look forward to.
Saturday, 11 July 2015
How's It Going, Then?
When someone asked me yesterday evening, "How's the phased retirement going?", I confess I had to trot out that old cliché, "I don't know how I found time to work!" Only, in this case, it was a simple acknowledgement of the truth of it, for at present I'm still trying to combine both lives into one. At the start, it had seemed quite straightforward, with time to 'do things' on the weeks that I wasn't working. But now, six months into the plan, I'm finding that all the 'things' that happen in those non-working weeks have tails: tails that need to be fitted into working weeks, either because they can't be left, or because I'm too impatient to wait for the next non-working week to do them.
A couple of weeks ago, I returned from a three-pronged trip to North Wales, which was the first real trial for the motorhome. (I must get into the habit of calling it a motor-caravan, which is apparently the more accurate term, and doesn't risk confusion with those mansions on wheels at the far end of the market.) There were a couple of things that I wanted to do before I use it again. One was to re-fit a bit of trim which had pinged out of the leading edge of the over-cab and, with the help of a tube of glue and the bathroom stool, this was accomplished in the sunshine the day after my return. The other will take just a little longer, and involves modifying the additional woodwork that a previous owner had fitted inside one of the cupboards. With two fairly full weeks' work since then, and the prospect of another next week, this has been put on hold so far, which is becoming a bit frustrating, given that a tentative plan is forming for another short excursion the following week.
Last weekend was given over to accounts, and the striking competition (in which we came a comfortable fourth out of six teams competing!) and some personal letters ... which never work out saying what you want them to say in just minutes! This weekend is similarly dominated by other 'stuff', this time in connection with a church gathering. Luckily, there is the occasional break between jobs during the week, that allows me to do the odd errand, so that not everything gets pushed into the weekends. This isn't strictly linked to the retirement situation, of course, but rather to the fact of working from home, which has been an absolute boon for a couple of years now.
I can't let this post go without commenting about a couple of things from the week's driving assignments. I've spoken before about other offices 'spotting' me and providing what's known in the trade as a 'return load', i.e. something that means you don't drive all the way home with an empty van. The ultimate return load situation comes when a sequence of jobs form a chain, starting and finishing at the same place, and you realise when the records are put together, that you've been paid for every mile of that circuit. This happened on both Thursday and Friday this week. The first was when I was spotted just as I got into the van to drive home, and was given a job within a mile of my then position, to bring to a business just across the road from my home. The second was as I approached the further of two delivery points and received a call to collect something across the street, to be brought back to Letchworth, thus making another complete triangle.
And finally ... I never fail to be impressed by the skills of a fork-truck driver. Sometimes, I admit, the skill is praised in its absence, such as when a careless move has buckled a door-steady, but usually it's a case of marvelling at the apparent gymnastic ease with which a load has been manoeuvred into or out of my van. Yesterday, however, I think I saw the pinnacle of achievement, when two fork-trucks were used in tandem to manipulate into the back of a solid trailer, a load that was awkwardly positioned on a very long pallet. The understanding between the two drivers had to be seen to be believed ... it couldn't be heard, for it was expressed in silent concentration as they passed the burden of their load from one to the other like a juggler tossing a tennis ball between his hands.
Who knows? By next weekend I might have fitted my little woodwork job into an empty evening, and can go carefree on my travels again ... until another 'tail' appears!
A couple of weeks ago, I returned from a three-pronged trip to North Wales, which was the first real trial for the motorhome. (I must get into the habit of calling it a motor-caravan, which is apparently the more accurate term, and doesn't risk confusion with those mansions on wheels at the far end of the market.) There were a couple of things that I wanted to do before I use it again. One was to re-fit a bit of trim which had pinged out of the leading edge of the over-cab and, with the help of a tube of glue and the bathroom stool, this was accomplished in the sunshine the day after my return. The other will take just a little longer, and involves modifying the additional woodwork that a previous owner had fitted inside one of the cupboards. With two fairly full weeks' work since then, and the prospect of another next week, this has been put on hold so far, which is becoming a bit frustrating, given that a tentative plan is forming for another short excursion the following week.
Last weekend was given over to accounts, and the striking competition (in which we came a comfortable fourth out of six teams competing!) and some personal letters ... which never work out saying what you want them to say in just minutes! This weekend is similarly dominated by other 'stuff', this time in connection with a church gathering. Luckily, there is the occasional break between jobs during the week, that allows me to do the odd errand, so that not everything gets pushed into the weekends. This isn't strictly linked to the retirement situation, of course, but rather to the fact of working from home, which has been an absolute boon for a couple of years now.
I can't let this post go without commenting about a couple of things from the week's driving assignments. I've spoken before about other offices 'spotting' me and providing what's known in the trade as a 'return load', i.e. something that means you don't drive all the way home with an empty van. The ultimate return load situation comes when a sequence of jobs form a chain, starting and finishing at the same place, and you realise when the records are put together, that you've been paid for every mile of that circuit. This happened on both Thursday and Friday this week. The first was when I was spotted just as I got into the van to drive home, and was given a job within a mile of my then position, to bring to a business just across the road from my home. The second was as I approached the further of two delivery points and received a call to collect something across the street, to be brought back to Letchworth, thus making another complete triangle.
And finally ... I never fail to be impressed by the skills of a fork-truck driver. Sometimes, I admit, the skill is praised in its absence, such as when a careless move has buckled a door-steady, but usually it's a case of marvelling at the apparent gymnastic ease with which a load has been manoeuvred into or out of my van. Yesterday, however, I think I saw the pinnacle of achievement, when two fork-trucks were used in tandem to manipulate into the back of a solid trailer, a load that was awkwardly positioned on a very long pallet. The understanding between the two drivers had to be seen to be believed ... it couldn't be heard, for it was expressed in silent concentration as they passed the burden of their load from one to the other like a juggler tossing a tennis ball between his hands.
Who knows? By next weekend I might have fitted my little woodwork job into an empty evening, and can go carefree on my travels again ... until another 'tail' appears!
Saturday, 2 May 2015
Pluses and Minuses - the Arithmetic of Life
It seems that there are pluses and minuses, ups and downs, to every part of life ... certainly that's true of being taken over by a nationwide company. Nowadays we're far more likely to get 'back-loads' (another job that will pay all or part of the cost of returning from a distant destination) than we were under the 'ancien régime'. On the other hand, whereas we used to get paid from base, wherever we collected the goods, now we only get paid from collection to delivery, wherever our base might be. Because we often get another job while still on the way back from the previous one, much less time is spent at the office, and consequently there is much less interaction with other drivers. Some people find this distressing, to the extent that they have left; since I have been working from home for some while, this doesn't bother me at all, although I do wonder whether this will be allowed to continue when we are fully and finally under the jackboot of the new methodology.
Some of these factors figured in this week's to-ings and fro-ings. Take Monday for example. I collected a single very fragile item in Letchworth at 9.0am to be taken to the university in Nottingham. It seemed fairly unlikely that I would get anything very productive after an immediate return, so I rang the office there, and gambled half an hour waiting to see if anything might come from them. Meanwhile I listened to a podcast while parked in a sunny side street and ate my lunch. I'd just given up and begun to make my way out of the city, when the call came. A pick-up not three miles away, to be taken to Cambridge ... and there was another job - albeit fairly local - afterwards as well, so the week was off to a good start.
Good start it might have been, but it went gradually downhill after that. So much so that, at the end of the week, the average length of all 23 jobs was only 27 miles! I continue to be amazed at the way my mood swings from buoyancy to despondency according to the demands upon my time. On a day when I leave with one job early in the morning and enjoy a succession of others non-stop through the day, I feel good, even if tired, at the end of it. Contrariwise, if I return from such an early job, to sit at my desk for two or three hours in anticipation of a further call, I can feel quite unwanted. Sometimes a day might consist of half a dozen jobs totalling perhaps 200 or 250 miles, but with obvious gaps between them; at the end of such a day I often feel as if I'm being used as the 'odd-job' man, although I've never decided whether this is simply the 'roll of the dice', or the result of an imagined conspiracy because of my semi-retired status. That said, it only takes one 'good' (i.e. 100-mile-or-so) job, or maybe two half-decent ones together, to snap me out of the black mood again.
This week had just such a finish, as yesterday began with the exciting challenge of taking a couple of items to a destination in Swindon, to make a 7.30 booking-in time. On this occasion, there was a cheerful welcome to my call to the local office after I'd delivered, but no resulting work, so I came back home empty. The day continued, however, with another four jobs, before I finally took my boots off at 5.50 pm, feeling quite satisfied.
I must add that there are frequently little snippets of what some would call serendipity. The week had a couple of those, too. On Tuesday evening, I opened an e-mail to find an invitation to follow a free on-line tutorial - allegedly worth £81 - and found myself absorbed for a couple of hours learning about an intricate aspect of spreadsheet analysis. Whether I'll ever need to use it is a totally separate matter!
Then, as I waited yesterday at the door of a print works in Letchworth, the afternoon breeze brought to my nose the smell of one of the chemicals being used in their processes. They say this is the most powerful of the senses; I was instantly transported through almost sixty years to the days when, over the course of a number of weeks, a gang of white-overalled men would work their way along the street where I lived, repainting all the doors and windows, first with undercoat, and then with the gloss. It was always exciting to find out what colour our front door was going to be after their visit. What I smelled yesterday was the very same as that gloss paint ... although I'm sure it wasn't paint at all that was being used!
Now I'm looking forward to the bank holiday and being 'retired' for the rest of the week. I wonder how 'useful' I'll feel on the following Monday morning!
Some of these factors figured in this week's to-ings and fro-ings. Take Monday for example. I collected a single very fragile item in Letchworth at 9.0am to be taken to the university in Nottingham. It seemed fairly unlikely that I would get anything very productive after an immediate return, so I rang the office there, and gambled half an hour waiting to see if anything might come from them. Meanwhile I listened to a podcast while parked in a sunny side street and ate my lunch. I'd just given up and begun to make my way out of the city, when the call came. A pick-up not three miles away, to be taken to Cambridge ... and there was another job - albeit fairly local - afterwards as well, so the week was off to a good start.
Good start it might have been, but it went gradually downhill after that. So much so that, at the end of the week, the average length of all 23 jobs was only 27 miles! I continue to be amazed at the way my mood swings from buoyancy to despondency according to the demands upon my time. On a day when I leave with one job early in the morning and enjoy a succession of others non-stop through the day, I feel good, even if tired, at the end of it. Contrariwise, if I return from such an early job, to sit at my desk for two or three hours in anticipation of a further call, I can feel quite unwanted. Sometimes a day might consist of half a dozen jobs totalling perhaps 200 or 250 miles, but with obvious gaps between them; at the end of such a day I often feel as if I'm being used as the 'odd-job' man, although I've never decided whether this is simply the 'roll of the dice', or the result of an imagined conspiracy because of my semi-retired status. That said, it only takes one 'good' (i.e. 100-mile-or-so) job, or maybe two half-decent ones together, to snap me out of the black mood again.
This week had just such a finish, as yesterday began with the exciting challenge of taking a couple of items to a destination in Swindon, to make a 7.30 booking-in time. On this occasion, there was a cheerful welcome to my call to the local office after I'd delivered, but no resulting work, so I came back home empty. The day continued, however, with another four jobs, before I finally took my boots off at 5.50 pm, feeling quite satisfied.
I must add that there are frequently little snippets of what some would call serendipity. The week had a couple of those, too. On Tuesday evening, I opened an e-mail to find an invitation to follow a free on-line tutorial - allegedly worth £81 - and found myself absorbed for a couple of hours learning about an intricate aspect of spreadsheet analysis. Whether I'll ever need to use it is a totally separate matter!
Then, as I waited yesterday at the door of a print works in Letchworth, the afternoon breeze brought to my nose the smell of one of the chemicals being used in their processes. They say this is the most powerful of the senses; I was instantly transported through almost sixty years to the days when, over the course of a number of weeks, a gang of white-overalled men would work their way along the street where I lived, repainting all the doors and windows, first with undercoat, and then with the gloss. It was always exciting to find out what colour our front door was going to be after their visit. What I smelled yesterday was the very same as that gloss paint ... although I'm sure it wasn't paint at all that was being used!
Now I'm looking forward to the bank holiday and being 'retired' for the rest of the week. I wonder how 'useful' I'll feel on the following Monday morning!
Friday, 3 April 2015
Bits of This, and Bits of That
This phased retirement plan seems to be working. When I'm working, I still get excited about each phone call and each set of 'beeps' from my PDA, wondering where I'm being sent to next, what challenges the next job will bring me. And when I'm not, there's the lovely relaxing start to the day - well, most days, anyway - knowing that my time is my own, and the day can unfold around whatever I choose. The only downside is that there are no exciting journeys to report here!
Take this week, for example. When I made my plan last autumn, I determined that I wouldn't be working during Holy Week, so I could take a full part in all the church activities that mark this special time. But most of these are in the evenings, so my days have been free.
The special events began on Sunday evening with a showing in church of the Mel Gibson film 'The Passion of the Christ'. In a small but worthwhile gathering, I was surprised to be one of only two men watching it, and found it just as moving, if not more so, than the first time I saw it some years ago. It wasn't until I'd had breakfast the following morning that more mundane things began to signify in my mind, like the impending visit of an engineer to fix my door intercom which wasn't working. By the time he had come and gone - with complete success in his mission - there was just time to do some shopping before lunch, and little time after that to do anything else before it was time to cook my tea. Yes, 'real' cooking is one of my aims in retirement and, starting as I am virtually from scratch, it's plain and simple first, so this week it was toad-in-the-hole.
Tuesday was a more business-like day, and apart from a break for lunch, it was spent researching and reporting some family history records for an internet acquaintance in California. Wednesday was equally solid, sorting out bank statements and investment reports following the end of the month, and effectively my business year as well. By Thursday I had the last details to enable me to spend virtually the whole day finalising my business accounts, and setting up my ledgers to begin recording the new year when it begins the week after next. It's certainly an advantage, as well as a satisfying step backwards, as it were, into my former life, to compile my own accounts.
On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday evenings there had been a simple meditative service at church; last night I took part in an informal meal there, not exactly a copy of the Last Supper, which was a Passover meal, but an event intended to convey the atmosphere of fellowship and togetherness that must have been an element of that original occasion, where the Christian tradition of Holy Communion had been instituted. About fifty were present yesterday evening, perhaps a few more and, although in a completely different way, I found it as moving as the film on Sunday.
Today there was a simple service in church and then as many as wished walked into town to join with people from other churches for a walk of witness through the town centre. During the afternoon was a quiet meditative hour reflecting on the significance of this whole week in our Faith.
Alongside all this, I've been making the final preparations for my first 'real' outing in the motorhome. Gradually, over the last few weeks, some of the many cupboards have become filled with the essential bits and pieces to provide life's necessaries; today there is at last a sheet on the bed, and I've gathered together so far as possible, my normal luggage, and those things of which there's only one, that will have to be transferred from home to motorhome before departure. Tomorrow will see the final shopping expedition and, if all goes well, I shall be off on Sunday afternoon.
All I want now is that fine sunny spring weather I've been counting on!
Take this week, for example. When I made my plan last autumn, I determined that I wouldn't be working during Holy Week, so I could take a full part in all the church activities that mark this special time. But most of these are in the evenings, so my days have been free.
The special events began on Sunday evening with a showing in church of the Mel Gibson film 'The Passion of the Christ'. In a small but worthwhile gathering, I was surprised to be one of only two men watching it, and found it just as moving, if not more so, than the first time I saw it some years ago. It wasn't until I'd had breakfast the following morning that more mundane things began to signify in my mind, like the impending visit of an engineer to fix my door intercom which wasn't working. By the time he had come and gone - with complete success in his mission - there was just time to do some shopping before lunch, and little time after that to do anything else before it was time to cook my tea. Yes, 'real' cooking is one of my aims in retirement and, starting as I am virtually from scratch, it's plain and simple first, so this week it was toad-in-the-hole.
Tuesday was a more business-like day, and apart from a break for lunch, it was spent researching and reporting some family history records for an internet acquaintance in California. Wednesday was equally solid, sorting out bank statements and investment reports following the end of the month, and effectively my business year as well. By Thursday I had the last details to enable me to spend virtually the whole day finalising my business accounts, and setting up my ledgers to begin recording the new year when it begins the week after next. It's certainly an advantage, as well as a satisfying step backwards, as it were, into my former life, to compile my own accounts.
On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday evenings there had been a simple meditative service at church; last night I took part in an informal meal there, not exactly a copy of the Last Supper, which was a Passover meal, but an event intended to convey the atmosphere of fellowship and togetherness that must have been an element of that original occasion, where the Christian tradition of Holy Communion had been instituted. About fifty were present yesterday evening, perhaps a few more and, although in a completely different way, I found it as moving as the film on Sunday.
Today there was a simple service in church and then as many as wished walked into town to join with people from other churches for a walk of witness through the town centre. During the afternoon was a quiet meditative hour reflecting on the significance of this whole week in our Faith.
Alongside all this, I've been making the final preparations for my first 'real' outing in the motorhome. Gradually, over the last few weeks, some of the many cupboards have become filled with the essential bits and pieces to provide life's necessaries; today there is at last a sheet on the bed, and I've gathered together so far as possible, my normal luggage, and those things of which there's only one, that will have to be transferred from home to motorhome before departure. Tomorrow will see the final shopping expedition and, if all goes well, I shall be off on Sunday afternoon.
All I want now is that fine sunny spring weather I've been counting on!
Saturday, 24 January 2015
All up One End
I may have used that title before ... if so, I apologise, but that's how this week feels from where I'm sitting now. Let's dispense with the statistical evidence first. The week involved thirteen jobs, seven of which filled the last two days, with only one job in the first three days exceeding 70 miles; and by the end of that third evening, I had achieved less than two days' expected income.
It's been a strange week for where I've been, too. The one job I did on Monday, from a customer in Letchworth to one of their regular deliveries in Bedford, was exactly repeated on Tuesday, but an even stranger occurance happened later in the week. Crawley isn't a place I get sent to often; just thirty-eight times in the whole period up to Christmas 2014, i.e. in the nearly thirteen years that I've been doing this work. Already in 2015, I've been there four times. The second of these was on Wednesday morning, when I took some steelwork to a building site in the town centre. The next afternoon, I was asked to collect a CD from an office near my home to go to a large defence establishment there: a routine sort of job, with a simple hand-over in the security office at the gate.
Yesterday afternoon, I was sent to a different customer in Bedford, who had something to be taken to the very same location - three visits in three days, compared to an average of about three in a year normally. On the way back I refuelled at the same filling station, and was served by the same cashier ... to whom I was just another face, of course, so he didn't recognise me second time around.
As regards visiting the same destination for different customers ... it does happen occasionally. There was one a few months ago, although I don't recall the details, simply having the thought that it was a delivery point that I'd been to for someone else fairly recently. I think the strangest incidence like that was several years ago, when I collected something in Hitchin for Canary Wharf (London E16). Just as I got there, I had a phone call saying that another customer in the same road also had something for Canary Wharf. When I made the second collection, not only was it for the same road, but for the same man at the same building!
The 'all up one end' feeling was also true in respect of the location of the week's deliveries, Only one job took me north rather than south from my home area, when I went to Redditch on Thursday. My resentment of an 'overdose of M25' was exacerbated by the fact that my Friday visit to Crawley came hot on the heels of an early start that morning. I had been asked on my way home on Thursday to divert to Houghton Regis, to collect some display material for a location in Carshalton. This was to be delivered by 7.30 am next day, and I was determined that it wouldn't overshadow the day by getting me caught in the rush-hour traffic in either direction. Consequently, I limited my Thursday evening activities to the bare essentials, had an early night, and set off just before 5.0 am. I had expected an hour or so to 'chill out' (in more ways than one!) upon my arrival but, to my amazement, there was already someone there, so by 6.40 I was on my return journey, and looking for breakfast on the way!
Life for me now takes on a slightly different, and hopefully more relaxed, aspect; this weekend sees the start of my much-heralded plan of tapered retirement. I fully expect that it will feel just like any other week of holiday from work, but it will carry with it many thoughts of how these non-working weeks will begin to form a pattern in the coming months, and I shall endeavour to sow some seeds of a new routine to life. Time alone will reveal how successful this plan will prove.
It's been a strange week for where I've been, too. The one job I did on Monday, from a customer in Letchworth to one of their regular deliveries in Bedford, was exactly repeated on Tuesday, but an even stranger occurance happened later in the week. Crawley isn't a place I get sent to often; just thirty-eight times in the whole period up to Christmas 2014, i.e. in the nearly thirteen years that I've been doing this work. Already in 2015, I've been there four times. The second of these was on Wednesday morning, when I took some steelwork to a building site in the town centre. The next afternoon, I was asked to collect a CD from an office near my home to go to a large defence establishment there: a routine sort of job, with a simple hand-over in the security office at the gate.
Yesterday afternoon, I was sent to a different customer in Bedford, who had something to be taken to the very same location - three visits in three days, compared to an average of about three in a year normally. On the way back I refuelled at the same filling station, and was served by the same cashier ... to whom I was just another face, of course, so he didn't recognise me second time around.
As regards visiting the same destination for different customers ... it does happen occasionally. There was one a few months ago, although I don't recall the details, simply having the thought that it was a delivery point that I'd been to for someone else fairly recently. I think the strangest incidence like that was several years ago, when I collected something in Hitchin for Canary Wharf (London E16). Just as I got there, I had a phone call saying that another customer in the same road also had something for Canary Wharf. When I made the second collection, not only was it for the same road, but for the same man at the same building!
The 'all up one end' feeling was also true in respect of the location of the week's deliveries, Only one job took me north rather than south from my home area, when I went to Redditch on Thursday. My resentment of an 'overdose of M25' was exacerbated by the fact that my Friday visit to Crawley came hot on the heels of an early start that morning. I had been asked on my way home on Thursday to divert to Houghton Regis, to collect some display material for a location in Carshalton. This was to be delivered by 7.30 am next day, and I was determined that it wouldn't overshadow the day by getting me caught in the rush-hour traffic in either direction. Consequently, I limited my Thursday evening activities to the bare essentials, had an early night, and set off just before 5.0 am. I had expected an hour or so to 'chill out' (in more ways than one!) upon my arrival but, to my amazement, there was already someone there, so by 6.40 I was on my return journey, and looking for breakfast on the way!
Life for me now takes on a slightly different, and hopefully more relaxed, aspect; this weekend sees the start of my much-heralded plan of tapered retirement. I fully expect that it will feel just like any other week of holiday from work, but it will carry with it many thoughts of how these non-working weeks will begin to form a pattern in the coming months, and I shall endeavour to sow some seeds of a new routine to life. Time alone will reveal how successful this plan will prove.
Sunday, 4 January 2015
Becalmed ... with a Cough!
I'm sure you'll forgive the fact that there are no long journeys to report this week, only a couple of medium ones to be implied from the following narrative, and lots of local running about. A few years ago, it was my habit to work during the holiday period ... or more precisely, be available for work: there was usually very little over these two weeks. Then I would go along to the Society of Genealogists for their 'closed week', as a volunteer to assist in those library tasks that could only be done in the absence of browsing members. Sadly this took a toll on the muscles of my thumbs, which are unaccustomed to lifting a number of volumes single-handed, and I decided against this strategy.
You could argue that the later policy of taking two complete weeks off at the turn of the year is simply going with the flow of much of the country's workforce. This year, I'm undecided whether the reason is this compliance with everyone else, or because I'm feeling the need of a rest, or that this is the beginning of the 'semi-retirement' plan that I've been trumpeting for some while now. However, the fact remains that I wasn't working last week, and I shall begin again tomorrow morning ... coinciding with the resumption of the early Monday breakfast group at the church.
Meanwhile, I paid an extended visit to my cousin and her family; at least part of it, with her son also present, enjoying part of his long break with his parents. It was here that I celebrated my birthday, since my cousin had expressed a wish to host a party for the occasion, and although some of the expected guests were unable to make it, the atmosphere - and the cake! - was excellent.
Some weeks ago, I finally took the decision to buy a motorhome in which I can 'amuse myself' in my retirement. On the basis of a number of incidences through my life, I was fighting against the temptation to snap up the first one I looked at. However, three weeks after looking at this particular vehicle, and allowing its attraction to crystalise in my mind just what it was I was seeking, I happened to pass by in the course of my work, and notice it standing there, still unsold. One of the other dealers I'd visited had said that the weeks before Christmas were the ideal time to buy, before they stocked up with newer models for the new season, and I began to wonder whether some external Force might be working for me, and if this very one was the motorhome for me after all.
To cut a long story short, a number of factors came together that weekend, and on the Sunday afternoon I put down a deposit on it, on the condition that the dealer was content to await my receipt of a lump-sum from my pension before I would be able to complete the purchase. He was, and so the deal was agreed.
While I was making my Birthday-cum-New-Year visit, I learned that my bank had received the cash, and so my return home was the start of two hectic days, arranging membership of a caravanning organisation, negotiating insurance cover, extending my existing breakdown recovery provision, sorting out the vehicle tax, and the ultimate acquisition of the vehicle, which finally took place yesterday morning.
Now I'm on a steep learning curve, getting to grips with all the features of a motorhome, which far exceed any boasted by the three smaller campers that I've owned before. Alongside this, the vehicle is quite a bit bigger than my regular van, and in some aspects, I shall need to 're-train' in order to drive it safely on the roads, not least in respect of knowing which gaps will now be too small for me to pass, and where I must now be prepared to give way to other drivers!
Sleepless nights of anticipation have now given way to sleepless nights of list making, as I become aware of all the 'extras' that I now need to get to equip the motorhome, from kitchen utensils to mats and brushes, and supplies like gas to heat the water and the living area, and the chemicals for the toilet.
This morning dawned cold ... in fact there was ice to scrape off the van before I could go for my usual bell-ringing exercise. The journey was hampered by freezing fog, which didn't lift until lunchtime, and common sense told me that my afternoon shopping trip would have to be postponed until a day of better weather. In the meantime, the motorhome sits idly peering out of its rear window over the wall that surrounds my car park, fully dressed up in the legality of its new ownership, but with nowhere to go!
If I'm honest, it has worked out just right, because I've managed to catch a cold, and the experience - however unwelcome - of sitting indoors in the warm is much better for me than scrabbling about outside in a vehicle that has no heating until I can buy some gas. Sometimes patience can be learned; at other times pressure has to be applied!
You could argue that the later policy of taking two complete weeks off at the turn of the year is simply going with the flow of much of the country's workforce. This year, I'm undecided whether the reason is this compliance with everyone else, or because I'm feeling the need of a rest, or that this is the beginning of the 'semi-retirement' plan that I've been trumpeting for some while now. However, the fact remains that I wasn't working last week, and I shall begin again tomorrow morning ... coinciding with the resumption of the early Monday breakfast group at the church.
 |
| Cutting the birthday cake |
Some weeks ago, I finally took the decision to buy a motorhome in which I can 'amuse myself' in my retirement. On the basis of a number of incidences through my life, I was fighting against the temptation to snap up the first one I looked at. However, three weeks after looking at this particular vehicle, and allowing its attraction to crystalise in my mind just what it was I was seeking, I happened to pass by in the course of my work, and notice it standing there, still unsold. One of the other dealers I'd visited had said that the weeks before Christmas were the ideal time to buy, before they stocked up with newer models for the new season, and I began to wonder whether some external Force might be working for me, and if this very one was the motorhome for me after all.
To cut a long story short, a number of factors came together that weekend, and on the Sunday afternoon I put down a deposit on it, on the condition that the dealer was content to await my receipt of a lump-sum from my pension before I would be able to complete the purchase. He was, and so the deal was agreed.
 |
| Going nowhere! |
Now I'm on a steep learning curve, getting to grips with all the features of a motorhome, which far exceed any boasted by the three smaller campers that I've owned before. Alongside this, the vehicle is quite a bit bigger than my regular van, and in some aspects, I shall need to 're-train' in order to drive it safely on the roads, not least in respect of knowing which gaps will now be too small for me to pass, and where I must now be prepared to give way to other drivers!
Sleepless nights of anticipation have now given way to sleepless nights of list making, as I become aware of all the 'extras' that I now need to get to equip the motorhome, from kitchen utensils to mats and brushes, and supplies like gas to heat the water and the living area, and the chemicals for the toilet.
This morning dawned cold ... in fact there was ice to scrape off the van before I could go for my usual bell-ringing exercise. The journey was hampered by freezing fog, which didn't lift until lunchtime, and common sense told me that my afternoon shopping trip would have to be postponed until a day of better weather. In the meantime, the motorhome sits idly peering out of its rear window over the wall that surrounds my car park, fully dressed up in the legality of its new ownership, but with nowhere to go!
If I'm honest, it has worked out just right, because I've managed to catch a cold, and the experience - however unwelcome - of sitting indoors in the warm is much better for me than scrabbling about outside in a vehicle that has no heating until I can buy some gas. Sometimes patience can be learned; at other times pressure has to be applied!
Saturday, 13 December 2014
A Rewarding Pre-Christmas Week
The week began with something of a splendid Monday - not a record, perhaps, but a level not often achieved without a visit north of the border! It began with a collection near Potters Bar of some plants for an establishment in Poole. I stopped for early refreshment at South Mimms services, and just as I left there came advice of another job to be collected from Hertford before I did battle with the M25. This was going to Swindon, and I diverted to deliver it first before heading for the seaside. I had just returned to the van after making the Poole delivery when a call from another branch sent me just three miles down the road for a pick-up going to Heathrow.
The shine was knocked of an otherwise glorious day as I realised that I was getting cold. Somehow the heating in the van was off. I had encountered this problem a few weeks ago, and recalled feeling rather sheepish when the chap at the garage simply filled the cooling system with water. I have water with me, so tried this remedy. It worked, but only for about a hundred miles before needing to be filled again, and the third occasion came even sooner. Clearly something was wrong, and getting worse! Next day I appeared early on the doorstep of the garage, and spent my day at home before it had been fixed. The problem was a component hidden deep within the engine, and its replacement was most demanding of labour, patience, and the fruit of my wallet!
Two comparatively modest jobs on Wednesday in my toastie-warm van brought the week back into equilibrium, before Thursday began with a sequence of three, collecting in heavy rain from a customer in Hitchin, on a regular journey to the business park at Swavesey; over to the West Suffolk Hospital for another regular collection for a laboratory in Royston, and then a short run from Letchworth to Luton & Dunstable hospital. I had time to get halfway through my weekly bookwork before being summoned to collect two jobs from Sandy. The first was a batch of flower samples for a national supermarket, and the second a small package to be delivered not far from Gatwick Airport.
The lady who had provided the flowers was in generous - or festive - mood and (not for the first time) offered me some of the cast-aside blooms that had just missed being included in the premier displays I was to deliver. So on my way home from Gatwick I diverted to share my good fortune between two lucky ladies in my home town.
The working week was rounded off by a day that sent me in succession to three of the four points of the compass. I started with an 8.15 print collection for an estate agent in Colchester, followed quickly by some technical equipment for an address in Farnborough, and just as I left there I was asked if I could do another job in the early evening. When I said I could, I was told of a delivery that would be ready for collection soon after 4.0 in Houghton Regis for Thame.
To corrupt a well-known axiom, it's the season for the reason for the season. In the run-up to Christmas the diary is so full there are definitely some things that just can't be fitted in. Music practices for the annual carol service at church are being slotted in left, right and centre, with the hope that as many as can will turn up when we are available. I think I've missed four now, but am gradually getting to grips with two delightful modern pieces that none of us had seen before. Although home too late to sing last night, I knew the supermarket would be open, so the shopping at least could be crossed off. In contrast, today's diary page is blank, and I was glad of a time for 'catch-up'. By about 11.0 I was ready to go out, and in view of the glorious sunshine I decided on walking into town, where I had intended to rectify three items I noted had been missed from last night's shopping.
I was late enough to check my post before leaving home, and it was good that I was. A few weeks ago I had had a letter from DWP enclosing a one from a famous life assurance firm, who were trying to trace me in order to secure my instructions regarding a company pension from the mid 1970s. It was one I'd been unable to trace when I sorted out my pensions early last year, and I had consigned the minuscule amount, generated by only about a year's contributions, to that big bin that is labeled 'Experience'. Today, however, after a simple letter of acceptance, I received the cheque for the entire sum, which, if left intact, would have provided me with a magnificant annual pension of £9.01 for life!
As I passed through the town I couldn't resist the stall outside the bookshop! I came away with three small volumes ... which, as I paid for them, I described to the manager as 'forbidden fruit'. Now I have to find space on my crowded shelves for a book of Suffolk remembrances, one of agricultural statistics, and a beautiful Folio Society edition of Parson Woodforde's Diary.
The shine was knocked of an otherwise glorious day as I realised that I was getting cold. Somehow the heating in the van was off. I had encountered this problem a few weeks ago, and recalled feeling rather sheepish when the chap at the garage simply filled the cooling system with water. I have water with me, so tried this remedy. It worked, but only for about a hundred miles before needing to be filled again, and the third occasion came even sooner. Clearly something was wrong, and getting worse! Next day I appeared early on the doorstep of the garage, and spent my day at home before it had been fixed. The problem was a component hidden deep within the engine, and its replacement was most demanding of labour, patience, and the fruit of my wallet!
Two comparatively modest jobs on Wednesday in my toastie-warm van brought the week back into equilibrium, before Thursday began with a sequence of three, collecting in heavy rain from a customer in Hitchin, on a regular journey to the business park at Swavesey; over to the West Suffolk Hospital for another regular collection for a laboratory in Royston, and then a short run from Letchworth to Luton & Dunstable hospital. I had time to get halfway through my weekly bookwork before being summoned to collect two jobs from Sandy. The first was a batch of flower samples for a national supermarket, and the second a small package to be delivered not far from Gatwick Airport.
The lady who had provided the flowers was in generous - or festive - mood and (not for the first time) offered me some of the cast-aside blooms that had just missed being included in the premier displays I was to deliver. So on my way home from Gatwick I diverted to share my good fortune between two lucky ladies in my home town.
The working week was rounded off by a day that sent me in succession to three of the four points of the compass. I started with an 8.15 print collection for an estate agent in Colchester, followed quickly by some technical equipment for an address in Farnborough, and just as I left there I was asked if I could do another job in the early evening. When I said I could, I was told of a delivery that would be ready for collection soon after 4.0 in Houghton Regis for Thame.
To corrupt a well-known axiom, it's the season for the reason for the season. In the run-up to Christmas the diary is so full there are definitely some things that just can't be fitted in. Music practices for the annual carol service at church are being slotted in left, right and centre, with the hope that as many as can will turn up when we are available. I think I've missed four now, but am gradually getting to grips with two delightful modern pieces that none of us had seen before. Although home too late to sing last night, I knew the supermarket would be open, so the shopping at least could be crossed off. In contrast, today's diary page is blank, and I was glad of a time for 'catch-up'. By about 11.0 I was ready to go out, and in view of the glorious sunshine I decided on walking into town, where I had intended to rectify three items I noted had been missed from last night's shopping.
I was late enough to check my post before leaving home, and it was good that I was. A few weeks ago I had had a letter from DWP enclosing a one from a famous life assurance firm, who were trying to trace me in order to secure my instructions regarding a company pension from the mid 1970s. It was one I'd been unable to trace when I sorted out my pensions early last year, and I had consigned the minuscule amount, generated by only about a year's contributions, to that big bin that is labeled 'Experience'. Today, however, after a simple letter of acceptance, I received the cheque for the entire sum, which, if left intact, would have provided me with a magnificant annual pension of £9.01 for life!
As I passed through the town I couldn't resist the stall outside the bookshop! I came away with three small volumes ... which, as I paid for them, I described to the manager as 'forbidden fruit'. Now I have to find space on my crowded shelves for a book of Suffolk remembrances, one of agricultural statistics, and a beautiful Folio Society edition of Parson Woodforde's Diary.
Saturday, 22 November 2014
Off the Pitch!
"Thass bin a funny ow week!" as my mother might have said. A funny (in the sense of strange) week indeed. Let's look at work for a start: 18 jobs, which is quite good, but apart from one - which I'll tell you about in a moment - only one other was over 60 miles, so it wasn't a particularly profitable week. Most of its highlights came 'off the pitch', to steal a footballing metaphor.
On Monday, as I returned from a hospital run to Addenbrooke's in Cambridge, via a collection from another hospital in Peterborough, Dave my controller rang me because he couldn't track me on his computer and wondered how I was getting on. Apparently the goods I'd collected were quite urgently required for another hospital. I took advantage of the call to seek a meeting with him about my retirement, and was told, "come in any time." I decided to strike while the iron was hot, and after delivering to our customer in Letchworth, I visited the office.
Over the last few weeks I've been playing with figures, to come up with a plan for a 'graduated retirement'. I've heard many tales of men at this age. One week is work as normal, the next week ... nothing! And how do they cope with a change to life that can seem like falling off a cliff? Some find it no problem, with hobbies and outside interests that easily expand to fill the vacant hours. Others have been so wrapped up in work that life suddenly seems empty.
My father for instance, after a lifetime working on the farm, had quite upset my mother, getting under her feet as he wandered to and fro, not feeling needed in the home. He quickly found a part-time job at a nearby nursery, where the owner had engaged quite a number of ex-farm workers, who provided agreeable company for each other alongside their work. Another man, whom I knew quite well, was a church organist; he and his wife were childless, and had plans to travel after he had retired. Only a few months after he had finished work at an office in the town, he had gone to church early one Sunday to practise the day's music, and was found dead at the organ later in the morning.
I have no desire to be killed off by a sudden change in the pattern of life! So I'm planning to spend the next two years 'in decline', so to speak. Rather than simply retract to a four-day week, as some have done, I'm thinking of a working/retired 'sandwich', working full weeks, but not so many of them, and interspersing these with periods of other activity. Fine plans were - and still are - in the making, but the key requirement had yet to be obtained. Would it be acceptable to work like this? Hence the meeting with Dave. It went just as I'd predicted. I presented him with my plans, we exchanged a few words of explanation, reference was made to his being well satisfied with my work, and within minutes were were talking about the football team that he manages in his spare time! This formality over, my plans have been taken to a more detailed degree this week, as I've tried to finalise my financial needs and arrangements.
As our meeting took place, telephones were ringing in all directions, and there were frequent interruptions from colleagues. One call had announced that the customer to whom I had just delivered needed something taken that evening to the far side of Bristol, so as I took my leave I said to Dave, "Can I be cheeky and suggest that I go round to <customer's name>?" He smiled and replied, "Good idea!" - it was the best job of the week!
With so many jobs this week, there have also been a number of convenient slots between them in which I've been able to keep up with 'stuff' that has piled up on other fronts. One morning I had just listened to the morning service on my way home, and decided that I really ought to give some thought to my assigned task of leading the prayers in church on Christmas Day. I'd just added the final full stop to my draft as the PDA by my side beeped to announce the next job!
On another day, the podcast of an excellent talk by Audrey Collins at the National Archives inspired some notes of possible lines of research to discover what my uncles were doing in the First World War, which I hastily scribbled before the next job arrived! Survivors with common names are among the most difficult to trace, and following up these ideas might utilise one of the first creeping fingers of my retirement!
As my geography teacher once told his class, "The land is like life itself, if it doesn't change, it dies!" - wisdom not wasted!
On Monday, as I returned from a hospital run to Addenbrooke's in Cambridge, via a collection from another hospital in Peterborough, Dave my controller rang me because he couldn't track me on his computer and wondered how I was getting on. Apparently the goods I'd collected were quite urgently required for another hospital. I took advantage of the call to seek a meeting with him about my retirement, and was told, "come in any time." I decided to strike while the iron was hot, and after delivering to our customer in Letchworth, I visited the office.
Over the last few weeks I've been playing with figures, to come up with a plan for a 'graduated retirement'. I've heard many tales of men at this age. One week is work as normal, the next week ... nothing! And how do they cope with a change to life that can seem like falling off a cliff? Some find it no problem, with hobbies and outside interests that easily expand to fill the vacant hours. Others have been so wrapped up in work that life suddenly seems empty.
My father for instance, after a lifetime working on the farm, had quite upset my mother, getting under her feet as he wandered to and fro, not feeling needed in the home. He quickly found a part-time job at a nearby nursery, where the owner had engaged quite a number of ex-farm workers, who provided agreeable company for each other alongside their work. Another man, whom I knew quite well, was a church organist; he and his wife were childless, and had plans to travel after he had retired. Only a few months after he had finished work at an office in the town, he had gone to church early one Sunday to practise the day's music, and was found dead at the organ later in the morning.
I have no desire to be killed off by a sudden change in the pattern of life! So I'm planning to spend the next two years 'in decline', so to speak. Rather than simply retract to a four-day week, as some have done, I'm thinking of a working/retired 'sandwich', working full weeks, but not so many of them, and interspersing these with periods of other activity. Fine plans were - and still are - in the making, but the key requirement had yet to be obtained. Would it be acceptable to work like this? Hence the meeting with Dave. It went just as I'd predicted. I presented him with my plans, we exchanged a few words of explanation, reference was made to his being well satisfied with my work, and within minutes were were talking about the football team that he manages in his spare time! This formality over, my plans have been taken to a more detailed degree this week, as I've tried to finalise my financial needs and arrangements.
As our meeting took place, telephones were ringing in all directions, and there were frequent interruptions from colleagues. One call had announced that the customer to whom I had just delivered needed something taken that evening to the far side of Bristol, so as I took my leave I said to Dave, "Can I be cheeky and suggest that I go round to <customer's name>?" He smiled and replied, "Good idea!" - it was the best job of the week!
With so many jobs this week, there have also been a number of convenient slots between them in which I've been able to keep up with 'stuff' that has piled up on other fronts. One morning I had just listened to the morning service on my way home, and decided that I really ought to give some thought to my assigned task of leading the prayers in church on Christmas Day. I'd just added the final full stop to my draft as the PDA by my side beeped to announce the next job!
On another day, the podcast of an excellent talk by Audrey Collins at the National Archives inspired some notes of possible lines of research to discover what my uncles were doing in the First World War, which I hastily scribbled before the next job arrived! Survivors with common names are among the most difficult to trace, and following up these ideas might utilise one of the first creeping fingers of my retirement!
As my geography teacher once told his class, "The land is like life itself, if it doesn't change, it dies!" - wisdom not wasted!
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