The week got off to a slow start, but boy - did it take off! I was somewhat thankful that my first call on Monday didn't come until almost lunchtime, because after last week's demands, there were still things to be 'polished off'. I went to Biggleswade to collect a pallet of metal for a firm in Basingstoke; on my way there, a second job came onto my screen to collect in a village near Bedford to take to Stevenage. When I arrived at my first collection there was some consternation because they had two pallets for me which, although I could have physically taken them, would have exceeded my weight limit. On then, to the second point, while another vehicle was organised for the first. The place was out in the wilds and took some while to find. My report of eventual success was met with an invitation to repeat the job I'd done last Thursday, which took me to Weymouth.
Tuesday's late uprising heralded a busy, but comparatively local day, including five jobs, but venturing no further than Reading. Even so, I wasn't home until about 8.0pm. Wednesday began with another semi-local demand, to a village just beyond Newport Pagnell. In its usual whimsical way, SatNav took me there via Bedford and home via the M1, providing variety if nothing else. I was still about ten miles from home when I was diverted to Luton for the next job, going to Dudley, and with it some fabricated items for Tamworth. The customer who consigned these has a reputation for sluggishness but somehow waiting in the sunshine, knowing that two good jobs were virtually in the bag, was not unwelcome. The jobs themselves were not difficult either, and by mid-afternoon I was on the M6 heading homewards again, looking forward to a lazy evening, but just wondering if anyone would spot me on their screen. Beep! Beep! I'd been spotted. Now, the nature of this onboard computer device is such that, because of the colours and type face, I can't see the details of the job in normal light, to know whether I want to accept it or not. I'm learning the wisdom that, if I don't want more work for the moment, I can sign off. If I leave the machine switched on, I can still be seen, but the situation is clear.
So, midway through Wednesday afternoon came the second seaside job of the week, a collection in Nuneaton for Clacton-on-Sea. I made the delivery about 7.30pm, took time out to stroll briefly along the esplanade musing on former times, and then bought a 'service station salad' for tea before heading for home. Thursday repeated the same pattern, with a reasonably local job first, this time to West Horndon in Essex. I confess, I was so distracted by the cricket commentary as the first six Australian wickets fell within half an hour or so, that I missed my turning off the M25, and committed myself to an additional ten miles to make my delivery!
Next came a collection of instruments to be taken to a hospital in Worcester, but before I'd reached the M1, I'd been spotted by the astute staff of Milton Keynes, who realised that, if I were willing, I could fit in this job with one they'd just taken for the National Grid, to collect some samples in a Buckinghamshire village, for analysis at a laboratory in Ellesmere Port, needing to be delivered there by 9.0pm. They were considerate and phoned me first, rather than simply allocating the job, but I didn't see any problem with it, beyond the distance. I would be late enough to miss my evening in any case, so it seemed sensible to make it worthwhile.
I returned from what was, to all intents and purposes, a third 'seaside' mission by about 1.0 am, but didn't sleep much beyond my normal waking up time, and after a late breakfast and a bit of admin, I decided to pay my weekly visit to the office to hand in the paperwork I'd collected so far. When I walked in the door, the controller said he'd spotted me on his screen and had just given me a job. This was to collect in Royston for Trowbridge, and was complemented en route by another to pick up in Letchworth for a Reading address. Finally, since these were both small, could I fit on a pallet from Hitchin to go to Ascot on the way? These three went together well, for the 'Reading address' was along the so-called 'Floral Mile' of the A4, and the only real problem was a major incident on the M4, which threw the whole area into west-bound chaos.
After two good weeks, I felt justified in stopping at a pub just short of the M4 on my return journey to get a decent meal before continuing. Now I can look forward to a 'retired' week with some comfort and satisfaction!
Showing posts with label seaside. Show all posts
Showing posts with label seaside. Show all posts
Saturday, 8 August 2015
Saturday, 1 August 2015
Serinaded by Seagulls!
By whatever measure you like - some that I've related here over the years and some I haven't, like simple 'gut-feeling' - this has been a good week. In 1,929 miles I have criss-crossed England, heard almost every ball of an enthralling Test Match, indulged in a bit of 'haven't been here for years' and a slice of 'uh-oh, school's out: the refurb. season has started', heard (with good explanation in mind, although not required) a touch of 'what time do you call this?' ... and had a seaside 'holiday' into the bargain!
The week began with an early alarm and a collection from a village about 15 miles away at 7.00. I was given another job to go with it, but when I arrived to collect it, I was told with some mystery, 'there was a job for Slough, but it's gone ... it's not here anyhow.' Somehow I wasn't bothered, and took my collection of thirteen boxes to a smart office block a few streets from Kew Gardens, where, in the absence of ground floor post room or a trolley, I was offered the strong arms and cheerful personality of a young Irishman to assist with conveying them through the front door, and up to the first floor.
As is so often the case now that one's progress can been viewed 'on screen', I was just leaving the M25 when I was diverted to the office, where my next job was already waiting for me, and another was being collected for me by another driver. These took me to an industrial estate in Bletchley, and on to a school in Dudley. Afterwards, as I made my way up the M5, wondering if I'd done right to opt for M6 rather than M42 to get around Birmingham, such considerations became irrelevant, as the local office spotted me and gave me a job from the centre of Birmingham down to a pharmacy in Luton. I collected this somewhat abruptly at about 4.45. I say 'somewhat abruptly' because, just as one eye spotted the target premises on the opposite side of the road, the other caught sight of a bus coming round the corner towards me. Rather than being caught in the middle of the road, I 'landed' front first between two parked cars on the forecourt, a parking position that I would normally avoid, and which I usually condemn with almost religious fervour because of the limited observation available when emerging.
Extricating myself from this awkwardness, I was on my way out of the city, when the phone rang again. "You couldn't do me a favour, before you head south, could you?" It sounded simple: B5 to B15; Heartlands Hospital (no department name given) collect ... blood ... (no shortage of that there, methinks) ... going to ... National Blood Service. I was reminded of my only previous visit to Heartlands, and a parallel angst over where to park, what entrance to use, etc. The difficulties were overcome, and the job completed, but it meant that I didn't leave Birmingham until nearly 6.0, leaving me no time at all to get to Luton by the time any normal pharmacy would be closing its doors. I was reassured to find that this one would be open until 10pm. Even so, by the time I arrived the proprietor was wondering if her delivery would be delayed until the follwing day!
That was just Monday! The week continued with a visit on Tuesday morning to the Ford engine plant at Dagenham, for the first time since the recession forced the closure of a motor component factory in Letchworth. Quickly on the back of that came another 'collected for me' job, this time to a laboratory of the National Grid on the outskirts of Leeds. While I waited for this, I was asked to collect a small package to deliver afterwards to Washington hospital. Needless to say, I didn't return from the north until almost midnight, and I was glad that Wednesday was comparatively local. I set off mid-morning with a piece of electronic equipment for rural Suffolk, and a small parcel for Cambridge.
My visit to Suffolk was both amusing and indeed rural, and all the more enjoyable for that. Soon after leaving the A14, I found myself approaching a crossroads where a pigeon sat, almost defiantly, atop the signpost. Only when I drew quite close, could I discern that this was a very clever model, clearly placed there to deceive and distract strangers! A short distance further, as I drove down a narrow lane, I had to squeeze into the hedge to make way for a tall load of straw going the other way. A little way on I discovered that this had half-removed a branch from a tree. This was now dangling in the middle of the road, preventing my further progress. To the amusement of the driver of the car behind me, I had to get out and manhandle this to one side, unable to remove it completely, but at least I could jam it into the hedgerow to allow us to pass. Finally I arrived at the village, where many cottages surround the neatly maintained green. Very efficiently, the parish council had provided signs along the roadway, and beside each little drive, indicating which houses lay down each one, and urging anyone not visiting these to reverse out of the drive because there wasn't room to turn around between the soft verges.
Thursday presented me with the earliest start I can remember, a 5.30 collection in Letchworth. This was a daily delivery of pharmaceuticals to a medical centre in a Norfolk market town, involving no more difficulty than the frustrations of the despatching supervisor because she had been sent yet another driver not familiar with their internal procedures! Upon my return, I was quite promptly sent to Rochester, and after getting almost home from that, I was diverted to Hitchin to collect something for Weymouth. I hadn't been there since a bell-ringing holiday in 1993! As I neared the town (and the Test Match neared its climax!) the office rang me to offer a job for Friday morning. A few minutes later Southampton office spotted me on-screen and offered me a job to Cobham, should I want it. I explained to both callers that, after being on the road since 5.30 am, I couldn't face the 160-mile journey home once I'd delivered, and was considering a B&B instead. The man in Southampton immediately said that he had a job the next morning from Weymouth up to Kidlington, just past Oxford, "it's yours if you want it." I couldn't have been better provided for!
The delivery made, I wondered how easy it would be to find a bed for the night ... and at what price! The first two places I tried didn't answer; the third had only twin or family rooms, and the fourth was asking a bit more than I was prepared to pay. The next lady was most obliging. She did indeed have a room and the price would be ... more than twice the one I'd just rejected, although she could make a slight reduction if I were to pay in cash! I explained, and asked where I might get a cheaper lodging. She responded - I believe with sincerity - that I would be best advised to go back to the one I'd been offered. I reflected as I retraced my steps and, considering the advancing hour, decided to accept her advice and the room I'd been offered at the Royal Hotel.
The Royal was built towards the end of the 19th century, at a cost of £25,000, on the site of a former establishment that had been a favourite of King George III, and it still retains much of its Victorian charm and splendour, despite refurbishment only a few years ago. The war memorial is just across the road, and it's said that Glenn Miller played at the hotel with his band during World War II.
Yesterday morning's experience provides this week's title, but after their performance, the flock became noticeably quieter, as if moving along the esplanade to another engagement. When I got up it was to a morning of tranquil beauty overlooking a sun-drenched townscape, which set me up wonderfully for my return home. The consignment I was to collect at 9.0 was almost ready by 8.0, and I was on my way by 8.25. I was back in Letchworth for the 1.0 service in church (it being the final Friday, our monthly day of prayer), and in the afternoon my week concluded with a print delivery to a housing development near Banbury. The site was quiet for the weekend, and the sales office manager was about to leave. As I neared the door it opened. "Brochures?" she asked. "Seven boxes," I replied, and we chatted amiably as I carried them in one by one. In the bright sunshine, this was perhaps the ideal end to what feels a near-perfect week.
The week began with an early alarm and a collection from a village about 15 miles away at 7.00. I was given another job to go with it, but when I arrived to collect it, I was told with some mystery, 'there was a job for Slough, but it's gone ... it's not here anyhow.' Somehow I wasn't bothered, and took my collection of thirteen boxes to a smart office block a few streets from Kew Gardens, where, in the absence of ground floor post room or a trolley, I was offered the strong arms and cheerful personality of a young Irishman to assist with conveying them through the front door, and up to the first floor.
As is so often the case now that one's progress can been viewed 'on screen', I was just leaving the M25 when I was diverted to the office, where my next job was already waiting for me, and another was being collected for me by another driver. These took me to an industrial estate in Bletchley, and on to a school in Dudley. Afterwards, as I made my way up the M5, wondering if I'd done right to opt for M6 rather than M42 to get around Birmingham, such considerations became irrelevant, as the local office spotted me and gave me a job from the centre of Birmingham down to a pharmacy in Luton. I collected this somewhat abruptly at about 4.45. I say 'somewhat abruptly' because, just as one eye spotted the target premises on the opposite side of the road, the other caught sight of a bus coming round the corner towards me. Rather than being caught in the middle of the road, I 'landed' front first between two parked cars on the forecourt, a parking position that I would normally avoid, and which I usually condemn with almost religious fervour because of the limited observation available when emerging.
Extricating myself from this awkwardness, I was on my way out of the city, when the phone rang again. "You couldn't do me a favour, before you head south, could you?" It sounded simple: B5 to B15; Heartlands Hospital (no department name given) collect ... blood ... (no shortage of that there, methinks) ... going to ... National Blood Service. I was reminded of my only previous visit to Heartlands, and a parallel angst over where to park, what entrance to use, etc. The difficulties were overcome, and the job completed, but it meant that I didn't leave Birmingham until nearly 6.0, leaving me no time at all to get to Luton by the time any normal pharmacy would be closing its doors. I was reassured to find that this one would be open until 10pm. Even so, by the time I arrived the proprietor was wondering if her delivery would be delayed until the follwing day!
That was just Monday! The week continued with a visit on Tuesday morning to the Ford engine plant at Dagenham, for the first time since the recession forced the closure of a motor component factory in Letchworth. Quickly on the back of that came another 'collected for me' job, this time to a laboratory of the National Grid on the outskirts of Leeds. While I waited for this, I was asked to collect a small package to deliver afterwards to Washington hospital. Needless to say, I didn't return from the north until almost midnight, and I was glad that Wednesday was comparatively local. I set off mid-morning with a piece of electronic equipment for rural Suffolk, and a small parcel for Cambridge.
My visit to Suffolk was both amusing and indeed rural, and all the more enjoyable for that. Soon after leaving the A14, I found myself approaching a crossroads where a pigeon sat, almost defiantly, atop the signpost. Only when I drew quite close, could I discern that this was a very clever model, clearly placed there to deceive and distract strangers! A short distance further, as I drove down a narrow lane, I had to squeeze into the hedge to make way for a tall load of straw going the other way. A little way on I discovered that this had half-removed a branch from a tree. This was now dangling in the middle of the road, preventing my further progress. To the amusement of the driver of the car behind me, I had to get out and manhandle this to one side, unable to remove it completely, but at least I could jam it into the hedgerow to allow us to pass. Finally I arrived at the village, where many cottages surround the neatly maintained green. Very efficiently, the parish council had provided signs along the roadway, and beside each little drive, indicating which houses lay down each one, and urging anyone not visiting these to reverse out of the drive because there wasn't room to turn around between the soft verges.
Thursday presented me with the earliest start I can remember, a 5.30 collection in Letchworth. This was a daily delivery of pharmaceuticals to a medical centre in a Norfolk market town, involving no more difficulty than the frustrations of the despatching supervisor because she had been sent yet another driver not familiar with their internal procedures! Upon my return, I was quite promptly sent to Rochester, and after getting almost home from that, I was diverted to Hitchin to collect something for Weymouth. I hadn't been there since a bell-ringing holiday in 1993! As I neared the town (and the Test Match neared its climax!) the office rang me to offer a job for Friday morning. A few minutes later Southampton office spotted me on-screen and offered me a job to Cobham, should I want it. I explained to both callers that, after being on the road since 5.30 am, I couldn't face the 160-mile journey home once I'd delivered, and was considering a B&B instead. The man in Southampton immediately said that he had a job the next morning from Weymouth up to Kidlington, just past Oxford, "it's yours if you want it." I couldn't have been better provided for!
The delivery made, I wondered how easy it would be to find a bed for the night ... and at what price! The first two places I tried didn't answer; the third had only twin or family rooms, and the fourth was asking a bit more than I was prepared to pay. The next lady was most obliging. She did indeed have a room and the price would be ... more than twice the one I'd just rejected, although she could make a slight reduction if I were to pay in cash! I explained, and asked where I might get a cheaper lodging. She responded - I believe with sincerity - that I would be best advised to go back to the one I'd been offered. I reflected as I retraced my steps and, considering the advancing hour, decided to accept her advice and the room I'd been offered at the Royal Hotel.
The Royal was built towards the end of the 19th century, at a cost of £25,000, on the site of a former establishment that had been a favourite of King George III, and it still retains much of its Victorian charm and splendour, despite refurbishment only a few years ago. The war memorial is just across the road, and it's said that Glenn Miller played at the hotel with his band during World War II.
Yesterday morning's experience provides this week's title, but after their performance, the flock became noticeably quieter, as if moving along the esplanade to another engagement. When I got up it was to a morning of tranquil beauty overlooking a sun-drenched townscape, which set me up wonderfully for my return home. The consignment I was to collect at 9.0 was almost ready by 8.0, and I was on my way by 8.25. I was back in Letchworth for the 1.0 service in church (it being the final Friday, our monthly day of prayer), and in the afternoon my week concluded with a print delivery to a housing development near Banbury. The site was quiet for the weekend, and the sales office manager was about to leave. As I neared the door it opened. "Brochures?" she asked. "Seven boxes," I replied, and we chatted amiably as I carried them in one by one. In the bright sunshine, this was perhaps the ideal end to what feels a near-perfect week.
Saturday, 21 February 2015
A Curate's Egg of a Week!
Yes, it's been a right mixture this week. In particular, good at the edges and bad in the middle. Monday was definitely a good day. It began with a 'regular' delivery to Pinewood Studios, after which there was time for coffee before I was sent to pick up two jobs in Stevenage, one to Cambridge, and the other to Hinchingbrooke Hospital in Huntingdon. The one to Cambridge was to a laboratory that I hadn't been to for some years, and it brought to mind an amusing exchange on that previous occasion. As she received the box I had brought her, the young lady mused, "OK, What have we here?" While she examined the paperwork, I announced that we never know what we are carrying: "It could be anything from eggs to alligators!" After what I think must have been just the right delay, I added, "mmm ... I'm not sure about the eggs, though." Seeing the bemused and rather puzzled look on her face, I explained that only a few weeks before I had been sent to a shop in Romford to collect 'a box', which was securely tied, had airholes in it, and made noises. When I delivered it, I asked what it was that I had brought, and was told that it contained two baby alligators!
Talking of humour, rural octogenarians are perhaps one of the richest sources. It was at Hinchingbrooke that I found myself walking down a corridor behind an elderly gent pushing his wife in a wheelchair. As I overtook them, I heard the lady ask her beloved, "I'm not too heavy for you to push, am I, John?" Quick as a flash, John replied, "No, dear, but that's a heavy old chair, though!"
After these amusements, I took a drinks delivery to a small pub in Attleborough, which brought the day's returns up to a most acceptable level, which was as well, for Tuesday and Wednesday were filled with annoyingly local jobs, and are best forgotten. So, too, is Thursday, although it did begin with an interesting visit to today's equivalent of a stately home, for which the modern term is - according to the board outside - 'classically styled detached villa'. This was on the outskirts of Maidenhead, where I found the actual building just about complete, and now awaiting a balustrade on the sweeping staircase in the main hall, and all the other interior floorings, fixtures and fittings. The stone above the portico reads '2015', so it's clearly intended that it will be finished this year, although it looks far from it at present.
By the time I came around the M25 on my return, the rain was just starting, and I was asked if I would do a pick-up in Welwyn Garden City on my way past to go to Dunstable. Naturally, I said this was OK, but when I got there I began to regret my willingness to co-operate. 'Dunstable' was elaborated as 'Toddington Services', and when I asked, "North- or South-bound?" I was told "both." I was then loaded with forty cases of soft drinks, duly segregated into two separate deliveries, and sent on my way. I think that it took about two hours to drive the 22 miles, locate the delivery point, attract someone's attention, unload and transfer the goods to the required location, and then cross the motorway and repeat the whole process again ... in the rain. By the time I left I was not the 'happy bunny' I prefer to be! And to crown it all, having returned home about 2.0 pm, there was no further job that afternoon. The only consolation was the later announcement that I could start Friday with a nice gentle run to Southend-on-Sea.
This was indeed pleasant, and provided a welcome contrast to the foregoing. My load was ten 25-litre containers of 'fluid', being taken to a small shop, with a parking bay right outside, in a street that wasn't too busy. I have no idea what sort of 'fluid' it was; I was simply thankful that the consignee was willing, with good humour, to carry all ten containers from the pavement into the shop. There was even a glimpse of the sea as I drove away.
Our church had decided that, on the Fridays of Lent, our normal monthly practice of a day's prayer and fasting would become a weekly event for those wishing to take part. It was therefore somewhat ironic, as I drove out of Southend on my way home, that the controller rang and said. "Pull over and have some breakfast ..." He had a pick up for me at an industrial estate in Basildon, but not for about an hour. I was pleased, though, to drive to the estate, listen to the end of a play and watch the antics of a robin and two brace of sparrows in the tree opposite. It proved a relaxing prelude to what was to follow. Having made my collection I was nearly back to Letchworth with it, when another call asked me to meet another driver, who had a chilled box to be taken on to Newmarket as soon as I had delivered my own consignment. By the time I had done this, it was about 2.0, and I could see the day ending as had the one before.
Not so. Within an hour or so, I was given two more jobs that seemed made for each other. One was from Letchworth to Northolt, the other a pick-up near Potters Bar to go to Twickenham. As I drove down the A1(M) to make the second collection, I realised that on one screen of my PDA the destination was given as TW11, but on the other it was TN11. I rang in to have this clarified, and soon afterwards the TN11 was changed to match. However, when I made the collection, I found that it was addressed to a firm in Sevenoaks! By then it was too late to have any hope of making both deliveries by the required 6.0 pm, whichever sequence I might adopt, so I sought advice from the office. After a delay of about 40 minutes, another driver met me, and we exchanged the Sevenoaks delivery for a film to be taken to a cinema in Croydon.
I made my delivery in Northolt, and SatNav then decided that the fastest route to Croydon - it was Friday evening, remember - would be an almost straight line on the map. I can't recall exactly which boroughs I passed through; many of the roads were familiar, many weren't. Some were the perfect operation of the Repeating Genie, for they were the same that I'd used last Friday morning when going from Pinewood Studios to make further deliveries in Thornton Heath and Wimbledon. I'm not a particular fan of London: in fact, when I started this work nearly thirteen years ago, I had previously driven only a handful of times anywhere within the M25! I was very glad in those early days to be stopped by a red traffic light, so I could check on the map which road I needed. Now with SatNav, however - complain about it though we might - things are totally different. With no worries at all about where I was going, all I had to think about was the traffic around me, and driving through inner London on a winter's evening was magical!
It was a long day; I didn't get home until about 10.50pm. But it was different, and in many ways the best ending for a week that would otherwise have been very 'flat.'
Talking of humour, rural octogenarians are perhaps one of the richest sources. It was at Hinchingbrooke that I found myself walking down a corridor behind an elderly gent pushing his wife in a wheelchair. As I overtook them, I heard the lady ask her beloved, "I'm not too heavy for you to push, am I, John?" Quick as a flash, John replied, "No, dear, but that's a heavy old chair, though!"
After these amusements, I took a drinks delivery to a small pub in Attleborough, which brought the day's returns up to a most acceptable level, which was as well, for Tuesday and Wednesday were filled with annoyingly local jobs, and are best forgotten. So, too, is Thursday, although it did begin with an interesting visit to today's equivalent of a stately home, for which the modern term is - according to the board outside - 'classically styled detached villa'. This was on the outskirts of Maidenhead, where I found the actual building just about complete, and now awaiting a balustrade on the sweeping staircase in the main hall, and all the other interior floorings, fixtures and fittings. The stone above the portico reads '2015', so it's clearly intended that it will be finished this year, although it looks far from it at present.
By the time I came around the M25 on my return, the rain was just starting, and I was asked if I would do a pick-up in Welwyn Garden City on my way past to go to Dunstable. Naturally, I said this was OK, but when I got there I began to regret my willingness to co-operate. 'Dunstable' was elaborated as 'Toddington Services', and when I asked, "North- or South-bound?" I was told "both." I was then loaded with forty cases of soft drinks, duly segregated into two separate deliveries, and sent on my way. I think that it took about two hours to drive the 22 miles, locate the delivery point, attract someone's attention, unload and transfer the goods to the required location, and then cross the motorway and repeat the whole process again ... in the rain. By the time I left I was not the 'happy bunny' I prefer to be! And to crown it all, having returned home about 2.0 pm, there was no further job that afternoon. The only consolation was the later announcement that I could start Friday with a nice gentle run to Southend-on-Sea.
This was indeed pleasant, and provided a welcome contrast to the foregoing. My load was ten 25-litre containers of 'fluid', being taken to a small shop, with a parking bay right outside, in a street that wasn't too busy. I have no idea what sort of 'fluid' it was; I was simply thankful that the consignee was willing, with good humour, to carry all ten containers from the pavement into the shop. There was even a glimpse of the sea as I drove away.
Our church had decided that, on the Fridays of Lent, our normal monthly practice of a day's prayer and fasting would become a weekly event for those wishing to take part. It was therefore somewhat ironic, as I drove out of Southend on my way home, that the controller rang and said. "Pull over and have some breakfast ..." He had a pick up for me at an industrial estate in Basildon, but not for about an hour. I was pleased, though, to drive to the estate, listen to the end of a play and watch the antics of a robin and two brace of sparrows in the tree opposite. It proved a relaxing prelude to what was to follow. Having made my collection I was nearly back to Letchworth with it, when another call asked me to meet another driver, who had a chilled box to be taken on to Newmarket as soon as I had delivered my own consignment. By the time I had done this, it was about 2.0, and I could see the day ending as had the one before.
Not so. Within an hour or so, I was given two more jobs that seemed made for each other. One was from Letchworth to Northolt, the other a pick-up near Potters Bar to go to Twickenham. As I drove down the A1(M) to make the second collection, I realised that on one screen of my PDA the destination was given as TW11, but on the other it was TN11. I rang in to have this clarified, and soon afterwards the TN11 was changed to match. However, when I made the collection, I found that it was addressed to a firm in Sevenoaks! By then it was too late to have any hope of making both deliveries by the required 6.0 pm, whichever sequence I might adopt, so I sought advice from the office. After a delay of about 40 minutes, another driver met me, and we exchanged the Sevenoaks delivery for a film to be taken to a cinema in Croydon.
I made my delivery in Northolt, and SatNav then decided that the fastest route to Croydon - it was Friday evening, remember - would be an almost straight line on the map. I can't recall exactly which boroughs I passed through; many of the roads were familiar, many weren't. Some were the perfect operation of the Repeating Genie, for they were the same that I'd used last Friday morning when going from Pinewood Studios to make further deliveries in Thornton Heath and Wimbledon. I'm not a particular fan of London: in fact, when I started this work nearly thirteen years ago, I had previously driven only a handful of times anywhere within the M25! I was very glad in those early days to be stopped by a red traffic light, so I could check on the map which road I needed. Now with SatNav, however - complain about it though we might - things are totally different. With no worries at all about where I was going, all I had to think about was the traffic around me, and driving through inner London on a winter's evening was magical!
It was a long day; I didn't get home until about 10.50pm. But it was different, and in many ways the best ending for a week that would otherwise have been very 'flat.'
Saturday, 7 February 2015
One a day, and Sussex by the Sea!
After a week off, whether holiday (as some might have thought) or the start of phased retirement (as indeed was the case), it's always a slow build-up back to normal levels of activity, and this was no different. The situation is complicated by the usual slow build-up of 'normal activity' after the new year anyway. But there was at least some highlight to each day, above a background of what I call 'bread and butter', local work.
Monday found me utilising my Dart-charge account for the first time in nearly two months, as I went to Swanscombe for a customer in Ashwell, whose goods were delivered to a delightful modern office building, aptly named 'The Observatory', for it offered excellent views in every direction.
The next day was a definite 'damp squib' work-wise, because the highlight was being stuck - along with thousands of others - on the M1 for several hours owing to an accident not very far from home, at junction 13. It was feared that there had been a fatality, but the TV news bulletin that evening suggested that there were two serious injuries only. It seems that a lorry had crossed the central reservation and taken out a car. I wondered later whether the lorry might have come from the Bedford direction, and perhaps the driver had been confused by the new layout of the junction. It's certainly esoteric - I don't know of another like it - with lots of subordinate junctions on either side of the motorway, quite apart from those that actually interact with it.
Wednesday began with a straightforward collection from a distribution centre along the A14 at Thrapston. As I approached the gate, I recalled the confusion that I had had to overcome on my one previous visit. When the security official had booked me in, and told me where I should go to make a collection - as he'd done on that other occasion - I explained that I had then found I needed to be 'over there' ... and I pointed in the opposite direction. Adopting a welcome relaxed and co-operative attitude, the official said he wasn't really bothered where I went: it was my choice. Since it was nearer the gate, I went where I had gone before and began my 'I hope I'm in the right place ...' script. It worked, in within minutes I was back on the road.
The week's fourth highlight, like the second, was not to my advantage, although unlike that accident, this one was predictable. I was called on my way back from a delivery in Reading by another depot, who suggested - quite logically - that I might like to do a pick-up in St Albans for a destination in Stevenage on the way. Unfortunately this was a collection of samples from the renal unit at the hospital. Not surprisingly, these require special secure carriage and, although I have received the necessary training, the little box I'm provided with for this purpose wouldn't have accommodated even one of these large containers ... and there were at least ten! There was no alternative but to ring in and get another driver, suitably equipped, to make the collection.
Friday was more like a 'normal day'. It started with the collection of some bespoke export packaging in Letchworth. As I was leaving the town, bound for Berkshire, the controller rang: how much room did I have? There was one small box to be collected in Tring, for the south coast. This was the 'first overlap'. I collected the box, and then made my way to a private estate - automatic gates at every entrance - near Slough to deliver the empty boxes. The men there had anticipated a much larger vehicle; I had brought them four boxes, they were expecting about fifty. They explained that this house had been sold for £10 million (!) and that the new owners had just arrived. There seemed to be no real anxiety, however, and as I left one said to the other, "we'll have an easier day with just four boxes to fill!"
Then came the 'second overlap' for, as I drove around the M25, making for Rustington, near Littlehampton, with my box from Tring, I had a call from the Guildford office. They had spotted me heading in their general direction, and wondered if I would be interested in a collection in Guildford going to St Leonards-on-Sea. I told them I couldn't see why not, and after collecting a small box there I had the treat of a cross-country journey to the seaside. The sunshine was almost summer-like (if you didn't look at the dashboard thermometer!) and I learned just how long is 'Good old Sussex by the Sea'. It was a very pleasant journey indeed, ending with another Dartford crossing, after which I was home about 6.40pm.
Monday found me utilising my Dart-charge account for the first time in nearly two months, as I went to Swanscombe for a customer in Ashwell, whose goods were delivered to a delightful modern office building, aptly named 'The Observatory', for it offered excellent views in every direction.
The next day was a definite 'damp squib' work-wise, because the highlight was being stuck - along with thousands of others - on the M1 for several hours owing to an accident not very far from home, at junction 13. It was feared that there had been a fatality, but the TV news bulletin that evening suggested that there were two serious injuries only. It seems that a lorry had crossed the central reservation and taken out a car. I wondered later whether the lorry might have come from the Bedford direction, and perhaps the driver had been confused by the new layout of the junction. It's certainly esoteric - I don't know of another like it - with lots of subordinate junctions on either side of the motorway, quite apart from those that actually interact with it.
Wednesday began with a straightforward collection from a distribution centre along the A14 at Thrapston. As I approached the gate, I recalled the confusion that I had had to overcome on my one previous visit. When the security official had booked me in, and told me where I should go to make a collection - as he'd done on that other occasion - I explained that I had then found I needed to be 'over there' ... and I pointed in the opposite direction. Adopting a welcome relaxed and co-operative attitude, the official said he wasn't really bothered where I went: it was my choice. Since it was nearer the gate, I went where I had gone before and began my 'I hope I'm in the right place ...' script. It worked, in within minutes I was back on the road.
The week's fourth highlight, like the second, was not to my advantage, although unlike that accident, this one was predictable. I was called on my way back from a delivery in Reading by another depot, who suggested - quite logically - that I might like to do a pick-up in St Albans for a destination in Stevenage on the way. Unfortunately this was a collection of samples from the renal unit at the hospital. Not surprisingly, these require special secure carriage and, although I have received the necessary training, the little box I'm provided with for this purpose wouldn't have accommodated even one of these large containers ... and there were at least ten! There was no alternative but to ring in and get another driver, suitably equipped, to make the collection.
Friday was more like a 'normal day'. It started with the collection of some bespoke export packaging in Letchworth. As I was leaving the town, bound for Berkshire, the controller rang: how much room did I have? There was one small box to be collected in Tring, for the south coast. This was the 'first overlap'. I collected the box, and then made my way to a private estate - automatic gates at every entrance - near Slough to deliver the empty boxes. The men there had anticipated a much larger vehicle; I had brought them four boxes, they were expecting about fifty. They explained that this house had been sold for £10 million (!) and that the new owners had just arrived. There seemed to be no real anxiety, however, and as I left one said to the other, "we'll have an easier day with just four boxes to fill!"
Then came the 'second overlap' for, as I drove around the M25, making for Rustington, near Littlehampton, with my box from Tring, I had a call from the Guildford office. They had spotted me heading in their general direction, and wondered if I would be interested in a collection in Guildford going to St Leonards-on-Sea. I told them I couldn't see why not, and after collecting a small box there I had the treat of a cross-country journey to the seaside. The sunshine was almost summer-like (if you didn't look at the dashboard thermometer!) and I learned just how long is 'Good old Sussex by the Sea'. It was a very pleasant journey indeed, ending with another Dartford crossing, after which I was home about 6.40pm.
Saturday, 20 September 2014
So, what HAS changed?
It seems that 'change' is the in-word at the moment, especially in the light - and the aftermath - of the Scottish Referendum. Since I referred to this at length last week, I'll just make one observation and pass on. It seems that greater minds than mine had noticed the 'English unfairness'; the NO vote may have triggered some movement on this aspect. Whether greater or lesser movement remains to be seen, but it will dominate our domestic news bulletins for months to come.
The big change in my own life - again mentioned here a number of times - has been the takeover of our operation by a national courier company. After eight weeks, I feel I can make a fairly balanced assessment of its effects. Earlier this year, I wrote here about my 'gold and silver' analysis scheme for comparing the results of each week. This weekend I've been comparing the seventeen weeks, from the start of the financial year in April to the takeover, to the eight weeks since. In the longer period there were three silver weeks and one gold; in the eight weeks since the change five weeks have been 'silver' and one gold.
I think it was Disraeli who gets the blame for the comment about 'lies, damned lies, and statistics', and it's certainly true that figures can, in large measure, be massaged according to the desired message. So I throw out these comparisons with no guarantee of their being connected or inter-related or evidence of cause-and-effect. Rather, in my father's simple wisdom, I just 'speak as I find'. Since the change of régime, my average weekly income has increased by almost a quarter; the average distance travelled each day is almost 14% more, and the earnings per mile driven is up by over 11%. The number of jobs in a week has also increased, from 12.2 in the earlier weeks to 15.6 more recently. I have explained about getting work from other depots, which is a significant departure from our previous isolated operation; such assignments account for about 12% of my income since the takeover, but even eliminating these completely, the jobs from our own area have risen to 13.9 per week.
Enough figures!
One thing that hasn't changed is the existence of so-called 'bad' days, and my reaction to them. Let me be clear: not all 'bad' days are financially unproductive; into that category I consign any day that has seemed in any way unsatisfying. Conversely, a day when I've done just one job that has been interesting, or which might have involved overcoming a particular problem would definitely not be a bad day at all ... such as the sunny Friday afternoon I spent at a caravan park near Skegness, trying to find out what to do with a van-load of medication for a hospital out-patient arriving for his holiday the following day! Usually, after a succession of two or three 'bad' days, I find depression kicks in, bringing thoughts of 'being singled out for the rubbish' or 'left off the list', or simply being deliberately overlooked.
This week began with two of those 'bad' days. On Monday I began with a journey to Bedford; next came one to Braintree, and then in the afternoon came a pair of deliveries to Hatfield and Bishop's Stortford, on the return from which I was diverted to Hertford, to collect for Witham. If you're interested enough to check out the map, you'll see that I had to negotiate the notorious junction at Little Hadham no less than six times in the day, and didn't venture more than one county away from base all day. Tuesday began with the exact same job to Bedford again, and then fell into a similar limited frame, as two jobs followed one after the other, with no return home until the day was done: one from Biggleswade to Milton Keynes, the other collected from Bedford with deliveries in Baldock and Harefield.
Then came the day that redeemed the week. Up long before daylight, I took some air-conditioning equipment to a shop that is being refurbished in the centre of Bath. I was also loaded with a collection of important envelopes, the first of which had to be delivered to an office next to Temple Meads station in the middle of Bristol before 9.0 am! Then the pressure was off, as I took the remaining envelopes to addresses in Chippenham, Torquay and Brixham.
Finishing at 1.30, I could then spend the rest of the day getting home. I called the office in Plymouth, just in case there should be a job going in my direction, but to no avail and, after a lovely half-hour relaxing in the sunshine by this war memorial in Churston Ferrers, I made my way back to the motorway.
After such a day the rest of the week, which included trips to a remote farm near Whittlesey, Cambs., Gillingham Hospital in Kent, and Crowmarsh Gifford in rural Oxfordshire, paled into insignificance proving that (in the words of a BBC Radio 4 programme title) it's 'All in the Mind'!
The big change in my own life - again mentioned here a number of times - has been the takeover of our operation by a national courier company. After eight weeks, I feel I can make a fairly balanced assessment of its effects. Earlier this year, I wrote here about my 'gold and silver' analysis scheme for comparing the results of each week. This weekend I've been comparing the seventeen weeks, from the start of the financial year in April to the takeover, to the eight weeks since. In the longer period there were three silver weeks and one gold; in the eight weeks since the change five weeks have been 'silver' and one gold.
I think it was Disraeli who gets the blame for the comment about 'lies, damned lies, and statistics', and it's certainly true that figures can, in large measure, be massaged according to the desired message. So I throw out these comparisons with no guarantee of their being connected or inter-related or evidence of cause-and-effect. Rather, in my father's simple wisdom, I just 'speak as I find'. Since the change of régime, my average weekly income has increased by almost a quarter; the average distance travelled each day is almost 14% more, and the earnings per mile driven is up by over 11%. The number of jobs in a week has also increased, from 12.2 in the earlier weeks to 15.6 more recently. I have explained about getting work from other depots, which is a significant departure from our previous isolated operation; such assignments account for about 12% of my income since the takeover, but even eliminating these completely, the jobs from our own area have risen to 13.9 per week.
Enough figures!
One thing that hasn't changed is the existence of so-called 'bad' days, and my reaction to them. Let me be clear: not all 'bad' days are financially unproductive; into that category I consign any day that has seemed in any way unsatisfying. Conversely, a day when I've done just one job that has been interesting, or which might have involved overcoming a particular problem would definitely not be a bad day at all ... such as the sunny Friday afternoon I spent at a caravan park near Skegness, trying to find out what to do with a van-load of medication for a hospital out-patient arriving for his holiday the following day! Usually, after a succession of two or three 'bad' days, I find depression kicks in, bringing thoughts of 'being singled out for the rubbish' or 'left off the list', or simply being deliberately overlooked.
This week began with two of those 'bad' days. On Monday I began with a journey to Bedford; next came one to Braintree, and then in the afternoon came a pair of deliveries to Hatfield and Bishop's Stortford, on the return from which I was diverted to Hertford, to collect for Witham. If you're interested enough to check out the map, you'll see that I had to negotiate the notorious junction at Little Hadham no less than six times in the day, and didn't venture more than one county away from base all day. Tuesday began with the exact same job to Bedford again, and then fell into a similar limited frame, as two jobs followed one after the other, with no return home until the day was done: one from Biggleswade to Milton Keynes, the other collected from Bedford with deliveries in Baldock and Harefield.
 |
| War memorial, Churston Ferrers, Devon |
Finishing at 1.30, I could then spend the rest of the day getting home. I called the office in Plymouth, just in case there should be a job going in my direction, but to no avail and, after a lovely half-hour relaxing in the sunshine by this war memorial in Churston Ferrers, I made my way back to the motorway.
After such a day the rest of the week, which included trips to a remote farm near Whittlesey, Cambs., Gillingham Hospital in Kent, and Crowmarsh Gifford in rural Oxfordshire, paled into insignificance proving that (in the words of a BBC Radio 4 programme title) it's 'All in the Mind'!
Sunday, 1 June 2014
That Holiday Feeling . . .
Although it only started with a Bank Holiday, this week has had a sort of holiday feel right through - rather like the name that goes right through the middle of seaside rock.
Tuesday started off with what has now become an 'old familiar', Pinewood Studios, settling me comfortably back into work mode. This time, however, a new precedent was set. As I drove round the M25 - in true car park style, as ever - came a call asking me to go up to Hemel Hempstead afterwards, to collect some air conditioning units for an address in Leicester. A 'decent' local job completed the day, taking some paint to a furniture company Haverhill.
Wednesday began with two jobs that fitted nicely together. First came an early collection of some veneer from Stevenage to go to a joinery company in St Ives, and then down to the little industrial estate in Little Paxton, which is easier to enter from the northern side. Here I loaded four heavy boxes of printed matter for a direct mailing company in the West Midlands. On the way back, I was diverted to a plastics firm in Huntingdon, where I collected a small package for Steeple Morden. It's always good to have three jobs in a row like that because, even if they don't overlap, the 'go-to-load' mileage is eliminated, or at least reduced.
Then, after two decent and enjoyable days, the 'holiday feeling' kicked in. On Thursday morning the repeating genie took me to the same pretty town where I'd collected Tuesday's paint, this time to deliver some items to their science park. I'd just returned home, when I was despatched to the seaside, in particular Great Yarmouth. "Dear old Yarmouth," the comics used to say, "you can tell that by looking in the shops!" Well, I didn't get as far as the shops, for my collection was on the industrial site to the west of the resort. However, when I then set SatNav to find the nearest Esso station to refuel before returning with my cargo, I was sent out to the lovely broadland village of Ormesby. I began to feel young, and on holiday again . . . almost! But even holidays can be tiring, and I didn't really appreciate being called out in the evening to take something up to Salford. There was apparently no one else available so, since it was a hospital, I set forth, only to be told before I'd gone a mile that they had found a source to meet their needs much nearer to them, so would I please return the goods whence I'd collected them. Willingly!
Friday started with another 'regular', from our laboratory customer in Royston to West Suffolk Hospital. On my way back, I was re-directed to the seaside again. This time it was to Clacton-on-Sea. You may remember that bath of two Saturdays ago? Just round the corner from that prestigious bathroom store is a food ingredients warehouse, where I now collected quite a lot of vinegar. Friday had clearly been a busy day: I hadn't yet got back home to deliver the vinegar when the phone rang a second time. On the way, would I please collect some medicine for a private hospital in Northwood, and a spare key for someone who had locked himself out of his van near Gatwick airport?
Being the last Friday of the month, it was our church's day of prayer and fasting. I'd made the 7.0 service in the morning, but it was clear that I wouldn't be making the corresponding evening gathering. By the time I'd withstood the M25, where the traffic was actually stationary in several places, it was almost 7.30 when I found my way to a convenient place to pull off the road in the roadworks and rang the number I'd been given for the victim of locked keys. It turned out that the van was no further away than the roundabout in front of me, and once past the security fence, it was the work of a moment for my contact to open the door, recover the key, and I was on my way. Strangely, I was less tired after 400 miles on Friday that I had been after 280 on Thursday. Nevertheless, I was now happy to head for Cobham services to break my 12-hour fast: rarely has KFC been more welcome!
Tuesday started off with what has now become an 'old familiar', Pinewood Studios, settling me comfortably back into work mode. This time, however, a new precedent was set. As I drove round the M25 - in true car park style, as ever - came a call asking me to go up to Hemel Hempstead afterwards, to collect some air conditioning units for an address in Leicester. A 'decent' local job completed the day, taking some paint to a furniture company Haverhill.
Wednesday began with two jobs that fitted nicely together. First came an early collection of some veneer from Stevenage to go to a joinery company in St Ives, and then down to the little industrial estate in Little Paxton, which is easier to enter from the northern side. Here I loaded four heavy boxes of printed matter for a direct mailing company in the West Midlands. On the way back, I was diverted to a plastics firm in Huntingdon, where I collected a small package for Steeple Morden. It's always good to have three jobs in a row like that because, even if they don't overlap, the 'go-to-load' mileage is eliminated, or at least reduced.
Then, after two decent and enjoyable days, the 'holiday feeling' kicked in. On Thursday morning the repeating genie took me to the same pretty town where I'd collected Tuesday's paint, this time to deliver some items to their science park. I'd just returned home, when I was despatched to the seaside, in particular Great Yarmouth. "Dear old Yarmouth," the comics used to say, "you can tell that by looking in the shops!" Well, I didn't get as far as the shops, for my collection was on the industrial site to the west of the resort. However, when I then set SatNav to find the nearest Esso station to refuel before returning with my cargo, I was sent out to the lovely broadland village of Ormesby. I began to feel young, and on holiday again . . . almost! But even holidays can be tiring, and I didn't really appreciate being called out in the evening to take something up to Salford. There was apparently no one else available so, since it was a hospital, I set forth, only to be told before I'd gone a mile that they had found a source to meet their needs much nearer to them, so would I please return the goods whence I'd collected them. Willingly!
Friday started with another 'regular', from our laboratory customer in Royston to West Suffolk Hospital. On my way back, I was re-directed to the seaside again. This time it was to Clacton-on-Sea. You may remember that bath of two Saturdays ago? Just round the corner from that prestigious bathroom store is a food ingredients warehouse, where I now collected quite a lot of vinegar. Friday had clearly been a busy day: I hadn't yet got back home to deliver the vinegar when the phone rang a second time. On the way, would I please collect some medicine for a private hospital in Northwood, and a spare key for someone who had locked himself out of his van near Gatwick airport?
Being the last Friday of the month, it was our church's day of prayer and fasting. I'd made the 7.0 service in the morning, but it was clear that I wouldn't be making the corresponding evening gathering. By the time I'd withstood the M25, where the traffic was actually stationary in several places, it was almost 7.30 when I found my way to a convenient place to pull off the road in the roadworks and rang the number I'd been given for the victim of locked keys. It turned out that the van was no further away than the roundabout in front of me, and once past the security fence, it was the work of a moment for my contact to open the door, recover the key, and I was on my way. Strangely, I was less tired after 400 miles on Friday that I had been after 280 on Thursday. Nevertheless, I was now happy to head for Cobham services to break my 12-hour fast: rarely has KFC been more welcome!
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