Not for the first time, this has been a week of ups and downs. Monday was a good example of the way the national network is favourable to us drivers. It began with a very small consignment for Market Harborough, and I was invited to wait a short while to see what else might be going that way. In a very few minutes I was sent to Royston for a couple of boxes going to Derby. Once these had all been delivered, I phoned the nearby Nottingham office, collected an envelope for them from Castle Donnington, and then took another small load from Loughborough to Birmingham on my way home.
Tuesday and Wednesday brought only two jobs apiece, with Wednesday being one of this year's leanest days. On Thursday morning my thoughts turned to income once more, and my prayers included an earnest reference to a cup filled to overflowing. The spiritual effort wasn't in vain for, within the hour, I was on my way to Kempston to collect some metalwork for a firm near Wakefield. This time it was the Leeds office who provided the complement to the day, with a collection in the middle of Sheffield for a factory out in the countryside not far from Coventry.
But the day was not yet finished. On my way home I was invited to make three deliveries of prescription medicines to old people's homes in Hitchin, and then - with some hesitation after last week's disappointment when a Scottish job had failed to materialise - I was offered an early pick-up from a national company at the other end of the county, for delivery to two of their other plants, one on the outskirts of Liverpool and the other in North Lanarkshire.
So it was that yesterday morning, with unexpected calmness, I set out on a more unusual route into Scotland. I had decided that it wouldn't be clever to consider sleeping in the van at this time of year, and particularly in view of some recent problems with a shoulder, so on my way I phoned ahead to book a room at the truckstop in Carlisle. I made the Liverpool delivery by about 1.0, with little bother. Then came the interesting part of the trip. It was interesting not, for once, because of any difficulty, but simply literally. That middle section of the M6 is one that I rarely use; if I'm going to Scotland from home the better route is up the A1 to Scotch Corner, so I don't usually hit the M6 until Penrith. This time, though, there was no choice and, although it feels a long way and the radio signal is intermittent, the scenery is magnificent. Perhaps irreverently, I decided that the rolling slopes of the fells to the east of the motorway required only a few strategically-placed fir trees to resemble closely a number of retreating elephants!
One thing that did concern me, however, was the weather. This was the day after storm Abigail had caused a number of electrical outages, and had attacked the west of Scotland with extremely high winds. The matrices on the motorways were cautioning about side winds and lots of spray, but apart from just a short burst of rain there was no appreciable problem until I was well into Scotland. The last few junctions along the M74, however, disappeared in deep concentration as I stuck to my course with only intermittent visibility between the deluge of spray thrown up by the lorries.
Although I've made that trip to Motherwell a number of times before, I found that my route this time was longer, owing to the constant development work on the road system in the area; while memory told me that I needed go only a couple of miles from the motorway, this time it was at least ten, having left it at a different junction, which was itself in the midst of a very muddy re-construction. My delivery completed by 5.0, I began the slow return home. To my utmost pleasure, the rain had stopped by Lockerbie, and the roads almost dried up by the time I was back into England. After over 500 miles and more than eleven hours of almost constant driving, I was ready for a break, a meal and a restful (if not luxurious) evening.
This morning I was greeted by the awful contrast of dry roads and a gentle dawn, accompanied by the ghastly news of the bloody events last night in Paris. By Scotch Corner, I was glad to stop and find some comforting normality in breakfast at the Moto services there. From then on, accompanied by a couple of CDs I'd brought along for the purpose, the journey was plain sailing, and I was home, even after stopping for some shopping, by 12.15.
Now to fit all the usual weekend essentials into what's left of the weekend; ... what was that about an easy way into retirement?
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Saturday, 14 November 2015
Saturday, 10 January 2015
New Year ... Same old Life!
I find this every year. As the summer fades into autumn, I realise that instead of - in this case - 2014 feeling new while 2013 is still familiar, my outlook has gradually transformed so that 2014 is the familiar one, and this new prospect, 2015, is being felt just over the horizon. So, as the 'old year' has drawn to its close, the image of the new one has become stronger until at last, with a great cheer, the sound of the pipers, and copious amounts of alcohol - not forgetting a lump of coal, if you can find one - it's HERE!
Now it has become reality and, having spent my first week back on the road, I can say that it feels little different from the old one; I expect it's the same for most working people. For a start, I'd forgotten just how slack the first proper week of the new year is for the courier industry. After the first few years I'd been doing the work, it was expected, and the big question would be 'how long before it picks up?' Somehow, in 2015, this phenomenon had slipped my mind. It wasn't until I looked back from Wednesday morning that I realised that this week is just like other years, and by the end of it, I find I've earned less than four days' income in five days. How long, I wonder, will it last in this year of gradual recovery?
Other things, too, haven't changed. There was a good slice of hospital confusion to mirror the same from before Christmas. I was asked to take something from Lister in Stevenage to Addenbrooke's in Cambridge; this combination comes up quite often and, although not having the precise detail, I went out of habit to the ward where I usually collect specimens for the laboratory in Cambridge. After quite a wait, I learned that they had nothing for me. Whilst waiting, I reflected how - unlike my work - the 'feel' of this workplace has changed ... in complete accord with the current news bulletins. No longer are there two or three nurses (I use the term in my ignorance to include various other grades on the ward) at the ward desk, beavering away, and exchanging the odd word of conversation. One person only was present, and she busily engaged on the phone. Others pass quickly to and fro, far too intent on what they're doing to divert their attention to resolve my presence.
I sought clarification of my mission from the office, was eventually called back by another depot, who had taken the job in the first place, with the bald comment, "have you tried pathology?" I hadn't, of course, so did so, only to find two other drivers there, each apparently quite clear what they were doing, and the laboratory staff scratching around (or so it seemed to me) to find something that I might be expected to take. It was most unsatisfactory, and unsatisfying.
Another thing that has been by no means uncommon in the past, was an evening collection that could be transformed into an overnight job. It was 8.0 pm when I was called by the night controller and offered a job to Trowbridge. It could be collected in nearby Royston at 10.0 pm, and had to be at its destination by 7.30 the next morning. In the intervening hour or so, I calculated that, by the time I were to get back home it would be 10.30, and I should have to set the alarm for 4.30 if I were to avoid the early morning traffic and be sure of meeting the deadline. I could remember going to Trowbridge for this customer before; I googled the likely consignee, hoping that I would recognise a name from the results of my search of the industry and the town's name. I was in luck, and it took only a phone call to establish that they did run a 24-hour operation, and that the night shift personnel would be able to receive the goods. So, once loaded, I made my way straight there, delivered, and was home and in bed by 5.0 am. Though short, my sleep was uninterrupted by fears of missing the alarm, and any anxiety about the job to be done, and I surprised myself by the length of time later in the day that I was able to keep driving without getting drowsy.
Just to make me feel at home in the new year, it seemed, there was an evening when I delivered a vanload of drinks to a public house, albeit on Thursday instead of Friday. And to round things off there was a job that was too big for the van. In this case, that wasn't strictly true, but the pallet that had been used only had loading holes down the long sides, which meant that the length of the pallet would have to fit across the width of the van ... which it didn't. Apparently this particular establishment only have pallets of this design, but I usually only collect from them in individual units, so the problem hadn't arisen before. At least I hadn't remembered the one previous occasion, until the fork truck driver asked me to watch out that he didn't touch the door steadies of the van with the pallet as he offered it up to see if there were room for it between the wheel-arches. It was then that I recalled that earlier experience, my resulting anger and the furious attempts I'd made to straighten the bent article sufficiently for the door of the van to close!
But it hasn't been a week without some good points. I've been able to make good use of the gaps between jobs, even down to the minute, measuring all sorts of aspects of the interior of my newly-acquired motorhome, and making appropriate plans for an extended shopping expedition today to get some of the necessary items to equip it for more adventurous use than seeing it parked outside my window!
Now it has become reality and, having spent my first week back on the road, I can say that it feels little different from the old one; I expect it's the same for most working people. For a start, I'd forgotten just how slack the first proper week of the new year is for the courier industry. After the first few years I'd been doing the work, it was expected, and the big question would be 'how long before it picks up?' Somehow, in 2015, this phenomenon had slipped my mind. It wasn't until I looked back from Wednesday morning that I realised that this week is just like other years, and by the end of it, I find I've earned less than four days' income in five days. How long, I wonder, will it last in this year of gradual recovery?
Other things, too, haven't changed. There was a good slice of hospital confusion to mirror the same from before Christmas. I was asked to take something from Lister in Stevenage to Addenbrooke's in Cambridge; this combination comes up quite often and, although not having the precise detail, I went out of habit to the ward where I usually collect specimens for the laboratory in Cambridge. After quite a wait, I learned that they had nothing for me. Whilst waiting, I reflected how - unlike my work - the 'feel' of this workplace has changed ... in complete accord with the current news bulletins. No longer are there two or three nurses (I use the term in my ignorance to include various other grades on the ward) at the ward desk, beavering away, and exchanging the odd word of conversation. One person only was present, and she busily engaged on the phone. Others pass quickly to and fro, far too intent on what they're doing to divert their attention to resolve my presence.
I sought clarification of my mission from the office, was eventually called back by another depot, who had taken the job in the first place, with the bald comment, "have you tried pathology?" I hadn't, of course, so did so, only to find two other drivers there, each apparently quite clear what they were doing, and the laboratory staff scratching around (or so it seemed to me) to find something that I might be expected to take. It was most unsatisfactory, and unsatisfying.
Another thing that has been by no means uncommon in the past, was an evening collection that could be transformed into an overnight job. It was 8.0 pm when I was called by the night controller and offered a job to Trowbridge. It could be collected in nearby Royston at 10.0 pm, and had to be at its destination by 7.30 the next morning. In the intervening hour or so, I calculated that, by the time I were to get back home it would be 10.30, and I should have to set the alarm for 4.30 if I were to avoid the early morning traffic and be sure of meeting the deadline. I could remember going to Trowbridge for this customer before; I googled the likely consignee, hoping that I would recognise a name from the results of my search of the industry and the town's name. I was in luck, and it took only a phone call to establish that they did run a 24-hour operation, and that the night shift personnel would be able to receive the goods. So, once loaded, I made my way straight there, delivered, and was home and in bed by 5.0 am. Though short, my sleep was uninterrupted by fears of missing the alarm, and any anxiety about the job to be done, and I surprised myself by the length of time later in the day that I was able to keep driving without getting drowsy.
Just to make me feel at home in the new year, it seemed, there was an evening when I delivered a vanload of drinks to a public house, albeit on Thursday instead of Friday. And to round things off there was a job that was too big for the van. In this case, that wasn't strictly true, but the pallet that had been used only had loading holes down the long sides, which meant that the length of the pallet would have to fit across the width of the van ... which it didn't. Apparently this particular establishment only have pallets of this design, but I usually only collect from them in individual units, so the problem hadn't arisen before. At least I hadn't remembered the one previous occasion, until the fork truck driver asked me to watch out that he didn't touch the door steadies of the van with the pallet as he offered it up to see if there were room for it between the wheel-arches. It was then that I recalled that earlier experience, my resulting anger and the furious attempts I'd made to straighten the bent article sufficiently for the door of the van to close!
But it hasn't been a week without some good points. I've been able to make good use of the gaps between jobs, even down to the minute, measuring all sorts of aspects of the interior of my newly-acquired motorhome, and making appropriate plans for an extended shopping expedition today to get some of the necessary items to equip it for more adventurous use than seeing it parked outside my window!
Saturday, 16 August 2014
Spot ... the Difference!
That title deliberately has a gap in the middle. First of all about the Spot. All of CitiSprint's vehicles are tracked; that is to say, all the PDAs in them are tracked, so the controllers can see on their screens exactly how far each job has got towards its destination, enabling up to the minute reports to be provided to anxious senders without the expense and delay of a phone call to the driver. They can be 'spotted' on the screen. The controllers can also spot other vehicles than their own who happen to be in their area. It's quite beneficial to the drivers, too. That's how I got the job in Ipswich that I mentioned last week. Read on, then, as I describe more of this Difference from what I've become used to over the last twelve years.
On Monday morning, I was trundling gently up the M1 on my way to central Milton Keynes with a couple of rolls of insulation for an office block that's being refurbished. The phone rang, and I was asked if I had been allocated anything else to follow this job once I'd delivered. My negative was met by a further question, "How far would you like to go?" The throwaway reply, that my preference was north, and as far as you like, couldn't have been better suited to what came next. An hour later, I was indeed heading north, with two small parcels of books, one for Chester-le-Street, the other for Johnstone, Renfrewshire. I was delayed at the first one, but was reassured about the level of driver support available after finding no one at home. Once permission had been secured to leave the parcel with a neighbour, the search was on to find such a person. No one responded to my knock at the three houses on either side, and I could find no obvious access to the back door. Then I spotted a window in the house opposite that was open far wider than merely for ventilation, as were some of the others nearby. There had to be someone at home there! Indeed there was, and within minutes I was on my way once more.
The more distant delivery was simplicity itself, for the householder was home from work by the time I arrived. What's more, the rain had stopped - although more was clearly on its way. I defied the last tail-swish of Hurricane Bertha, and by 10.0 I'd secured a meal and a room at the truck-stop on the outskirts of Carlisle. I left at 7.0 am for an uneventful journey home, during which I may have been spotted, but without the reaction of being assigned any further activity. My office called me as I drew close, and when I explained that I would appreciate an hour or so to gather my thoughts and deal with personal 'stuff' before being available, I was invited to ring in when that might be ... which I did.
About an hour later came a call from one of the 'new' staff there. He began with an apology for disturbing me on a day when I was clearly not working. My protest that I was indeed working, and had phoned in as available, was met by a passing comment about 'there's nothing in your file,' and he went on to ask the query that had prompted the call. I had some papers with me that I'd intended to deliver to the office on Monday afternoon, and now took them there, since there seemed to be no work coming my way. As I handed them over, I enquired about that comment 'nothing in my file', and was shown a blank square on the controller's screen, where any jobs that I'd done that day would have appeared. Since I'd spent virtually all day driving home from Scotland, it was empty. It's an indicator that there's a whole new language out there that I and others will have to assimilate in the coming months!
The week then unfolded quite normally. Yesterday morning I was given a job to Holbeach, and as I drew near, I decided to call the nearest office to see if they might have something for me to run onto once I'd delivered. I was told they hadn't. Not to worry, I thought, nothing ventured ... I'd not gone more than a couple of miles on my homeward journey when a job appeared on my screen, to collect from a hospital in Boston for a destination in Skegness. It seemed simple, but rarely have I been so wrong in my assessment. I won't bore you with the detailed steps of my dealing with one problem after another, but a simple summary will suffice.
I thought I was collecting from the hospital - I wasn't; I was supposed to be meeting a delivery driver from a medical firm, who was also delivering there. I thought the job had come from the local office whom I had called earlier - it hadn't; it had come from another office, miles away, who'd spotted me in the right location. It transpired that this delivery was to a leisure park for a holidaymaker who wasn't going to arrive until today. Once again, driver support was excellent, as I waited for about an hour and a half while the details of this circumstance slowly unfolded, drip by agonising drip. Meanwhile, I was parked in the middle of a car park that was getting busier by the minute, and began to be of concern to the security guard, who had to come and ask me to move on a couple of occasions. At last, agreement was achieved, whereby the goods were lodged with the reception staff, who were none too pleased that no one had had the courtesy to forewarn them of the circumstances surrounding this particular guest and his essential needs.
I was home by tea time, calm, satisfied ... and a whole lot wiser! What revelations will next week bring?
On Monday morning, I was trundling gently up the M1 on my way to central Milton Keynes with a couple of rolls of insulation for an office block that's being refurbished. The phone rang, and I was asked if I had been allocated anything else to follow this job once I'd delivered. My negative was met by a further question, "How far would you like to go?" The throwaway reply, that my preference was north, and as far as you like, couldn't have been better suited to what came next. An hour later, I was indeed heading north, with two small parcels of books, one for Chester-le-Street, the other for Johnstone, Renfrewshire. I was delayed at the first one, but was reassured about the level of driver support available after finding no one at home. Once permission had been secured to leave the parcel with a neighbour, the search was on to find such a person. No one responded to my knock at the three houses on either side, and I could find no obvious access to the back door. Then I spotted a window in the house opposite that was open far wider than merely for ventilation, as were some of the others nearby. There had to be someone at home there! Indeed there was, and within minutes I was on my way once more.
The more distant delivery was simplicity itself, for the householder was home from work by the time I arrived. What's more, the rain had stopped - although more was clearly on its way. I defied the last tail-swish of Hurricane Bertha, and by 10.0 I'd secured a meal and a room at the truck-stop on the outskirts of Carlisle. I left at 7.0 am for an uneventful journey home, during which I may have been spotted, but without the reaction of being assigned any further activity. My office called me as I drew close, and when I explained that I would appreciate an hour or so to gather my thoughts and deal with personal 'stuff' before being available, I was invited to ring in when that might be ... which I did.
About an hour later came a call from one of the 'new' staff there. He began with an apology for disturbing me on a day when I was clearly not working. My protest that I was indeed working, and had phoned in as available, was met by a passing comment about 'there's nothing in your file,' and he went on to ask the query that had prompted the call. I had some papers with me that I'd intended to deliver to the office on Monday afternoon, and now took them there, since there seemed to be no work coming my way. As I handed them over, I enquired about that comment 'nothing in my file', and was shown a blank square on the controller's screen, where any jobs that I'd done that day would have appeared. Since I'd spent virtually all day driving home from Scotland, it was empty. It's an indicator that there's a whole new language out there that I and others will have to assimilate in the coming months!
The week then unfolded quite normally. Yesterday morning I was given a job to Holbeach, and as I drew near, I decided to call the nearest office to see if they might have something for me to run onto once I'd delivered. I was told they hadn't. Not to worry, I thought, nothing ventured ... I'd not gone more than a couple of miles on my homeward journey when a job appeared on my screen, to collect from a hospital in Boston for a destination in Skegness. It seemed simple, but rarely have I been so wrong in my assessment. I won't bore you with the detailed steps of my dealing with one problem after another, but a simple summary will suffice.
I thought I was collecting from the hospital - I wasn't; I was supposed to be meeting a delivery driver from a medical firm, who was also delivering there. I thought the job had come from the local office whom I had called earlier - it hadn't; it had come from another office, miles away, who'd spotted me in the right location. It transpired that this delivery was to a leisure park for a holidaymaker who wasn't going to arrive until today. Once again, driver support was excellent, as I waited for about an hour and a half while the details of this circumstance slowly unfolded, drip by agonising drip. Meanwhile, I was parked in the middle of a car park that was getting busier by the minute, and began to be of concern to the security guard, who had to come and ask me to move on a couple of occasions. At last, agreement was achieved, whereby the goods were lodged with the reception staff, who were none too pleased that no one had had the courtesy to forewarn them of the circumstances surrounding this particular guest and his essential needs.
I was home by tea time, calm, satisfied ... and a whole lot wiser! What revelations will next week bring?
Sunday, 26 February 2012
A 'chain' week
This week has been interesting, but a bit of a chain. Many times one job has led on to another, but there hasn't been a proper 'double' all week, i.e. two jobs going together to the same area, which is much more profitable. I won't bore you with the details, but here's a single highlight from each day.
On Monday afternoon I rescued a gas engineer who was locked out of his van in Windsor High Street. These vans have an unforgiving security feature in that, once slammed shut, the back portion can only be opened with the key, and if the key is inside at the time, e.g. in your coat pocket ... oh dear! Tuesday found me in the depths of the massive BT establishment at Martlesham Heath in Suffolk, while Wednesday began by taking a load of bread to an Essex dairy (echoes of the breakfast of a former age here!)
After a none-too-sleepful night, Thursday's excitements included a visit to Yeovil, and I needed to stop for a snooze at Andover on the way back. I was woken by a phone call, asking me to be in Bedford at 7.0 the following morning to take a small - and very light - box to a railway engineer at Brighton station. The week ended in a haze of headache and bewilderment.
During the week, I'd volunteered along with others for a Saturday evening job in connection with the new Sunday paper, but I realised in time that I was already committed to a Church Barn Dance event last night. So while my colleagues were taking hot-off-the-press newsprint to 'specific destinations', I was enjoying being told what to do by a most proficient caller. For the most part these affairs are straightforward, even if enjoyably chaotic, but inevitably there are more women than men (as expertly articulated by Joyce Grenfell) and it does get a trifle complicated when the 'man' is sporting a large bosom and wearing a dress, while her (sorry - his!) partner is in jeans!
A good time was had by all, however, and waking to another bright spring day, all I really have to complain about is the aches and pains in muscles I'd forgotten ever existed!
On Monday afternoon I rescued a gas engineer who was locked out of his van in Windsor High Street. These vans have an unforgiving security feature in that, once slammed shut, the back portion can only be opened with the key, and if the key is inside at the time, e.g. in your coat pocket ... oh dear! Tuesday found me in the depths of the massive BT establishment at Martlesham Heath in Suffolk, while Wednesday began by taking a load of bread to an Essex dairy (echoes of the breakfast of a former age here!)
After a none-too-sleepful night, Thursday's excitements included a visit to Yeovil, and I needed to stop for a snooze at Andover on the way back. I was woken by a phone call, asking me to be in Bedford at 7.0 the following morning to take a small - and very light - box to a railway engineer at Brighton station. The week ended in a haze of headache and bewilderment.
During the week, I'd volunteered along with others for a Saturday evening job in connection with the new Sunday paper, but I realised in time that I was already committed to a Church Barn Dance event last night. So while my colleagues were taking hot-off-the-press newsprint to 'specific destinations', I was enjoying being told what to do by a most proficient caller. For the most part these affairs are straightforward, even if enjoyably chaotic, but inevitably there are more women than men (as expertly articulated by Joyce Grenfell) and it does get a trifle complicated when the 'man' is sporting a large bosom and wearing a dress, while her (sorry - his!) partner is in jeans!
A good time was had by all, however, and waking to another bright spring day, all I really have to complain about is the aches and pains in muscles I'd forgotten ever existed!
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
Not all negative!
I hadn't really intended on posting a blog this evening. I just looked in to see what a couple of other people had written, if anything. One is just back to University after an exciting year away, and seems still to be finding things a bit disorienting following her return home; and the other has a cold, but is cheerful, and concerned about an allegedly innocent prisoner in the US who faces execution later today. It all seems so 'real' compared to the way I'm feeling just now, and in the guilt of that comparison I decided to put finger to keyboard myself.
This driving life is driving me mad at the moment (excuse the pun!) Last Friday I was up at 2.0 am, in order to make a delivery almost at the far end of the country (that's England, not UK!) by 7.30, and then did other work once I'd returned, a total working day of over 16 hours, with a few domestic matters to attend do afterwards. The knock-on effect of this - despite a relaxing Saturday, the focus of which was watching a football match played at the end of a pleasant journey by public transport, during the course of which I encountered a variety of interesting people - was that I still felt a little dazed on Sunday morning as I told friends at church about it all.
Yesterday fell into something of the same mould, subject only to a few hours' delay. I left home at around 5.0 am for two deliveries in the Peak District, and then after an acceptable local 'errand' in the afternoon, I found myself saying 'yes' to the offer of another job in the evening, collecting from a fairly local hospital, and delivering to a private house near Lincoln. After an essential, accident-preventing, body-chilling snooze in a lay-by, I finally got home at 1.20 am. Then - despite switching off the alarm clock, shutting the bedroom door and silencing the phone - I was up in time to be at work by just after 8.0 this morning! So ... convince me if you can that body clocks are as wonderful as people make out!
I know I'm my own worst enemy. I'd rather be on the road, adventuring, meeting people and 'doing things' than sitting at my desk completing tasks that have lain half-done for weeks ... and in one case several years! And when it comes to housework - I almost awarded myself a medal when last I caught myself wielding a duster in anger!
Today I had a relaxing day. Two nice easy deliveries in the morning, after which I took time out to make a phone call on behalf of a friend who is on holiday, and had left me a couple of bits of business - important to both of us - that needed resolving before she gets back. Soon it was time to attack a couple of those local jobs that fill the cracks of every day, and then I collected something to deliver (at a civilised hour) tomorrow morning, and was home a little earlier than normal.
Even so, I haven't been able to settle to anything. I've let the evening slip through my fingers as I flitted from one thing to another, passing over some things that are essential by the end of the week, and others of which I've forgotten the detail that I was going to look up, and now as bedtime approaches I'm feeling confused, unfulfilled, wasteful and dissatisfied.
But even as I write this, I tell myself, there are good aspects to life: I've signed the lease on my flat for another year; the landlord hasn't increased the rent; I finished today's crossword; and I didn't get a flea in my ear when I made a grovelling phone call to the surgery to apologise for missing an appointment last week. As I asked to make a new one - and promised to keep it this time - the receptionist said calmly, "don't worry - these things happen." So I'm happy to offer a silent, "yes, they do," and slope off to bed.
This driving life is driving me mad at the moment (excuse the pun!) Last Friday I was up at 2.0 am, in order to make a delivery almost at the far end of the country (that's England, not UK!) by 7.30, and then did other work once I'd returned, a total working day of over 16 hours, with a few domestic matters to attend do afterwards. The knock-on effect of this - despite a relaxing Saturday, the focus of which was watching a football match played at the end of a pleasant journey by public transport, during the course of which I encountered a variety of interesting people - was that I still felt a little dazed on Sunday morning as I told friends at church about it all.
Yesterday fell into something of the same mould, subject only to a few hours' delay. I left home at around 5.0 am for two deliveries in the Peak District, and then after an acceptable local 'errand' in the afternoon, I found myself saying 'yes' to the offer of another job in the evening, collecting from a fairly local hospital, and delivering to a private house near Lincoln. After an essential, accident-preventing, body-chilling snooze in a lay-by, I finally got home at 1.20 am. Then - despite switching off the alarm clock, shutting the bedroom door and silencing the phone - I was up in time to be at work by just after 8.0 this morning! So ... convince me if you can that body clocks are as wonderful as people make out!
I know I'm my own worst enemy. I'd rather be on the road, adventuring, meeting people and 'doing things' than sitting at my desk completing tasks that have lain half-done for weeks ... and in one case several years! And when it comes to housework - I almost awarded myself a medal when last I caught myself wielding a duster in anger!
Today I had a relaxing day. Two nice easy deliveries in the morning, after which I took time out to make a phone call on behalf of a friend who is on holiday, and had left me a couple of bits of business - important to both of us - that needed resolving before she gets back. Soon it was time to attack a couple of those local jobs that fill the cracks of every day, and then I collected something to deliver (at a civilised hour) tomorrow morning, and was home a little earlier than normal.
Even so, I haven't been able to settle to anything. I've let the evening slip through my fingers as I flitted from one thing to another, passing over some things that are essential by the end of the week, and others of which I've forgotten the detail that I was going to look up, and now as bedtime approaches I'm feeling confused, unfulfilled, wasteful and dissatisfied.
But even as I write this, I tell myself, there are good aspects to life: I've signed the lease on my flat for another year; the landlord hasn't increased the rent; I finished today's crossword; and I didn't get a flea in my ear when I made a grovelling phone call to the surgery to apologise for missing an appointment last week. As I asked to make a new one - and promised to keep it this time - the receptionist said calmly, "don't worry - these things happen." So I'm happy to offer a silent, "yes, they do," and slope off to bed.
Monday, 25 July 2011
All at sea now!
The holiday finished about a week ago, though it doesn't seem that way. I was back inside my own front door by 7.55 pm last Tuesday and, after a little frantic activity, most of what had accompanied me was either put away, looking for a home, waiting for a wash, or at least out of sight ... and mind, until the weekend!
By 8.0 the next morning, I'd been to the office, signed on for work, and collected my invoice for the week I'd worked before the holiday. Home again then, for a good sort out of the desk, so I could feel somewhere close to organised. It was as well that I did, for within a few hours work proper had started, with the second job offering something out of the ordinary. I was asked to collect 'a piece of art' from the local gallery to take it to one of the schools in the town. 'Art' to my unimaginative mind is a picture, and from the professional point of view, preferably rolled and wrapped; at worst in a large and awkward frame. This was awkward all right - it was a sculptured metal tree, about three feet tall, with spikes sticking out in all directions! How do you carry something like that?
Compensation came only minutes afterwards, when I was offered a job for delivery the next morning in Belfast. This was heavy, and - as was made clear to me when I collected it - quite expensive, but at least it was regular in shape, quite stable on its base, and didn't fight back when I strapped it securely in position in the van! As usual, the only problem with a trip to Belfast is sleep.
After a normal day, to arrive at the ferry port at midnight is tiring in the first place. Then when you get on the ferry, a 2.0 am breakfast is (just about) acceptable, but experience has told me it doesn't help you to overcome the difficulties of sharing a cabin with a noisily snoring trucker. We have to share ... I asked! The only alternative is to pay £50 for a solo cabin for yourself, which seems a trifle excessive when the shared berth is included in the ticket price. So I snooze if I can in the truckers' lounge.
I prefer to go via Dublin, because you do at least get the break of the ferry crossing to split up the long drive. It means that I can drive in daylight up the Irish M1, fill up with cheaper diesel (141.9 cents a litre instead of 139.9 pence - if you do the maths you'll find it saves about 5%), and be comparatively fresh appearing in Belfast at 8.30 am. The alternative is to drive all the way up to Stranraer, make the shorter crossing and arrive in the wee small hours, with nothing to do until businesses open ... no thanks!
I don't really mind coming home via Stranraer, because the time is my own, and allowing for the time I'd take to get back to Dublin, my eventual return home would differ but little. The killer is that awful road from Stranraer to the motorway - 100 miles of single carriageway, interrupted presently by roadworks, as well as the almost inevitable stop for a sleep in the back of the van. And by the time I get home late on the day of delivery, it's almost certain that I shall have stopped again - often I find at Wetherby, and maybe even further on as well. At least I pride myself - so far! - on not having fallen asleep at the wheel. But if I had, I might well not be writing this!
Friday was a bit more relaxing - nothing more demanding than Hastings ... and Friday's M25 queues!
By 8.0 the next morning, I'd been to the office, signed on for work, and collected my invoice for the week I'd worked before the holiday. Home again then, for a good sort out of the desk, so I could feel somewhere close to organised. It was as well that I did, for within a few hours work proper had started, with the second job offering something out of the ordinary. I was asked to collect 'a piece of art' from the local gallery to take it to one of the schools in the town. 'Art' to my unimaginative mind is a picture, and from the professional point of view, preferably rolled and wrapped; at worst in a large and awkward frame. This was awkward all right - it was a sculptured metal tree, about three feet tall, with spikes sticking out in all directions! How do you carry something like that?
Compensation came only minutes afterwards, when I was offered a job for delivery the next morning in Belfast. This was heavy, and - as was made clear to me when I collected it - quite expensive, but at least it was regular in shape, quite stable on its base, and didn't fight back when I strapped it securely in position in the van! As usual, the only problem with a trip to Belfast is sleep.
After a normal day, to arrive at the ferry port at midnight is tiring in the first place. Then when you get on the ferry, a 2.0 am breakfast is (just about) acceptable, but experience has told me it doesn't help you to overcome the difficulties of sharing a cabin with a noisily snoring trucker. We have to share ... I asked! The only alternative is to pay £50 for a solo cabin for yourself, which seems a trifle excessive when the shared berth is included in the ticket price. So I snooze if I can in the truckers' lounge.
I prefer to go via Dublin, because you do at least get the break of the ferry crossing to split up the long drive. It means that I can drive in daylight up the Irish M1, fill up with cheaper diesel (141.9 cents a litre instead of 139.9 pence - if you do the maths you'll find it saves about 5%), and be comparatively fresh appearing in Belfast at 8.30 am. The alternative is to drive all the way up to Stranraer, make the shorter crossing and arrive in the wee small hours, with nothing to do until businesses open ... no thanks!
I don't really mind coming home via Stranraer, because the time is my own, and allowing for the time I'd take to get back to Dublin, my eventual return home would differ but little. The killer is that awful road from Stranraer to the motorway - 100 miles of single carriageway, interrupted presently by roadworks, as well as the almost inevitable stop for a sleep in the back of the van. And by the time I get home late on the day of delivery, it's almost certain that I shall have stopped again - often I find at Wetherby, and maybe even further on as well. At least I pride myself - so far! - on not having fallen asleep at the wheel. But if I had, I might well not be writing this!
Friday was a bit more relaxing - nothing more demanding than Hastings ... and Friday's M25 queues!
Saturday, 21 May 2011
Dealing with night time
One of the challenges a courier driver has to face from time to time is the 'long job'. On Thursday one of my colleagues was sent to Aberdeen. When Dave arrived in the office at about 10.30 yesterday morning, having driven around 1,000 miles in the previous 24 hours, he commented about sleep. He'd arrived home around 2.0 am, but had still woken up at something like the time for a normal working day.
I've found the same thing on similar occasions. You sleep for four hours or so, and realise that you've not slept enough, but somehow the body rebels, you can't get off again, so you get up, and pick up the daily routines - even though you're well aware that you're not quite up to par. The other week I had the same experience and was blessed with a time of waiting for work during the rest of the morning, and then was sent on a nice easy job in the afternoon. To bed only just before my usual time, I slept well, and was back to normal the next day.
I read somewhere that the body only recovers about a third of the sleep it's missed in one short night, and these experiences certainly seem to bear that out. I wonder - without answer - what might be the best way of coping with the vagaries of sleep's coming and going. I fully recognise that each of us is different in our body's reactions and aptitudes, so I can only comment from my own experiences.
Why is it that, from time to time, one isn't able to stay asleep ... or indeed get to sleep in the first place? I find that - time of the morning apart - my usual problem is temperature. The body seems to have a very narrow tolerance range, and if I'm too hot or too cold, the result is either dozing intermittently before waking up again, or simply not sleeping at all, at which point the very frustration makes things much worse! A few weeks ago I found myself out late at night; the body told me it wasn't safe to continue driving, so I got into the back of the van, together with sleeping bag and blankets, only to find that the night was so cold that this intermittent dozing was all I could manage. Eventually I realised that I was just getting colder and colder, so I abandoned this unproductive cycle, and drove off again, discovering that I had achieved enough rest to be able to drive safely for a couple more hours.
You might ask, why don't I simply leave the engine running on these occasions, and let the heater keep me warm. Firstly, the heat doesn't really penetrate to the back of the van; secondly, while it is possible to sleep in the front, mine is only a small van, and to lay down to sleep, albeit a little crunched up, I need to have the handbrake off, and lay across it, and consequently I have to put the van into gear in order that it shouldn't roll away out of control. I do sleep like this sometimes, but it's not overly comfortable, and the longest I have managed that way is about 40 minutes - a refreshing doze, but not enough to provide for the journey home from the far north or west.
Most important is that we do do something about the situation, and don't keep driving despite being sleepy. We see too often the evidence of those who aren't so disciplined - and the effect on other innocent road users!
I've found the same thing on similar occasions. You sleep for four hours or so, and realise that you've not slept enough, but somehow the body rebels, you can't get off again, so you get up, and pick up the daily routines - even though you're well aware that you're not quite up to par. The other week I had the same experience and was blessed with a time of waiting for work during the rest of the morning, and then was sent on a nice easy job in the afternoon. To bed only just before my usual time, I slept well, and was back to normal the next day.
I read somewhere that the body only recovers about a third of the sleep it's missed in one short night, and these experiences certainly seem to bear that out. I wonder - without answer - what might be the best way of coping with the vagaries of sleep's coming and going. I fully recognise that each of us is different in our body's reactions and aptitudes, so I can only comment from my own experiences.
Why is it that, from time to time, one isn't able to stay asleep ... or indeed get to sleep in the first place? I find that - time of the morning apart - my usual problem is temperature. The body seems to have a very narrow tolerance range, and if I'm too hot or too cold, the result is either dozing intermittently before waking up again, or simply not sleeping at all, at which point the very frustration makes things much worse! A few weeks ago I found myself out late at night; the body told me it wasn't safe to continue driving, so I got into the back of the van, together with sleeping bag and blankets, only to find that the night was so cold that this intermittent dozing was all I could manage. Eventually I realised that I was just getting colder and colder, so I abandoned this unproductive cycle, and drove off again, discovering that I had achieved enough rest to be able to drive safely for a couple more hours.
You might ask, why don't I simply leave the engine running on these occasions, and let the heater keep me warm. Firstly, the heat doesn't really penetrate to the back of the van; secondly, while it is possible to sleep in the front, mine is only a small van, and to lay down to sleep, albeit a little crunched up, I need to have the handbrake off, and lay across it, and consequently I have to put the van into gear in order that it shouldn't roll away out of control. I do sleep like this sometimes, but it's not overly comfortable, and the longest I have managed that way is about 40 minutes - a refreshing doze, but not enough to provide for the journey home from the far north or west.
Most important is that we do do something about the situation, and don't keep driving despite being sleepy. We see too often the evidence of those who aren't so disciplined - and the effect on other innocent road users!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)