All in the Mix

It's been a busy week.  I suppose I must admit that's a lot to be thankful for in this economic climate, but from a personal point of view it can be somewhat draining.  In a week of over 2,100 miles, I've been bombarded with news bulletins both early and late, and I'd like first to get off my chest a thought that has re-echoed in my mind in response to one item.

I'd be one of the first to admit that the history of Northern Ireland is far from uncomplicated, and I was thus not surprised to learn of another intricate twist this week.  This came from one of the podcasts that I regularly listen to, RTÉ's 'History Programme' and the presenter described it as 'something that I think not many Irish people know.'  This week saw the ninetieth anniversary of the short time during which all the 32 counties of Ireland were part of the Irish Free State.  On 6th December 1922 the Anglo-Irish Treaty, signed a year before to bring to an end the War of Independence, came into effect through the Irish Free State Constitution Act.  The Act created dominion status for the whole island of Ireland, but included provision for the autonomous region of Northern Ireland to opt out of the Free State within a month of its coming into force.  This option was exercised the very next day, and a report of the King's acknowledgement appeared in The Times on 9th December.

It was thus with this anniversary in mind that I heard the news of the riots, civil unrest and death threats this week arising from the decision of Belfast City Council to fly the Union Flag from its offices, instead of every day - as has apparently been the case up to now - only on the same 'special days' during the year as the rest of the country.  Since this has been the case for as long as I can remember, I failed to see why there should be any objection to it, let alone such a violent one, in Belfast.  Cynically perhaps, my reaction to this news was along the lines of, 'After 90 years, welcome to the real UK!'

And now, climbing down from my soapbox, as it were, I'll tell you something of the week that has now struggled to an end.  Regular readers will recall that last week's cliffhanger hinted at an early start on Monday for Newcastle.  This turned out to be a long, but quite enjoyable day.  I had been asked to deliver a box of materials to the Marriott Hotel in readiness for a meeting that would take place there later in the day, and then return these to our customer in Stevenage afterwards.  I'm not at all familiar with the city, and in view of the weather I decided that this was not the time to explore.  Instead, I went armed with a variety of interests along with my small computer, and spent the day in the Hotel's lounge.  I was able to catch up on a number of outstanding items of personal admin, and was also on hand when the meeting concluded - as is often the case - an hour or so before the time I was supposed to return.  I therefore had time for a meal on the way and was home at a reasonable time.

Tuesday was delayed first by delivering the Newcastle materials, and then waiting in for a call from BT about my broadband connection, which has never been right since I parted company with Orange in the early autumn.  Finally last weekend I got around to calling their technical support people, and now I'm pleased to say the service is nearer what I was expecting.  Consequently, workwise, I did only three short jobs before collecting two small items for delivery near Chesterfield the next morning.

This expedition had been well planned and I had gone to bed in readiness for an early start; I ought instead to have been paying attention to the latest weather forecast.  As a result, I was stunned to emerge from my door to a heavy downfall of snow.  I was even more annoyed to be held up for an hour in my journey towards the motorway, not by an accident, but simply by queues of traffic trying to enter the opposite carriageway.  Little was lost by the delay, however, and I then discovered that, once they had been processed, these items would need to be brought back again to our customer, thus doubling my income from the same journey ... just as Monday's assignment had done.

Thursday started with a trip to the south coast, delivering in Portslade and Crawley, and to my surprise the afternoon brought me two jobs as well, first to Thetford, and then to a pharmacy on a housing estate on the outskirts of Lowestoft.  I had difficulty finding the depot in Thetford, as a result of copying the address from the faint copy of the paperwork on the box, in the limited light of the back of the van.  It turned out that I'd only got half of the name on my sheet - the half that didn't appear on the building!  And then, as I neared the second destination, I found myself embroiled in arrangements for yesterday's expedition.  One of my colleagues was about to leave London with two passports that had to be delivered in Scotland during Friday.  How was he to get them to me, if I was out in the further parts of Suffolk?  We hit on an arrangement with my next-door neighbour, who would be home earlier than I would, and before my colleague was due to return.  In the event this worked out quite well, allowing me time to collect these from her before settling down for another early night.

Snow-capped hills in the Borders

Unable to sleep for long, I was up soon after midnight, anxious to be on my way.  If I'm going that far, I prefer to leave during the evening, and get to my destination at the beginning of the day, but in this case that wasn't possible.  Nevertheless, after only one stop for sleep, I reached a truck-stop near Scotch Corner by breakfast time, and felt pleased with my achievement.  Compared to my journey to Aberdeen the other week, it was then pleasant to undertake the long stretch from Newcastle to the Scottish border at Coldstream in daylight.  Here I refuelled, and then enjoyed the morning sunshine passing around Edinburgh to my first delivery in Aberdour, on the Forth coast of Fife.

Then came the great bonus, which enabled me to get home last night instead of taking all night with stops, and arriving exhausted during today, as I had anticipated.  Simultaneous phone calls, one from the office to me, and the other between the two people whose passports I was carrying, resulted in my being able to leave them both at that address, since the two were planning to travel together this weekend, and would be meeting at Heathrow for the purpose.  After a lay-in this morning to recover a little, today has been almost normal, and now I can look forward to a much more energetic finish to the weekend than I'd expected.

What twists and turns will next week bring, as the holiday approaches?

Solid and all Twisted Together

With only three more weeks to go to Christmas, I feel this blog ought to be saying something profound and forward-looking.  But it you want profound and forward-looking, you should be looking at my other blog.  Here is where you read of the often-boring, inconvenient, unpredictable life of a same-day courier.  So, while 'the best is yet to come,' and 'past performance is no guide to future profits,' I'm going to look back at the week and tell it - as best as I can remember - like it was.

As my protests on Friday revealed, it's been a solid week, with little me-time, although not a lot of really profitable job combinations either.  I've started going to an early breakfast at the church on Mondays, which is good for fellowship as each of us is setting out on a new week in our chosen profession.  The gathering ranges from salesmen, advertising executives and office managers to clergymen, me-in-a-van and a couple of interested retirees, each anxious to share the problems and anxieties of the workplace, and gain some blessing on all that troubles us.  Oops ... that's dangerously profound ... sorry.

But it does fit in with what followed: read on.  Monday was a standing start, and began with something of a shock when I rang in to get onto the list for work.  Obviously the weekend controller, usually quite a placid character, had had a bad weekend.  When I announced my simple need, I was greeted with some exasperation, 'I don't know how I'm supposed to get on with any work with all these drivers ringing in.'  Another phone rang in the background.  'And there's another one.'  I politely hung up and left him to his dilemmas.  Scarcely half an hour had elapsed when the boss rang to send me to Peterborough; I was halfway home from this assignment when I was diverted to collect from Haverhill for a customer in Letchworth, and before I'd delivered that, came another call asking me to collect from another customer, just round the corner, for Redhill.  So much for 'flat Monday.'

Back from Redhill around 4.30, I was given a job for Tuesday: a repeat of the 6.0 pick-up of two Tuesdays ago, this time for Cosham and Totton (Portsmouth and Southampton by any other pair of names.)  Tuesday in turn was brought to a close with an afternoon delivery to South Woodham Ferrers, near Chelmsford,  and would I be back by 5.15 to pick up a tender for delivery the next morning at 9.0 in King's Lynn?  I just made it, and looked forward to a third consecutive early bedtime.

The return from King's Lynn was diverted just as had been Monday's from Peterborough - a repeat of that collection from Haverhill.  The interruptions multiplied in this case, though.  There was a collection to be made from a village not quite on the way - a wheelchair mis-delivered to be returned to Stevenage - and as soon as I'd delivered both of these, there was a parcel to be collected in Stevenage to go to Peterborough.  It was fairly predictable, given the recent form, that my return from Peterborough would be interrupted. 

In this case it was both diversion and delay.  I was to meet another driver in Sandy, and collect from him a box to go to King's Lynn, but there was a road closure in Sandy itself for some works to take place, so the Highways Authority, in its infinite wisdom, had decided that it would be a good idea to close one lane of the A1 at the roundabout leading to the road (which was closed off anyway) where the roadworks were taking place.  This added about half an hour to my diversion, as I seethed in an unnecessary queue for a mile down the main road.  By the time I'd collected the box and got about six miles back along the road, it became clear that there would be no one still at the factory in King's Lynn to receive it, so I was told to return home, and take it the following morning.  I had just joined the queue - again! - when another diversion sent me through Sandy, to collect from a customer there a panel to be delivered to RAF Coningsby in the morning, before heading over to King's Lynn.

If you've been counting the days, you'll have realised that we've reached Thursday, and a fourth early start.  The guardroom at Coningsby is being refurbished or something, and the facility has been transferred to a portacabin opposite the car park, and these limited facilities, coupled with my lack of an appropriate phone no. made my delivery there somewhat protracted, but even then I was back home soon after lunch, and able to do two more little jobs during the afternoon.

On Friday I had a 'lay-in' - comparatively so, at least - as I prepared to make a 7.30 collection in Hitchin.  This was going to Ringwood, and thus provided something of a repeat of the adventures of Tuesday morning.  Two local jobs completed the week, but not before I'd been given the opportunity to make a trip to Norfolk, or alternatively two deliveries in south Hertfordshire.  It was already 4.15, and my reaction was to protest that I needed at least one evening that wasn't foreshortened by either being late home or needing an early bedtime in readiness for the morrow.  Unwelcome this may have been, but it allowed me to do my shopping and washing before the day was over.

Catch-up continued yesterday morning, after a welcome lay-in (a real one this time!) and after lunch I took a planned ride to Cambridge to see my 'native' football team, Diss Town play a league match against Cambridge Regional College.  It was a pleasant change to see Diss win a game: they're not having too good a season so far.  And apart from my usual visit to church today, it's included a bit of preparation for a journey tomorrow to Newcastle-upon-Tyne ...

But that I'll carry over until next week.

Two Weeks in One, as it Were!

Monday has for long been the skinniest day of the working week.  This week was no exception, and it generated only a single job.  When I picked it up and rang in for instruction, Dave said, simply, “It’s been so quiet – go and knock it out; I’ll keep you on the list and give you something decent for the morning.”  When I was in the office later, he called me over, and asked me to be in Hertford for 7.30 to collect some printed matter for Leeds University.  Despite this, and a couple of local jobs when I’d got back, Monday’s and Tuesday’s activity together represented only a day and a half.  Wednesday and Thursday fell into a slightly better mould and, although not exciting, did at least break even. 

On Thursday afternoon I’d collected some returns from Chertsey Hospital, and once I’d taken these to our customer, I was home by 4.30 and didn’t have long to wait for instructions for the morning.  Two local jobs were allocated, ‘to get me started,’ and I relaxed for an evening doing uninspiring ‘normal, things.  An hour or so later, came a call from one of the other controllers, offering a swap for those two morning duties.  “How do you fancy a 7.30 delivery in Aberdeen instead?”  I’d only recently finished a first draft of my annual newsletter, wherein I had bemoaned the fact that the number of ‘long jobs’ this year had plummeted, so how could I refuse?  Within only a few minutes I was on my way to Welham Green to collect a parcel of pharmaceuticals for delivery to Aberdeen Royal Infirmary or, as I quickly discovered, Foresterhill Medical Campus, as it’s now less romantically known.

The drive through the night followed the expected pattern.  I stopped just past Peterborough for a meal, and then drove steadily onwards, through heavy rain and vehicle spray until well into Yorkshire.  I was well aware that I’d had no sleep since the morning, and was vigilant for the first signs of drowsiness, but concentration to cope with the road conditions helped to stave these off, and I didn’t need to stop until after I’d left the A1 near Morpeth.  Although not terrifically cold, it wasn’t warm enough to stay asleep for long, and just on midnight I crossed the border and passed down the deserted main street of Coldstream, a place I remembered fondly from my Borders holiday of two years ago.

In fine weather, I passed along vaguely-recalled roads up to the Edinburgh City By-pass, and on to the Forth Bridge.  Then, from Dunfermline, SatNav led me along new routes.  I was taken to Glenrothes and through the kingdom of Fife to cross by the Tay Bridge into Dundee.  That last long stretch of the journey along the A90 is punctuated by the names of teams in the Scottish Football league, Forfar, Arbroath, Brechin and Montrose, and it has few filling stations, but many lay-bys, and in one of these I made my final snooze-stop before finally arriving in Aberdeen around 6.30.

With the delivery made, I set out in daylight for home, taking the more familiar route past Stirling services, and thence remarkably quickly to Glasgow and the M74.  More stops were required for fuel, and a couple more essential short sleeps, and the day was gone all too soon.  I finally returned home at around 8.30pm, some 27 hours after setting out, and with 2 miles short of a thousand more on the clock.

The weekend is a story of itself.  I had already booked a ticket for a concert in Ipswich, and decided to do some research at the record office in Bury St Edmunds ‘on the way past’.  I arrived in Bury at around 11.0, to find the place heaving because of a Christmas Market.  I usually use the council staff car park, since it’s turned over to the public on Saturdays and is right opposite the record office.  Along with the rest of the town, it seems, it was full.  However, a thoughtful attendant, sharing my frustration, pointed out a patch of grass at the front of the building behind an advertising board, where I could leave the van in safety.

It was a good day exploring the registers of the parish of Norton, Suffolk, but before long I came to that inevitable point where one hopes that the next page doesn’t contain any entries to record, because it’s just too much bother.  At this point, it’s time to go, and I made my way to a Little Chef for a light meal before the concert.  As I came away, I discovered that, although I’d turned them on, I had no headlights!   Fortunately, I was armed with both my AA membership card and my mobile, so well within an hour help was at hand.  Although the problem was only a blown bulb, its fellow having ceased to work temporarily in sympathy, it was by then too late to make the start of the concert, and I turned for home.  I wasn’t too disappointed for, if truth be told, I was still somewhat groggy from the rigours of a sleepless night on Thursday.

And today was no less exciting, albeit for totally different reasons.  I knew that there was to be a minor ceremony this morning, to commission the team of which I’m privileged to be a member, who either lead prayers publicly in our worship, or are available afterwards for personal prayer with individuals who have particular needs or concerns. 

I add to this, first, two recent discoveries about ladies who figured in my Norfolk past.  Maggie was a Reader in Diss when I left Norfolk and is now a priest; she featured in the local paper a couple of weeks ago, about to take her first wedding service.  Sue, at that time a successful high school teacher, was the leader of the home group I attended in the 70’s and 80’s.  She too became a Reader a few years ago, and this week I learned that she is now Curate in a group of eight parishes, including the four where I had served as a Reader myself.

I sat, as so often is the case, eating  my breakfast in front of the computer screen this morning, when Twitter announced that one of my online friends was so unwell that she couldn’t decide whether to go to church or not.  Since she is a minister’s wife, I realised what a dilemma this was for her, and therefore how rough she must be feeling.  I sent off a sympathetic response and, as I prepared myself to leave, found myself praying for her.

Before long, I sat in church telling a friend about the excitements of the week just past.  Then one of the officials approached me quietly and explained that the lady who was to lead the prayers in the service that was about to begin ... hadn’t turned up!  He wondered whether I would be prepared to step into the breach.  I gulped but, as the thoughts I’ve outlined above chased each other through my mind, I realised that I had only one response.  I’m not sure how many were aware of the short notice I’d had, or whether it was simply my imagination, but it seemed to me that the whole church was far more silent and responsive than usual at that moment.

An Unusual Post

In addition to an account of some of the more interesting and amusing aspects of the courier life, part of the raison d'être of this blog is to reveal some of the thoughts that also fill my life.  So, after the 'Unusual Week' already described here, I'd like to outline a couple of these from the week just finished. 

In the calm of a post-lay-in Saturday morning, I pondered the week's news from Israel, and found myself thinking about peace - what it means, and what prevents it.

Someone once said that true peace is far more than the absence of war, and it's my contention that the present situation in the middle east is the proof of that statement.  As I see it, the problems stretch back almost a hundred years to the end of the First World War when, with the Central Powers defeated, the world leaders had to decide how to deal with their lands.  While the Versailles Conference dealt with the fates of Germany and Austria-Hungary, the partition of the Ottoman Empire had been largely pre-determined during the war by a series of agreements, mainly involving Britain and France.  The empire was divided into a number of 'chunks' bounded by many straight lines drawn on the map.  It seems that little cognisance was taken of the many nations living there, and the areas in which they lived, such as the Kurds, whose homelands are famously spread across eastern Turkey, northern Iraq and into Iran.  Some parts, like Saudi Arabia, were given independence, while others like Syria and Palestine were occupied and governed under mandate from the League of Nations.

At this point I must stop the 'history lesson', for it's far more complicated than this brief note either can cover, or needs do to make my point.  Rather bizarrely, I compared peace to a chair placed on a carpet.  When sat on, the chair teetered from corner to corner, because the carpet had not been laid on the floor, but on the rubbish that had gathered on the floor before the need for carpet and chair had been determined.  How is this situation to be corrected?  One solution would be to remove the chair and, taking some offcuts of carpet, build up the corner that was too low, so that the chair could be replaced a little more evenly.  Perhaps a better solution would be to remove both chair and carpet, and even the surface of the rubbish before replacing them.

Common sense tells us that the 'proper' solution would be to clear the rubbish out of the way completely and place both carpet and chair on the floor.  However, removing the rubbish reveals a dirt floor that is itself uneven ... and so the analogy goes on.  The underlying question is, 'how far can a problem be stripped back to find and resolve the fundamental difficulty?'  While I'm sure you can see the parallels here with the successors to the Ottoman Empire, equally, I'm sure you would agree that the solution is far from simple.  Indeed, to peel back a century of history, like the carpet, and even out the floor, would be completely impossible - and I for one have no answers to this enigma.

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So I wondered about peace.  The other thing I want to share with you is a complete contrast, and I'll begin with a story, which you may have heard before.  It concerns a priest who was very fond of golf.  One sunny Sunday morning, Fr Ryan decided that it was such a lovely day he'd rather play golf than take Mass.  So he phoned a fellow priest, pleaded sickness, arranged for the other priest to take the service, and set off for the golf course.  As he teed up for the second hole, he was spotted from heaven by an alert angel, who reported him to St Peter.

'You'll never guess - I've just spotted Fr Ryan out on the golf course; didn't he call in sick?  What should we do about this?'

St Peter had the answer.  'Leave it to me,' he said.

On the fifth, Fr Ryan astounded himself and scored a hole in one.  The angel was puzzled, and said to St Peter, 'I thought you were going to sort Fr Ryan out.  He's just scored a hole in one!'  Wisdom was revealed in St Peter's reply.

'So, he'll be cock-a-hoop, but ... who's he going to tell?  That'll really pain him!'

And what has this story to do with a courier who has never touched a golf club in his life, and isn't likely to?  Simply this.  I enjoyed a very satisfying Twitter exchange on Friday morning (before being sent to Halesworth), but I can't tell my friends about it, because none of them speaks Welsh  - not that I do either, beyond a very few words.  So I'll get it off my chest by telling you, dear reader.

One of the many broadcasters that I follow on Twitter is the lady who does the morning travel reports on Radio 2, Lynn Bowles ... whom I know to be Welsh.  She had tweeted that, strangely, most of the people she had spoken to that morning were named Bob.  I decided to join in the conversation with the single comment, 'Bob dydd!'  and to my amazement I received a reply - proving, to my mind at least, that broadcasters are human after all - Lynn replied, 'Nice one, Brian.'

(For the benefit of non-Welsh-speaking readers, perhaps I should explain that 'bob dydd' means simply 'good day'.)

Here's hoping for a more normal week next week!

An Unusual Week!

This week has been very strange - not only in the doing but in the recollection of it.  For instance, in conversation this morning the name Halesworth came up, and I commented that I was there only last Tuesday, making a delivery.  I now find that it was actually Friday morning!  It's been a strange week because of a number of unexpected twists and turns, which I'll summarise briefly before moving on.

Monday found me being sent to Essex.  I was called at 8.30 to collect from a customer in Sandy and take to West Thurrock.  When I rang in to ask if there was anything else to go that way, I was told no, but there would be a collection nearby ... at 3.0pm!  Bemused, I set off, and discovered that I was to deliver to a Regional Distribution Centre  (at my age, RDC has a historic local administration meaning!)  These places usually deal with articulated lorries rather than small vans, and when I'd waited my turn, parked my van as directed and reported to the office, I learned that, as a small van, I could have unloaded myself in a more appropriate place an hour ago!  Off then for my collection - some upholstered blocks from a place I'd been to a number of times, where I arrived soon after midday ... and discovered that they were ready already!

Afterwards I was sent to Stevenage to collect for Birmingham, only to be called back half way there when the job got cancelled.  Instead, I was added to a mixed contingent of nearly a dozen small and large vans to collect in Potters Bar at 6.0 the next morning.  I was given deliveries in Uckfield, Bexhill and Totton, which I finished as requested by midday.  I thought that would be Tuesday done and dusted, but not so - upon my return I was soon off again, this time to Leighton Buzzard and Telford.  I eventually found the destination in Telford around 7.0, discovered the gate to be locked, although there were many cars on the car park and several lights on.  As I explored, I was accosted by a voice from an intercom, and eventually gained access, only to be confronted by two standard contract security officers, who won't accept anything they're not expecting, despite a genuine and recognised member of staff being named on the paperwork.  Eventually they contacted the consignee - by then snugly at home in Wales - who phoned a colleague, still at work two floors above, to come down and sign for the goods.  After a meal on the way home, I was eventually into bed about midnight!

After that, Wednesday was a comfortable one-job day, and I collected in the afternoon for an 8.0 delivery on Thursday at a factory in Leicestershire, which ensured a nice truck-stop breakfast on the way home, and only local jobs afterwards.

On Friday I was sent to Halesworth as noted above, and when I was nearly back got diverted to collect in Bedford for a firm in Letchworth.  It was then about 2.0pm, and both the van and I needed refueling!  I then collected something a colleague had picked up in Stevenage, for Swavesey near Cambridge, and thence to St Ives for some export packages to go to DHL in Hayes, Middx.  That would have rounded off the week nicely, but there was yet another twist in the tail, whereby I was diverted to Dunstable to collect three envelopes, which took me to executive dwellings in Beaconsfield, Henley on Thames (both of which I'd been to before) and lastly to a village in Oxfordshire.  Here all the houses have names rather than numbers, and try as I might - even after enquiries in the local pub - the one I sought was not to be found, so after the necessary phone calls I brought the offending envelope back whence it came, and was home for a second time in the week, at around 11.30pm.

- and for tidiness' sake, after such a long 'summary', I'll add what was to have followed in a separate post here.

Back to the Country

It's not everyone's cup of tea but, for me, one of the nice things about this life on four wheels is the freedom of the countryside.  This week has been a good example, taking me to two places I'd never heard of, and to another that I visit only rarely, and that on the way to somewhere else.

After two days of unexciting routine, an early start led me to the village of Moreton-on-Lugg on Wednesday morning, where I was supposed to collect a small piece of machinery that was wanted urgently by our client in Stevenage.  And where is Moreton-on-Lugg? I hear my reader asking - just a little way up the A49 from Hereford.  Once I'd found the particular building, in a factory complex that half-filled a former airfield, I discovered the little chap, strapped to a pallet and all ready to be lifted into my van ... and there was a burger van just down the road for breakfast!

On Thursday afternoon, I took a metre-length of brass rod to a factory right next to the railway line at Overton, in north Hampshire.  Built on a slope, its front door bore an unusual notice - "All deliveries to be made downstairs at the back door."  Unexpected, but straightforward, and with a lovely view over the fields.

Yesterday was a busy day, more like the Fridays of yore.  I was out at 8.45, for a succession of local jobs that fell upon each other, adding wisdom to my decision to switch my computer off rather than leave in on stand-by as I do sometimes when going 'local'.  Then, about lunch time I set off on two 'proper' jobs, one of which carried a story that merits a blog to itself.  The first delivery was to High Wycombe, and I then set forth for Little Kimble, where I was to deliver a small roll of material for the print industry.

Now, Little Kimble is on the far side of Aylesbury (if I were coming from home) but attacking it, as I did yesterday, from High Wycombe it's before Aylesbury.  I don't think I've ever gone to it, and only pass through it if I'm going to one of those places in south Oxfordshire like Didcot, Abingdon or Wallingford, that aren't more easily reached by using a motorway.

I first discovered it when I had a girl-friend who lived in Didcot, back in the days when I was in Norfolk, and not so motorway-aware as I am now.  The only way to get to or from hers was, in my mind, the nearest I could find on the map to a straight line (no wonder the journey took me several hours!)  This led me through Luton, Dunstable, Aston Clinton, Prince's Risborough and Chinnor ... and on the way would come Little Kimble.  Not that I knew its name then - it was just the place where my route zig-zagged under a railway bridge.

So there I was yesterday afternoon, looking for an address, 'Crossways, Little Kimble'.  SatNav took me to the 'homeward' side of that railway bridge, to a small lane that led only to a few cottages; nothing that looked remotely like a printing works.  I turned tail and looked around.  I passed through the bridge, and tried the road that seemed more in the direction of the village than away from it.  As I did so, I spotted a spritely lady of late middle age, making her way towards me on the opposite side of the road.  As she approached, I wound down my window and asked if the firm's name or the address meant anything to her.  They didn't, so I carried on, found myself unproductively passing a few more cottages and at the end of the road - appropriately I thought - the undertaker's!

I turned around and, as I made my way back to that now famous railway bridge, I saw my erstwhile friend coming back.  I prepared to make a gesture indicating 'no luck', but before I could do so, she flagged me down.  She explained that she'd only gone just beyond the bridge to the pillar box, and noticed that the name on the cottage gate just before it was 'Crossways'.  It was worth a try.  I thanked her profusely and back the way I'd come.  Sure enough, on a gate so shabby and overgrown as to be unnoticeable to the casual passer-by, was the name I sought.  I parked by the roadside and approached it.  On the door of the cottage I found an even more encouraging note.  'Deliveries to the back, down the lane.' 

A short way down the lane, I found a gate and walked in, about to go to the rear of the cottage.  As I did so, I passed the door of a small, purpose built structure housing the very business I'd been looking for.  I entered confidently, presented my package, and amused the occupant with my story of how I'd found him.  He was not only impressed by the tale, but also by the apparent speed with which his delivery had been made.  Exchanges like this can be added to the list of good things about the courier life.

And today?  No football this week.  Instead, it's been the bellringers' annual autumn outing, with which I shall not bore my readers.  Suffice to say that, after a day's driving on country lanes, interspersed by several bouts of unaccustomed physical exercise and a pub lunch, energy levels are sadly depleted, and bed will provide welcome relief!

Oddly Productive

It's definitely been an odd week but, I have to confess, a productive one.  A lot of time, quite a bit of thought and, I admit, even the occasional dream over the last two or three weeks has been devoted to something called GenoPro.  This is a genealogy program that has been lurking on my computer virtually unused, for a number of years.  One of the reasons it has remained unused is because I'd never really taken the trouble to find out just what it is capable of.

Now I have examined it more closely than ever before I can see that, quite apart from the obvious capability of producing family tree 'pictures' (which was the reason I got it in the first place), the latest version is able to build them up in family groups and link them together one by one, so that hundreds of characters can be detailed in just one computer file, and displayed on up to a thousand separate pages.  While it isn't my plan to swap my existing database for this program, I've been working my way through my records making sure that I have entered the basic information for each person I've researched in my family tree.  It's been a revealing exercise in the vagaries of personal discipline, as key data readily available is now revealed as being missing in countless examples - more work for the dark winter evenings!

Alongside this, of course, there has been work to distract me.  Having said that, though, this has been statistically one of the most straightforward weeks I've known.  It's a reflection of the partial nature of the nation's recovery from recession that in three of the last five weeks there has been one day in which I've done no work at all.  This week it was Monday, which enabled me to carry on quite freely with the family history stuff I've noted above.  No work at all, that is, until about 3.30pm, when I was sent to Stevenage to load up lots of heavy boxes of printed matter for a conference that took place in Glasgow later in the week.

Tuesday was therefore a long day, made longer by my inability to sleep.  I woke for the second time at 2.30 and decided that, rather than try once more to resume my slumbers, I might as well dress and get under way.  As a result, my plans for breakfast were adjusted, and I stopped at the Nightowl truck-stop outside Carlisle instead of Markham Moor as I'd originally intended.  Arriving in the narrow street next to the office where I was supposed to deliver, I had to wait for a truck that was blocking the road making a delivery before I could drive round the final corner.  While I did so, a phone call from my office passed on a request for me to take some of the boxes on board to the exhibition centre first.  The overall effect of this delay was that it was an hour later that I finally got away from the city centre, and could enjoy the freedom of an unhurried journey home.

A few months ago I began listening to the weekly podcasts produced by the church at Kirkmuirhill, not far from the M74, midway between Glasgow and Carlisle, and I'd resolved that next time I was passing I would go and take a look at the village for myself.  Despite the fact that the weather wasn't ideal, I did so, but the picture I took was but a pale imitation of the one on their website. 

The rest of the week was uninspiring.  The calendar month finished with a journey to an insurance office in Norwich, delayed by a diversion to the hospital in King's Lynn, and Thursday found me sampling the delights of Hampshire with deliveries in Romsey and Southampton. 

By Friday, I was quite ready for a lazy day, and a journey to one of the farthest corners of Oxfordshire suited my mood nicely.  Whether it was fatigue I couldn't say, but even the normal hitches and frustrations didn't seem to bother me.  First of all it took me quite a while driving up and down the busy High Street of Ware to find the collection point.  Then, to my surprise SatNav asked if I wanted to use a toll road in my journey - an offer for which I could see no justification, so I ignored it.  As I drove along, listening to the radio, it occurred to me that this 'fastest route' that I was following seemed to include a lot of little-used country lanes.  My delivery made, I set course for home and again was offered a route using a toll road.  This time I decided to sample this delight, and very soon found that I had to pay 40p to cross the Thames at Pangbourne.  Soon afterwards I was on the motorway, all thoughts of slow back-lanes far behind me, and the weekend to which to look forward.

Today, though busy, has been relaxing, with a breakfast event to start, followed by a discussion on the theme of 'friendship' and, after shopping, getting the van cleaned and the tyres and tracking checked, I was off to watch a football match.  This week I decided to visit a local team playing in the United Counties League, and watched Potton United lose 3-1 to Oadby Town, despite the visitors' goalkeeper being sent off after only a quarter of an hour!  With so many events clamouring for attention on Saturdays this was my first match since the end of September, but I do intend to watch an FA Vase tie in two weeks' time.  More news here as it happens!