Electric Shocks this Week

Unusually, I'm starting and ending this post with quotations.

"There are two ways of seeing the world.  The first is to travel.  The second is to stand still, having so organised your life that you have time 'to stand and stare'.  I suspect that this latter is the more thorough way; but you need to be something of a saint, mystic or philosopher to be able to command the necessary patience and humility."

I found this in a book I was reading on Wednesday afternoon.  It's from an article called 'Standing by the Gate', one of a collection by Richard Church, published under the title 'A Country Window' way back in 1958.  No one would disagree, I'm sure, that life is lived at a much faster pace nearly sixty years later!

Now, I'm no saint or mystic, nor a philosopher in any accepted sense of the word, although I do sometimes find myself reflecting about life and its meaning.  One thing, though, that I'm beginning to learn from this present semi-retired status, is that there can be times when it is quite permissible to do almost nothing: in Mr Church's words, 'to stand and stare'.  In this case, the occasion was prompted, albeit accidentally, by nothing more significant than a couple of screws.  I will explain.

A few weeks ago, I had just plugged in the electric hook-up to my motor-home, ready to do a little job that needed power inside the vehicle.  Before leaving it for a while, I decided to tidy the lead neatly underneath, rather than leave it untidily across the lawn.  As I did so, my arm happened to nudge part of the trim beside the rear wheel-arch, revealing that this was loose.  Closer inspection showed that, at some time in the past, it had been knocked, and what should have been a firm joint was in fact quite loose.  It was nothing really serious, but I felt it ought to be attended to and, since the motorhome is still within its warranty, I made the journey back to its supplier for the purpose.  However satisfying, however much it might boost my confidence, a 40-mile round trip seemed a bit over-the-top just to have two small screws expertly fitted.  I decided, therefore to make a day of it, and visit nearby Grafham Water as well.

A gull stands bravely
before the threatening waves

The day wasn't ideal.  There was rain from time to time between the sunny intervals, and the wind ... well, that's best not spoken of!  I have to admit that the power of the waves on what is, after all, just a small inland lake, was certainly humbling. Apart from a brief stroll by the waterside, I contented myself with typing and reading and eating my picnic snugly inside the saloon.  It was interesting just to watch the birds trying to make headway against the air currents, or finding scraps to eat on the side of the dam in the face of quite a strong tidal wash.  It wasn't until I got home again, and prepared to go out in the evening, that I realised just how relaxed and satisfied I was feeling ... in an ideal frame of mind, in fact, to take part in a Bible study group.

Then came election day.  I was so taken by the sunshine to which I awoke, that I decided to walk round to the polling station before breakfast.  It took no more than twenty minutes, but it set me up for a day poring over figures at the desk, setting up my accounts for the new financial year, and wondering - but no more, at this stage - about my tax return.

Yesterday, by contrast, seemed a non-day.  Like many, I suspect, I was overcome by curiosity when I awoke during the night, and couldn't resist switching on the computer to learn of some of the early results.  I returned to bed around 4.15 am, thinking no more than 'oh, the nationalists are doing well', only to return to wakefulness a few hours later to discover the full extent to which post-election shock-waves had hit.  I confess to - as I described it to one of my fellow bell-ringers in the evening - 'wasting the day' working on a spreadsheet to explore the possibilities of re-arranging the results of the constituencies nearest me in some form of Proportional Representation.

Yes, bell-ringing on a Friday!  Being 8th May, we were ringing to celebrate the seventieth anniversary of the end of the european war, and Mr. Churchill's radio broadcast at 3.0 pm that day, during which he announced that, 'Hostilities will end officially at one minute after midnight tonight, but in the interests of saving lives the "Cease fire" began yesterday to be sounded all along the front, and our dear Channel Islands are also to be freed today.'  

Pluses and Minuses - the Arithmetic of Life

It seems that there are pluses and minuses, ups and downs, to every part of life ... certainly that's true of being taken over by a nationwide company. Nowadays we're far more likely to get 'back-loads' (another job that will pay all or part of the cost of returning from a distant destination) than we were under the 'ancien régime'.  On the other hand, whereas we used to get paid from base, wherever we collected the goods, now we only get paid from collection to delivery, wherever our base might be.  Because we often get another job while still on the way back from the previous one, much less time is spent at the office, and consequently there is much less interaction with other drivers.  Some people find this distressing, to the extent that they have left; since I have been working from home for some while, this doesn't bother me at all, although I do wonder whether this will be allowed to continue when we are fully and finally under the jackboot of the new methodology.

Some of these factors figured in this week's to-ings and fro-ings.  Take Monday for example.  I collected a single very fragile item in Letchworth at 9.0am to be taken to the university in Nottingham.  It seemed fairly unlikely that I would get anything very productive after an immediate return, so I rang the office there, and gambled half an hour waiting to see if anything might come from them.  Meanwhile I listened to a podcast while parked in a sunny side street and ate my lunch.  I'd just given up and begun to make my way out of the city, when the call came.  A pick-up not three miles away, to be taken to Cambridge ... and there was another job - albeit fairly local - afterwards as well, so the week was off to a good start.

Good start it might have been, but it went gradually downhill after that.  So much so that, at the end of the week, the average length of all 23 jobs was only 27 miles!  I continue to be amazed at the way my mood swings from buoyancy to despondency according to the demands upon my time.  On a day when I leave with one job early in the morning and enjoy a succession of others non-stop through the day, I feel good, even if tired, at the end of it. Contrariwise, if I return from such an early job, to sit at my desk for two or three hours in anticipation of a further call, I can feel quite unwanted. Sometimes a day might consist of half a dozen jobs totalling perhaps 200 or 250 miles, but with obvious gaps between them; at the end of such a day I often feel as if I'm being used as the 'odd-job' man, although I've never decided whether this is simply the 'roll of the dice', or the result of an imagined conspiracy because of my semi-retired status.  That said, it only takes one 'good' (i.e. 100-mile-or-so) job, or maybe two half-decent ones together, to snap me out of the black mood again.

This week had just such a finish, as yesterday began with the exciting challenge of taking a couple of items to a destination in Swindon, to make a 7.30 booking-in time.  On this occasion, there was a cheerful welcome to my call to the local office after I'd delivered, but no resulting work, so I came back home empty.  The day continued, however, with another four jobs, before I finally took my boots off at 5.50 pm, feeling quite satisfied.

I must add that there are frequently little snippets of what some would call serendipity.  The week had a couple of those, too.  On Tuesday evening, I opened an e-mail to find an invitation to follow a free on-line tutorial - allegedly worth £81 - and found myself absorbed for a couple of hours learning about an intricate aspect of spreadsheet analysis.  Whether I'll ever need to use it is a totally separate matter!

Then, as I waited yesterday at the door of a print works in Letchworth, the afternoon breeze brought to my nose the smell of one of the chemicals being used in their processes.  They say this is the most powerful of the senses; I was instantly transported through almost sixty years to the days when, over the course of a number of weeks, a gang of white-overalled men would work their way along the street where I lived, repainting all the doors and windows, first with undercoat, and then with the gloss.  It was always exciting to find out what colour our front door was going to be after their visit.  What I smelled yesterday was the very same as that gloss paint ... although I'm sure it wasn't paint at all that was being used!

Now I'm looking forward to the bank holiday and being 'retired' for the rest of the week.  I wonder how 'useful' I'll feel on the following Monday morning!

Friday Night and Saturday Morning

It's been quite an exhausting week.  With four early mornings, three late nights, two of them following a continuous day on the road, and one night tormented by some kind of allergy - I notice the rape is in flower - I was glad yesterday evening to settle down briefly at Beaconsfield Services.  After eating my Carvery Express (the healthier alternative to KFC, only marginally more expensive, and far less messy on the fingers!), I cradled my coffee and examined the world as it bustled to and fro all around me.

There's one in every week, and I've lost count of the times I've noticed something intangibly 'special' about them.  At last I've grasped the nettle of trying to set down in words that special whatever-it-is about Friday afternoons.  I use that term with some elasticity, of course, because there is great variety in the times at which people leave off ... something I regularly have to take note of if I want to make a successful delivery!  But whether it's lunchtime, or 3.30, 6.0 or - as in my case yesterday - 9.35, that point of stopping work at the end of the week has a special quality.  It has the power to make the transition, in the words of the ubiquitous Mars Bar advert, from the world of work to the world of rest-and-play.

I grew up in a world where, to my young eye, there seemed to be little distinction between these three phases of life for the working man.  After 'proper work' was over more jobs could easily be found at home.  The garden would need attention, or something had to be done in the shed; there was coal to be brought in for the fire, or wood to chop.  With luck there might be an hour or so to look through the newspaper, or watch TV, but it was likely that this pleasure would be overtaken by sleep in the armchair.

And then came the end of the week.  In my father's case it was Saturday lunchtime, for the normal working week of forty-eight hours couldn't be fitted into five days.  I well remember the glow that seemed to fill the house once lunch - on the table immediately upon his homecoming ... just like the evening meal during the week - had been eaten.  At the age of about eight or nine, I would follow him to the bathroom and watch the progress of the weekly shave, marvelling that he could wield that razor (with its blade that I was expressly told not to touch because it was so sharp) up and down his throat with such carefree abandon.  Now, many years later, I make just the same moves with the same nonchalance.

I was looking forward to my weekly walk with him into the town, perhaps to stand on the market place while he chatted to some friend or other, maybe to make some small purchase from one of the shops, but almost inevitably to finish up at the football ground, where I was infused with an interest that had stayed latent until about four or five years ago when I suddenly felt a Saturday 'tickle' to rekindle it again.  If we happened to arrive after half-time we could get in free, because the man at the ticket stall would have shut his window.  Otherwise I think it was 6d for adults and 3d for children.  I was more interested to see who else was there that I might know than to watch the game, but there was a feeling of excitement nonetheless, and the homeward journey would always be paused at the market stall to buy some chips to take home for tea.

Diss Town played in the Norfolk & Suffolk League in those days; for the the bigger and better teams there was the Eastern Counties League, and for the smaller ones the East Anglian League.  After I ceased to be interested in the world of football, the two smaller of these leagues merged to become the Anglian Combination of today, with its many divisions and reserve divisions, of which only the premier division figures at step 7 in the national pyramid.  Diss by then had moved up to the Eastern Counties League, where now they seem to flit between the premier and first divisions.

When I moved into the world of work, I began to see a different format to Friday afternoons, but all with that same 'glow'.  Wherever I've worked, there has been a particular atmosphere that surrounds people leaving behind their workplace behind them.  I carry with me an image - partly real, partly an imagined stereotype - of men and women, young and old, streaming from a factory gate to rows of back-to-back houses, or walking in ones and twos down a country lane to a solitary row of cottages or post-First World War 'homes for heroes', each one looking forward to time with their family or friends, and to whatever the weekend holds, be it routine or special.

For a lot of my time I've been fortunate to work where or when the economy was strong, and there seem always to have been calls for people willing to work overtime on Saturdays.  As an office-worker, I was rarely called to do so myself, but sometimes it was nice to go in at the weekend to catch up on something, and on such occasions the feel of the place was totally different. At one factory, I would often see on a Monday morning that men from last week's evening shift, working normally from 2.0 till 10.0, sometimes with overtime each night until midnight Monday to Thursday, had left off at 10.0 on Friday only to arrived again at 7.0 on the Saturday morning for another five or six hours.  I was filled with a mixture of admiration for their stamina, and sheer wonder at their home life.  Looking back now, though, I realise that, with small children preventing their wives from taking up paid employment, the extra hours, along with the shift work itself, would have made such a difference to a young family.

In the history of mankind, the weekend has occupied only a tiny place; but for those of us who have enjoyed the privilege of this break from constant work for an employer or at a business, it has become precious.  It feels an unalienable right, and I think it does us good from time to time to reflect on what a great benefit it represents in the lives of us all.

A Gold Week, Day by Day

The biggest contrast between 'working' and 'retired' weeks for me seems to be the fact that things on my desk get started but not finished ... like the references I gathered for something last weekend, that have sat there since Sunday afternoon, gathering dust and making me feel slightly guilty every morning.  One afternoon I was home by 3.30, with no call on my time in the evening, and I felt uneasy about spending six hours or so working on a spreadsheet to understand the history of some investments I started when still in employment many years ago.  This was as a result of something that had come in the post that morning, and I felt it was distracting me from the work I'd left unfinished at the weekend.  Had this been a 'retired' week, there would have been no problem; but it's one I've made for myself, so I shouldn't grumble.

Perhaps this tension is also partially due to this week - the first of the new financial year for me - being what I term a 'gold' week, i.e. when both the actual turnover and the profitability of each mile driven have been above budget, and at the same time the total of miles driven has been below the budgetted figure.  It involved four early starts (pre-7.30), however, and on only one day was I home before 6.0pm (as noted above).

After the men's breakfast at church on Monday, the week got under way quite slowly.  It was, of course, a standing start, so I wasn't surprised not to be called until noon.  I then did just the one job, to Halesowen, and returned in time to have dinner and then go off to a crowded ringing practice.  I think word is getting around what a good teacher our tower-captain is (although he's now in his eighties!)  There was no after-ringing half-pint for me, though; I had to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to collect some air conditioning equipment in Welwyn Garden City at 7.30 next morning. These went to Suffolk, and then came an urgent delivery of computer parts to a technology complex in Birmingham.  Two days down; three to go before a none-too-restful weekend.

Wednesday found me heading early for Sussex, where I collected some flooring, and then over to Pirbright near Guilford, for a machine door.  After a brief rest, I was called to take some drugs across to the hospital in Luton, but even then the day wasn't over, because I was sent to Biggleswade to collect some items for a Mothercare distribution centre beside the M1 the following morning.  As usual, I didn't know exactly what I was collecting; after tracking it down, the man told me to make sure I wasn't overweight with these three cartons that he carried in one large hand.  His smile was almost as big as the cartons!

Thursday, though eventful, was a pleasant morning.  Having made my delivery on time at 7.15, and enjoyed an exchange with the Polish girl there over the pronuncuation of her name, my thoughts turned to food, and I repeated a sequence of some months ago, when I'd remembered a BP garage just off junction 22 of the motorway.  In fact, there are three BP's quite close together, but none of them has a Wild Bean Cafe, where I could get my prefered breakfast.  Step by step, I recalled my former experience, and carried on for a few miles to a roadside cafe.  The condition of this place justifies its potentially pretentious title, 'Diane's Food Emporium', for the surfaces were not only clean but had recently been renovated, and the wall of the kitchen area proudly displayed the foor hygiene certificates of both mother and daughter who run the operation between them.  I expressed my anxiety that such an attractive place boasted no customers, until I'd walked in, but was reassured that there would be a steady stream once the day got under way.  I was, after all, quite early (it was scarcely 8.0).  Having obtained sustenance, and made a donation to a local charity, CBTRC, I continued my journey, aiming for a 9.0 collection in Nottingham.

This wasn't to be, however.  A mile up the road I joined a very slow-moving queue, waiting to leave the motorway at the next junction.  I think there had been an accident, but the matrices were giving no details, simply saying that the road was closed.  I found my way through local roads to rejoin the motorway further along, and eventually made my collection about 10.30! After a local delivery following my return, the day ended with the six-hour spreadsheet noted above.

Yesterday was one of those 'start and go on until it's done' days.  I left home about 7.15, in order to beat the traffic and collect some printed matter in Welwyn Garden City at 8.0, but I forgot that Friday's traffic is usually lighter - I've never worked out why; I'm just thankful that it's so! - and by 8.0 I was on already my way to take this to Bicester.  Then I was directed to a pick-up from a hospital in Oxford for a customer in Letchworth, and on the way came the challenge of getting two washing machines into the van beside these eight items, to be taken to a building site on the outskirts of Norwich. Before I'd reached Letchworth, I had already received instructions to make another collection, this time just round the corner from delivering the hospital stuff.  This was a bundle of steel bars to be taken to a small complex in March.

I had already protested my anxiety that by the time I got there, the workers on the building site would have packed up for the weekend, and when I arrived about 4.30, I certainly feared that this was so,  The site office and canteen were both deserted, although there were clearly people around somewhere because there were cars on the car park.  Further investigation led me to the discovery that the site manager and others were by the show house, which was due to open today, and to which access was separate. Desperate for fuel, I headed for a filling station on Norwich's ring road, where I decided to also get a snack for my tea, and finally made it home about twelve almost non-stop hours after leaving in the morning.

Tired but satisfied, I turned my attention to getting the weekend under way, with shopping and washing, in order to get to a church meeting this morning.  Life may be cluttered at times, but no one can tell me it's dull!

The First Expedition

My home from home

Last weekend I was hoping for some spring weather.  It came ... well ... brilliantly, where I was, although I know there were places less fortunate.  From the thick coat I wore last week, even a flimsy one was too much, and stayed firmly in reserve in my bag.  I set off, as planned, about lunch time on Sunday, and a leisurely two-and-a-half hours later I arrived on my cousin's doorstep at 3.0pm. At least, it would have been the doorstep if I'd been willing to try reversing the motorhome down her drive!  As it was, I parked on the roadside by the lamp-post, where vanity prevailed, and some photos were taken.

It's always good to catch up with family. There's only so much that can be exchanged through social media, and the laughter that overcame us at one point - purely through a misunderstanding of what we could both see out of the window - could never be transmitted, and had to be heard to be believed! Suffice to say that the word 'butterfly' will become a family euphemism for amusement.  As if to seal this new law, I found a small metal butterfly ornament on a pavement a couple of days later, and kept it as a souvenir.

St Giles' church, Cromwell

On Tuesday I made the short journey to the Milestone Caravan Park in Cromwell, a charming if small village to the north of Newark.  After settling in, I took a walk into the village and examined the church, which to my amazement I found open.  It was clean, neat and seemed well looked after, and on the wall I found a portrait of Frances Smith who, at the age of 39, was the first lady in England to be appointed to the office of churchwarden.  I wasn't expecting to find myself staying in a village of such national achievement!

Milestone Park:
my pitch by the lakeside

Milestone Park:
the lake with benefits for all

As to the site itself, I was quite im-pressed. As well as all the usual facilities - including showers that are hot, and toilet floors that are dry - it boasts its own fishing lake, providing endless activity for those who fish, and pleasant scenery for those who don't.  I found a pitch that overlooks it, and took many pictures of the ducks that enjoy life there. There's a little island in the lake on which is a small duck-house, perhaps inherited from a political scandal of a few years ago!  There's even a little display alongside one of the footpaths that wouldn't be out of place by the seaside!

Newark: the church tower
looks benignly over the roof-tops

Wednesday found me out and about in good time to catch the bus into Newark. Like many such places, at its heart is a large market place, which I found to be in full swing when I turned up at about 10.0 am.  The church tower can be seen beyond the rooftops, watching the goings on from a street away.  I found myself wandering this way and that, just taking in the day-to-day of a town at work.  There were a number of eating-places, but many were not yet open.  I also discovered that there is another side to the town.  Wondering why so many people were coming out of a narrow passage, I explored and found that it led to the Town Lock, a canalside panorama complete with warehouses and a castle!

Newark: Town Lock and
the castle ruins

The canal was built in the late eighteenth century by the Trent Navigation Company, to service the many maltings in the town.  Now it serves as a tourist attraction, and a backdrop for a pub and café.  Apart from the open air market there is also the Butter Market, so-called, behind which there used apparently to be a covered market, but this is now re-modelled to provide a number of small retail units and a delightful first-floor cafe beneath a glass roof.  After sampling its wares, I made my way back to the bus station, and my temporary home at the campsite.

All too soon it was time to return to real life where, for the first time, I helped to ring bells for a Friday wedding ... very fashionable these days, it seems. Why, oh why, are brides notoriously late?  The odd minute is profoundly traditional, and of course acceptable, but over half an hour ...?!  Some of us do have other lives to get on with.

The week has taught me one thing.  Nothing goes completely right first time. I've brought home a list of things to do differently next time, or matters that simply need to be attended to.  My challenge is to fit them in alongside another session of 'normal work', which begins on Monday.

All is not as it seems!

Bits of This, and Bits of That

This phased retirement plan seems to be working.  When I'm working, I still get excited about each phone call and each set of 'beeps' from my PDA, wondering where I'm being sent to next, what challenges the next job will bring me.  And when I'm not, there's the lovely relaxing start to the day - well, most days, anyway - knowing that my time is my own, and the day can unfold around whatever I choose.  The only downside is that there are no exciting journeys to report here!

Take this week, for example.  When I made my plan last autumn, I determined that I wouldn't be working during Holy Week, so I could take a full part in all the church activities that mark this special time.  But most of these are in the evenings, so my days have been free.

The special events began on Sunday evening with a showing in church of the Mel Gibson film 'The Passion of the Christ'.  In a small but worthwhile gathering, I was surprised to be one of only two men watching it, and found it just as moving, if not more so, than the first time I saw it some years ago. It wasn't until I'd had breakfast the following morning that more mundane things began to signify in my mind, like the impending visit of an engineer to fix my door intercom which wasn't working.  By the time he had come and gone - with complete success in his mission - there was just time to do some shopping before lunch, and little time after that to do anything else before it was time to cook my tea.  Yes, 'real' cooking is one of my aims in retirement and, starting as I am virtually from scratch, it's plain and simple first, so this week it was toad-in-the-hole.

Tuesday was a more business-like day, and apart from a break for lunch, it was spent researching and reporting some family history records for an internet acquaintance in California.  Wednesday was equally solid, sorting out bank statements and investment reports following the end of the month, and effectively my business year as well.  By Thursday I had the last details to enable me to spend virtually the whole day finalising my business accounts, and setting up my ledgers to begin recording the new year when it begins the week after next.  It's certainly an advantage, as well as a satisfying step backwards, as it were, into my former life, to compile my own accounts.

On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday evenings there had been a simple meditative service at church; last night I took part in an informal meal there, not exactly a copy of the Last Supper, which was a Passover meal, but an event intended to convey the atmosphere of fellowship and togetherness that must have been an element of that original occasion, where the Christian tradition of Holy Communion had been instituted.  About fifty were present yesterday evening, perhaps a few more and, although in a completely different way, I found it as moving as the film on Sunday.

Today there was a simple service in church and then as many as wished walked into town to join with people from other churches for a walk of witness through the town centre.  During the afternoon was a quiet meditative hour reflecting on the significance of this whole week in our Faith.

Alongside all this, I've been making the final preparations for my first 'real' outing in the motorhome.  Gradually, over the last few weeks, some of the many cupboards have become filled with the essential bits and pieces to provide life's necessaries; today there is at last a sheet on the bed, and I've gathered together so far as possible, my normal luggage, and those things of which there's only one, that will have to be transferred from home to motorhome before departure.  Tomorrow will see the final shopping expedition and, if all goes well, I shall be off on Sunday afternoon.

All I want now is that fine sunny spring weather I've been counting on!

Mixed Fare

Everyone has two sets of grandparents (in theory, at least), and most people have countless cousins of one degree or another.  However, in my childhood there was one grandad, since the other one had died scarcely a year after I was born, and I never knew him.  Likewise, there was only one cousin, to my early knowledge, she being the daughter of my mother's sister, for I had never met any others.  So, when I talk of 'my cousin', with no supplementary description, it is this one to whom I still refer.

My cousin has a habit of tackling puzzles.  She claims - and I believe her - that to use the mind and keep it 'sharp' will prolong its usefulness as we advance into old(er!) age.  So it was, prompted by I know not what, that I was doing mental arithmetic in my bath this morning, and have determined that, on 17th April, i.e. in just under three weeks' time, I shall have reached the precise age that the aforesaid grandfather had on the day that I was born.

I thought I'd share these musings, dear reader, because there is little to tell of the working week that preceded them.  It was good, and reasonably productive, but there were few highlights.  The traffic was so bad on the M25 on Monday morning, that the week got off to a very bad start.  I had thought that an extra half-hour ought to be enough to allow me to get to Camberley for 7.30, but I eventually arrived at 8.35!  As I made my profuse apologies, my ears seemed to hear music, for I was kindly, but promptly told that had I arrived at 7.30, there would have been no one there!  This was followed by a puzzled enquiry what it was that I was hoping to collect, for they had not requested a collection.  Eventually all was made clear, that I was there to correct an error made by another courier company on the previous Friday, by picking up a parcel they had delivered by mistake, and take it where it should have gone.  Why people can't correct their own mistakes, I don't understand!

On Tuesday came a job that I was determined would not be late!  Last time I did this run, from Baldock to Slough, I had been diverted to another job, and then delayed by an accident along the way, so that delivery had come a massive five hours after collection.  So, I was on the doorstep promptly at 8.0, had no holdups at all, and had remembered that the entrance to the destination building was on a different road, which had added a further five minutes to my time on the last occasion!

The biggest job of the week - nay, of the year, I think - came to me on Wednesday, when I was given a box to be delivered between 8.0 and 9.0 the following morning in a tiny place called Cwmfelinfach.  You will have already concluded that this is in Wales; in fact it's not far from Newport, but is more easily reached from the north than by going into the town.  This justified, if justification were necessary, my normal decision to go to south Wales via the M1 and Ross-on-Wye rather than the M4 and the Severn tolls.

Somewhere in the distant past, I've heard a saying about sleep and late night habits, 'one hour before eleven is worth two after.'  This certainly proved true on this occasion.  I had made my preparations and was into bed on Wednesday evening by about 8.0, only to wake up just before 10.0.  As is often the case when I try to shunt my night's sleep forward a few hours, I was awake again by 1.0am, and only really dozed after that.  By 2.50, I decided to get up rather than toss and turn for another half-hour until the alarm should go off.  When I did leave, at about 3.30, I didn't stop at all until I got to Monmouth, and didn't need any delay for a doze.  Although unnecessary for financial reasons (the toll is payable going into Wales, but not coming back to England), I decided to return the same way, and stopped at the High Noon services on the A40 just north of Monmouth for breakfast. I've been there before, and enjoy the tranquility and the super view of the hills between the road and the Wye.

Amazingly, I was spotted on my way back by the office at Warwick, who invited me to choose between two jobs for which they would like to enlist my help.  These were two of a whole cluster to be picked up at a warehouse near the A5 in Lutterworth, going to a variety of destinations across a swathe of the midlands.  The choice I had was either Derby and Mansfield, or Nottingham, so partly because of the distance, and partly because I know the place better, I chose Nottingham, and was rewarded in that what appeared on paper to be two deliveries, were in fact to the very same building.

As if to bear out the truth of that saying, I arrived back in Letchworth about 4.30, and wasn't even feeling tired!  Sadly, the same can't be said of today, however, after a day's bell-ringing.  In our annual spring outing, we visited six churches, none more than a dozen miles from home, but with bells either heavier or harder work - sometimes both - than our own, it proved quite an exhausting, if enjoyable day.

Now for a work-free week in which to recover!