A 'Winter Holiday' Week

I've chosen my title for this week's blog in recollection of of times when - in certain industries at least - holidays had to be taken within set periods of the year.  My dad, for example, was entitled to a week in the summer and a week in the winter.  While it was a valuable break from the hard work of the other fifty weeks, the winter week was always a bit flat for him.  Once he'd done what he needed to get the garden straight, I don't think he knew what to do with the rest of the time.

For me, this week has been dominated by three things ... one of which shouldn't have been a dominant item in the first place.  I agreed to use my van to take some of the inevitable post-holiday club 'clutter' from the church to the local dump: one van-load would save a number of car trips, so it made sense.  At least it did until I got there on Monday morning.  There I learned that a new permit scheme for all vehicles other than cars had been in force since the beginning of the year.  I was annoyed, because I had been there within the last few months to dispose of an item I'd replaced in the home, and had been admitted without let or hindrance.  I therefore knew nothing of the permit scheme.  The permit is free, but needed to be applied for on line ... from an office in Liverpool!  I made the application immediately, of course, but I'm still waiting for the permit to arrive!  The cardboard, meanwhile, has been 'parked' in the motorhome.

Last weekend, I noticed that there was a small puddle of oil beneath said motorhome, so another task on Monday was to have this checked over.  Now that I've got all the equipment I think I need to make proper use of the vehicle, I felt it would be a good point at which to check the overall weight against that permitted according to the official plate in the cab, so I also incorporated a trip to the nearest public weighbridge, where I learned I have about half a tonne capacity to spare!  The garage cleaned the bottom surfaces and told me to run it for a few days and return.

Ducks doing what ducks do best

On Tuesday, therefore, I sought somewhere interesting to visit not far from home, and discovered a nature reserve near Tring called Cottage Lake, which fulfilled both purposes i.e. a journey in the vehicle, and the ideal of time away from work: relaxation.  When I returned to the garage on Thursday, there was no sign of a leak, so apart from keeping an eye out, all seems to be well.

Then there's the matter of the laptop.  I decided it was time to replace my computer, which is getting a bit tired and, since it's a desktop machine, it puts me at a disadvantage when I go to meetings or for research, in that I need to use a less capable intermediate device.  Following good advice, I ordered on line, thinking it would be in my hands by now.  Sadly there was a problem with the credit card ... well actually a card-user interface difficulty, i.e. I had made an error when I filled out the order document on line ... and the simplest solution was to let that order lapse and re-order it 'properly' later.  I was waiting until this morning, therefore, for confirmation of the order and provision of a delivery date in order to know that all is well at last.

When things aren't going well, I find I tend to think of times long ago, and the other morning I recalled an office where I'd worked some 45 years ago.  In particular, I recalled a typist at that establishment who had a comparatively uncommon surname, and I wondered how easy it would be to find anything out about her now.  I have to praise findmypast.co.uk (although I did complain heavily about their new website last year).  Within little more than half an hour I'd traced the girl's marriage, the birth of her daughter, and a recent address and, thanks to Google Maps, I had found a picture of the neat dwelling that she and her family have occupied for the last thirty-odd years.  Fantastic!

This weekend has seen the first encounters in a competition that will end next May with two top football teams meeting at Wembley ... yes, it's the extra-preliminary round of the FA Cup.  As on the Friday evening of the comparable weekend two years ago, I ventured into Norfolk to support my native team, Diss Town in their efforts.  Sadly, as on that previous occasion at Thetford, today's match ended in a home win, but what a different Diss team set foot on the park at the Elgood Fenland Stadium.  The eighth minute goal that determined the result was very much against the run of play, even up to that early point in the game.  All through the ninety minutes, whenever there was a loose ball, there seemed to be an orange shirt to meet it, and most of the activity seemed to be in the Wisbech half.  The only - but crucial - thing Diss seemed to lack was finishing power.  So many shots landed directly in the goalkeeper's hands and, while not denying that man's power and skill, he didn't have a lot of work to do.

Today also marks the 70th anniversary of VJ-Day.  I had felt that I wouldn't be observing the occasion at all, apart from pondering over my researches concerning the uncle whom I grew up being told that I closely resembled, and who died of malaria while a PoW working on the Burma Railway.  This morning, however, as I drove into town, I happened to notice a gathering by the war memorial.  Putting two and two together, I walked back after parking the van, and was able to join in a short service of commemoration.  Having been unable to take part in the ringing of bells for the occasion, owing to a mis-match of other commitments among the ringers, I felt this more than compensated.

"When you go home, tell them of us and say,  

For your tomorrow, we gave our today."

                                                            -  Kohima Epitaph

All a Bit of a Blur

The week got off to a slow start, but boy - did it take off!  I was somewhat thankful that my first call on Monday didn't come until almost lunchtime, because after last week's demands, there were still things to be 'polished off'. I went to Biggleswade to collect a pallet of metal for a firm in Basingstoke; on my way there, a second job came onto my screen to collect in a village near Bedford to take to Stevenage.  When I arrived at my first collection there was some consternation because they had two pallets for me which, although I could have physically taken them, would have exceeded my weight limit.  On then, to the second point, while another vehicle was organised for the first.  The place was out in the wilds and took some while to find.  My report of eventual success was met with an invitation to repeat the job I'd done last Thursday, which took me to Weymouth.

Tuesday's late uprising heralded a busy, but comparatively local day, including five jobs, but venturing no further than Reading.  Even so, I wasn't home until about 8.0pm.  Wednesday began with another semi-local demand, to a village just beyond Newport Pagnell.  In its usual whimsical way, SatNav took me there via Bedford and home via the M1, providing variety if nothing else.  I was still about ten miles from home when I was diverted to Luton for the next job, going to Dudley, and with it some fabricated items for Tamworth.  The customer who consigned these has a reputation for sluggishness but somehow waiting in the sunshine, knowing that two good jobs were virtually in the bag, was not unwelcome.  The jobs themselves were not difficult either, and by mid-afternoon I was on the M6 heading homewards again, looking forward to a lazy evening, but just wondering if anyone would spot me on their screen.  Beep! Beep!  I'd been spotted.  Now, the nature of this onboard computer device is such that, because of the colours and type face, I can't see the details of the job in normal light, to know whether I want to accept it or not.  I'm learning the wisdom that, if I don't want more work for the moment, I can sign off.  If I leave the machine switched on, I can still be seen, but the situation is clear.

So, midway through Wednesday afternoon came the second seaside job of the week, a collection in Nuneaton for Clacton-on-Sea.  I made the delivery about 7.30pm, took time out to stroll briefly along the esplanade musing on former times, and then bought a 'service station salad' for tea before heading for home.  Thursday repeated the same pattern, with a reasonably local job first, this time to West Horndon in Essex.  I confess, I was so distracted by the cricket commentary as the first six Australian wickets fell within half an hour or so, that I missed my turning off the M25, and committed myself to an additional ten miles to make my delivery!

Next came a collection of instruments to be taken to a hospital in Worcester, but before I'd reached the M1, I'd been spotted by the astute staff of Milton Keynes, who realised that, if I were willing, I could fit in this job with one they'd just taken for the National Grid, to collect some samples in a Buckinghamshire village, for analysis at a laboratory in Ellesmere Port, needing to be delivered there by 9.0pm.  They were considerate and phoned me first, rather than simply allocating the job, but I didn't see any problem with it, beyond the distance.  I would be late enough to miss my evening in any case, so it seemed sensible to make it worthwhile.

I returned from what was, to all intents and purposes, a third 'seaside' mission by about 1.0 am, but didn't sleep much beyond my normal waking up time, and after a late breakfast and a bit of admin, I decided to pay my weekly visit to the office to hand in the paperwork I'd collected so far.  When I walked in the door, the controller said he'd spotted me on his screen and had just given me a job.  This was to collect in Royston for Trowbridge, and was complemented en route by another to pick up in Letchworth for a Reading address.  Finally, since these were both small, could I fit on a pallet from Hitchin to go to Ascot on the way?   These three went together well, for the 'Reading address' was along the so-called 'Floral Mile' of the A4, and the only real problem was a major incident on the M4, which threw the whole area into west-bound chaos.

After two good weeks, I felt justified in stopping at a pub just short of the M4 on my return journey to get a decent meal before continuing.  Now I can look forward to a 'retired' week with some comfort and satisfaction!

Serinaded by Seagulls!

By whatever measure you like - some that I've related here over the years and some I haven't, like simple 'gut-feeling' - this has been a good week.  In 1,929 miles I have criss-crossed England, heard almost every ball of an enthralling Test Match, indulged in a bit of 'haven't been here for years' and a slice of 'uh-oh, school's out: the refurb. season has started', heard (with good explanation in mind, although not required) a touch of 'what time do you call this?' ... and had a seaside 'holiday' into the bargain!

The week began with an early alarm and a collection from a village about 15 miles away at 7.00.  I was given another job to go with it, but when I arrived to collect it, I was told with some mystery, 'there was a job for Slough, but it's gone ... it's not here anyhow.'  Somehow I wasn't bothered, and took my collection of thirteen boxes to a smart office block a few streets from Kew Gardens, where, in the absence of ground floor post room or a trolley, I was offered the strong arms and cheerful personality of a young Irishman to assist with conveying them through the front door, and up to the first floor.

As is so often the case now that one's progress can been viewed 'on screen', I was just leaving the M25 when I was diverted to the office, where my next job was already waiting for me, and another was being collected for me by another driver.  These took me to an industrial estate in Bletchley, and on to a school in Dudley.  Afterwards, as I made my way up the M5, wondering if I'd done right to opt for M6 rather than M42 to get around Birmingham, such considerations became irrelevant, as the local office spotted me and gave me a job from the centre of Birmingham down to a pharmacy in Luton. I collected this somewhat abruptly at about 4.45.  I say 'somewhat abruptly' because, just as one eye spotted the target premises on the opposite side of the road, the other caught sight of a bus coming round the corner towards me.  Rather than being caught in the middle of the road, I 'landed' front first between two parked cars on the forecourt, a parking position that I would normally avoid, and which I usually condemn with almost religious fervour because of the limited observation available when emerging.

Extricating myself from this awkwardness, I was on my way out of the city, when the phone rang again.  "You couldn't do me a favour, before you head south, could you?"  It sounded simple: B5 to B15; Heartlands Hospital (no department name given) collect ... blood ... (no shortage of that there, methinks) ... going to ... National Blood Service.  I was reminded of my only previous visit to Heartlands, and a parallel angst over where to park, what entrance to use, etc.  The difficulties were overcome, and the job completed, but it meant that I didn't leave Birmingham until nearly 6.0, leaving me no time at all to get to Luton by the time any normal pharmacy would be closing its doors.  I was reassured to find that this one would be open until 10pm.  Even so, by the time I arrived the proprietor was wondering if her delivery would be delayed until the follwing day!

That was just Monday!  The week continued with a visit on Tuesday morning to the Ford engine plant at Dagenham, for the first time since the recession forced the closure of a motor component factory in Letchworth. Quickly on the back of that came another 'collected for me' job, this time to a laboratory of the National Grid on the outskirts of Leeds.  While I waited for this, I was asked to collect a small package to deliver afterwards to Washington hospital.  Needless to say, I didn't return from the north until almost midnight, and I was glad that Wednesday was comparatively local.  I set off mid-morning with a piece of electronic equipment for rural Suffolk, and a small parcel for Cambridge.

My visit to Suffolk was both amusing and indeed rural, and all the more enjoyable for that.  Soon after leaving the A14, I found myself approaching a crossroads where a pigeon sat, almost defiantly, atop the signpost.  Only when I drew quite close, could I discern that this was a very clever model, clearly placed there to deceive and distract strangers!  A short distance further, as I drove down a narrow lane, I had to squeeze into the hedge to make way for a tall load of straw going the other way.  A little way on I discovered that this had half-removed a branch from a tree.  This was now dangling in the middle of the road, preventing my further progress.  To the amusement of the driver of the car behind me, I had to get out and manhandle this to one side, unable to remove it completely, but at least I could jam it into the hedgerow to allow us to pass.  Finally I arrived at the village, where many cottages surround the neatly maintained green.  Very efficiently, the parish council had provided signs along the roadway, and beside each little drive, indicating which houses lay down each one, and urging anyone not visiting these to reverse out of the drive because there wasn't room to turn around between the soft verges.

Thursday presented me with the earliest start I can remember,  a 5.30 collection in Letchworth.  This was a daily delivery of pharmaceuticals to a medical centre in a Norfolk market town, involving no more difficulty than the frustrations of the despatching supervisor because she had been sent yet another driver not familiar with their internal procedures!  Upon my return, I was quite promptly sent to Rochester, and after getting almost home from that, I was diverted to Hitchin to collect something for Weymouth.  I hadn't been there since a bell-ringing holiday in 1993!  As I neared the town (and the Test Match neared its climax!) the office rang me to offer a job for Friday morning.  A few minutes later Southampton office spotted me on-screen and offered me a job to Cobham, should I want it.  I explained to both callers that, after being on the road since 5.30 am, I couldn't face the 160-mile journey home once I'd delivered, and was considering a B&B instead.  The man in Southampton immediately said that he had a job the next morning from Weymouth up to Kidlington, just past Oxford, "it's yours if you want it."  I couldn't have been better provided for!

The delivery made, I wondered how easy it would be to find a bed for the night ... and at what price!  The first two places I tried didn't answer; the third had only twin or family rooms, and the fourth was asking a bit more than I was prepared to pay.  The next lady was most obliging.  She did indeed have a room and the price would be ... more than twice the one I'd just rejected, although she could make a slight reduction if I were to pay in cash!  I explained, and asked where I might get a cheaper lodging.  She responded - I believe with sincerity - that I would be best advised to go back to the one I'd been offered.  I reflected as I retraced my steps and, considering the advancing hour, decided to accept her advice and the room I'd been offered at the Royal Hotel.

The Royal was built towards the end of the 19th century, at a cost of £25,000, on the site of a former establishment that had been a favourite of King George III, and it still retains much of its Victorian charm and splendour, despite refurbishment only a few years ago.  The war memorial is just across the road, and it's said that Glenn Miller played at the hotel with his band during World War II.

Yesterday morning's experience provides this week's title, but after their performance, the flock became noticeably quieter, as if moving along the esplanade to another engagement.  When I got up it was to a morning of tranquil beauty overlooking a sun-drenched townscape, which set me up wonderfully for my return home.  The consignment I was to collect at 9.0 was almost ready by 8.0, and I was on my way by 8.25.  I was back in Letchworth for the 1.0 service in church (it being the final Friday, our monthly day of prayer), and in the afternoon my week concluded with a print delivery to a housing development near Banbury.  The site was quiet for the weekend, and the sales office manager was about to leave.  As I neared the door it opened. "Brochures?" she asked. "Seven boxes," I replied, and we chatted amiably as I carried them in one by one.  In the bright sunshine, this was perhaps the ideal end to what feels a near-perfect week.

All for the Best

I've often spoken here about a week being made up of distinct parts, each with its own - often totally different - characteristics.  Despite being a 'non-working' week, this one has been the same.  It fell into four distinct sections, but each of them had an element of pain, and an element of good despite the pain.

Take Monday, for example.  I took the van to the garage for a service, thinking that, while this was being done, I could concentrate on my preparations for a trip in the motor-caravan later in the week.  It wasn't even mid-morning when they rang to give me a whole list of things that needed doing ... in addition to the growling noise that I had complained of.  In the event, they attended to most of the other items on the list but, having decided that the noise was probably caused by the baffles in the silencer coming loose, but not being legally or mechanically essential just yet, this was parked for another time, 'to spare my bank balance'.  How thoughtful.

Also on the list was severe wear on all four tyres, which were now sadly in need of replacement.  I dealt with this in the afternoon and, while I waited for it to be done, I checked on the miles the old ones had done for me.  One pair had served for nearly 47,000 miles, and the others over 59,000, so I feel they've deserved their place in the heavenly tyre-mountain (or wherever they go to retire).

In the evening I enjoyed bellringing as usual, and afterwards came further pleasure as I thought to join the usual handful in the pub.  This week, however, one was tired, one hadn't had his tea after working overtime, and so on.  There finished up being just me and one other.  We had non-alcoholic beverages, and an intimate conversation about family life in a great many aspects.  Perhaps the most telling moment was as we parted outside the door: she had bought the drinks, but it was she who thanked me! I think it had been a useful time for each of us to unload some 'stuff' that clogs up clear thinking from time to time.

Tuesday was the first of a three-day visit to Sussex.  I had planned it to accommodate a visit to a motor-caravan centre near Hastings, where I had arranged to have a C-rail fitted to my vehicle enabling me to fit a drive-away awning when required.  They also provided a suitable awning, and the bits that fit in between.  While I was there, their workshop also overcame a problem I'd noticed earlier with an over-active cooling fan so, although of course I had to pay extra for this service, I was nonetheless satisfied.

I then drove just three miles down the road to an exclusive campsite (I say that because of the fees, rather than the facilities, which were good, but not outstanding).  Here I was able to try out my new purchase, managing after two hours of trial and error to erect it and fit it to the vehicle.  The most significant lesson learned was not to pitch it too close to the motorhome; by so doing there wasn't sufficient room to stretch the full 'tunnel' between the two, so there was an awful lot of flapping fabric to catch every passing breeze, never mind actual wind!

Wednesday was beautifully sunny from the word 'go'.  I had come equipped with all sorts of things that needed to be done, or which could fill an active mind while training the body to relax and enjoy tranquility, and during the course of the day, I managed to devote a little time to most of them, including picking up once more the 'Teach Yourself Welsh' course that I abandoned ... gosh! over forty years ago!  I wonder how long before it gets abandoned again?  I also went for a short walk in an attempt to discover why SatNav had taken me such a long way round, and through narrow lanes to get to the site, which was only about 200 yards off the main road.  I decided that it just didn't like the idea of turning from an A-road directly onto an unclassified road when there was a B-road within yards of the junction.  Unfortunately, the required route meant turning off this B-road after a short while when it bent in the opposite direction!

Late on Wednesday afternoon, I decided to take the awning down and attack the 'packing-it-away' challenge, which I knew might be difficult.  However, after only a minor struggle (and no more than I'd expect with things to be rolled up with air inside them) I fitted each part in its proper container and found space for the fabric in the rear locker and the poles in one of the inside cupboards.  This early effort eliminated the need for a delay yesterday morning waiting for it to dry, and then the time to dismantle it.

Thursday thus began with a leisurely tidying of the vehicle ready to travel, and a look at the map to see what other attractions might be nearby.  I found a preserved railway that, according to the internet, was 'in steam today'!  I got there in comfortable time to sample the fare at the refreshment room, purchase a small souvenir from the gift shop and then take a trip to the end of the line and back.  Here, I found the bonus.  As a Norfolk boy, I had undertaken a school project about our own WWI heroine, Nurse Edith Cavell, who was shot by the Germans in 1915 for helping allied soldiers escape from occupied Belgium.  Now at Bodiam station, I found preserved the goods wagon which had been used first to convey her body from Dover for a formal funeral at Westminster Abbey before it was buried at Norwich Cathedral, and then in two other similar repatriations, including the famous 'Unknown Soldier'.  Although the train only stopped long enough to move the engine from one end to the other, it was long enough for me to satisfy my photo album!

And today ... it's been a wet day.  My day began with a quick trip across the road to a convenient car spares store to buy a replacement bulb: not for either of my vehicles as such, but to provide the correct illumination for reading in bed when I'm using the motorhome.  I had noticed that the light fitting above the bed had two 'on' positions, but only one that worked. Investigation revealed that the source of light within was a simple 'stop and tail' bulb such as would fit an ordinary car.  Remedy was the work of minutes ... and then the rain started, leading to a day indoors, tidying loose ends ready for work again next week.

Two Halves, and lots of Changes!

I think I may have used that idea of a 'game of two halves' before, but I make no apologies, for the week I'm about to describe has been definitely lop-sided.  It started very sluggishly, since I was out late last Friday evening, and drove straight from the delivery to arrive slightly late for the first event at church in what was to be a busy - almost 'festival' - weekend, with a visiting speaker and lots of activities.

The working week therefore began with a phone call to say I was available, and it was some while later that I was sent to Cheshunt, with a collection in Harlow on the way back.  A couple of hours at home preceded a later collection in Milton Keynes, for delivery in Hitchin the next morning - and that not until 8.30!  This was followed by a trip to Colchester to deliver just off the A12, near the football ground, and Tuesday finished with a journey to Northampton General Hospital, and a letter to Luton County Court en route. Two action-packed not-very-ambitious days, with the usual bellringing practice in between.

Wednesday began in the same vein, with a trip from Luton to Cambridge, to take some electronic equipment that had been repaired, and then a return trip with more items for the next repair cycle.  After another wait at my desk at home, came a collection in Letchworth for Ware.  Just as I was beginning to despair of getting my teeth (or, more accurately, wheels!) into something exciting, things began to change in my favour.  As I was about to pull into the gateway for this collection, came a phone call, announcing an alternative plan.  In the next street was a consignment for a hospital in Grimsby!  At half-past Wednesday, the week was about to kick off!

Grimsby is a place I haven't visited much in this career - only three times, in fact.  But it certainly hasn't proved to be grim.  My recollection is of sunshine, and this was no exception.  When I was nearly there, a call outlined my work for the following morning, with a collection at 9.0 in Coventry.  As I turned for home, came the next change of plan.  The bad news, I was told, was that the Coventry job was too big for my van; the good news was of two other jobs that would definitely go together.  One was an envelope for Bristol, and the other some equipment to be collected in Bedford at 8.30 for 'Newport'.  Unsurprisingly, I discovered that this didn't mean Newport itself, but one of the many places that are unpronounceable (at least on first sight) with an NP postcode.  In this case it was Coedkernew.

I was up in good time, and almost to the pick-up point.  "All change!" again. The customer now required delivery to a CH postcode instead ... which would rule out the Bristol job for me, of course.  I'd just come to terms with this amendment, when further phone calls announced that this change was being reversed.  A casual comment when signing for the goods revealed that someone had read the invoicing address and reacted over-swiftly to an apparent error that wasn't.  So by 9.0, I was on my way to the delights of the M4 and the Severn Crossing.  It's the first westbound crossing I've made for some years, and was aghast at the toll charge of £13.10!  Having an inkling of the answer, I decided to ask the attendant about the charge for a motorhome.  "Is this a motorhome?" he asked.  I couldn't decide whether he was serious or not ... and perhaps this was his view of me, too.  "No, I'm just asking the question." "£6.50," he said.  "... And it's twice as big as this, and a bigger engine as well" I offered.  "Yes," he said, "some of them are as big as a battleship.  I don't make the rules, though.  A van is a van is a van; it's £13.10, but if it's a motorhome, however big, it's £6.50"  Having enjoyed this little banter, I bade him 'diolch' and went on my way.

After effecting my delivery, I decided that I'd had enough of motorways, so when I reached junction 24, I turned off towards Monmouth ... forgetting completely that I needed diesel!  SatNav did its best, found me an Esso near Abergavenny, but a) it was about 5 miles beyond the town, and b) the post code was clearly incorrect, because it fetched me up on a narrow lane with not a house in sight, let alone a filling station.  I headed for Hereford, where I was successful, with my gauge just on the edge of the 'pink-light' zone, and then made for home.  I hadn't gone far before I was spotted by one of the many City Sprint offices ... Birmingham, I think ... who gave me two jobs out of Worcester, one for Birmingham (easy once I'd found the place), the other for a beautiful residential school for the disabled at Mirfield.  Doing these was well worth my while, but I had to question whether M6 & M62 was really the best route from Birmingham to West Yorkshire!  By the time I got home it had been an almost 18-hour day, of which an hour was taken out for a meal at Hartshead Moor services, and half an hour for a snooze at Gonnerby Moor services.  The total circuit was 619 miles!

I heard something today about the mind being fatigued more readily than the body, and I had to agree with this contention.  Yesterday's experience was typical.  While I listened to the test match commentary I found myself tiringly frustrated by the lack of action, but in the evening, when my accompaniment was a succession of podcasts, and I was able to follow the sequence of thought in these, my fatigue was much less noticeable, although I slept well once I was home!

This afternoon, once I'd surfaced and caught up with the administration of the long day, I presented myself for 'light duties', and did little more than 100 miles in three short jobs, including collecting work for other drivers.  Now, after three weeks on the road, I can plan for another week of R&R, the tale of which I shall share next weekend.

How's It Going, Then?

When someone asked me yesterday evening, "How's the phased retirement going?", I confess I had to trot out that old cliché, "I don't know how I found time to work!"  Only, in this case, it was a simple acknowledgement of the truth of it, for at present I'm still trying to combine both lives into one.  At the start, it had seemed quite straightforward, with time to 'do things' on the weeks that I wasn't working.  But now, six months into the plan, I'm finding that all the 'things' that happen in those non-working weeks have tails: tails that need to be fitted into working weeks, either because they can't be left, or because I'm too impatient to wait for the next non-working week to do them.

A couple of weeks ago, I returned from a three-pronged trip to North Wales, which was the first real trial for the motorhome. (I must get into the habit of calling it a motor-caravan, which is apparently the more accurate term, and doesn't risk confusion with those mansions on wheels at the far end of the market.)  There were a couple of things that I wanted to do before I use it again.  One was to re-fit a bit of trim which had pinged out of the leading edge of the over-cab and, with the help of a tube of glue and the bathroom stool, this was accomplished in the sunshine the day after my return.  The other will take just a little longer, and involves modifying the additional woodwork that a previous owner had fitted inside one of the cupboards. With two fairly full weeks' work since then, and the prospect of another next week, this has been put on hold so far, which is becoming a bit frustrating, given that a tentative plan is forming for another short excursion the following week.

Last weekend was given over to accounts, and the striking competition (in which we came a comfortable fourth out of six teams competing!) and some personal letters ... which never work out saying what you want them to say in just minutes!  This weekend is similarly dominated by other 'stuff', this time in connection with a church gathering.  Luckily, there is the occasional break between jobs during the week, that allows me to do the odd errand, so that not everything gets pushed into the weekends.  This isn't strictly linked to the retirement situation, of course, but rather to the fact of working from home, which has been an absolute boon for a couple of years now.

I can't let this post go without commenting about a couple of things from the week's driving assignments.  I've spoken before about other offices 'spotting' me and providing what's known in the trade as a 'return load', i.e. something that means you don't drive all the way home with an empty van.  The ultimate return load situation comes when a sequence of jobs form a chain, starting and finishing at the same place, and you realise when the records are put together, that you've been paid for every mile of that circuit.  This happened on both Thursday and Friday this week.  The first was when I was spotted just as I got into the van to drive home, and was given a job within a mile of my then position, to bring to a business just across the road from my home.  The second was as I approached the further of two delivery points and received a call to collect something across the street, to be brought back to Letchworth, thus making another complete triangle.

And finally ... I never fail to be impressed by the skills of a fork-truck driver. Sometimes, I admit, the skill is praised in its absence, such as when a careless move has buckled a door-steady, but usually it's a case of marvelling at the apparent gymnastic ease with which a load has been manoeuvred into or out of my van.  Yesterday, however, I think I saw the pinnacle of achievement, when two fork-trucks were used in tandem to manipulate into the back of a solid trailer, a load that was awkwardly positioned on a very long pallet.  The understanding between the two drivers had to be seen to be believed ... it couldn't be heard, for it was expressed in silent concentration as they passed the burden of their load from one to the other like a juggler tossing a tennis ball between his hands.

Who knows?  By next weekend I might have fitted my little woodwork job into an empty evening, and can go carefree on my travels again ... until another 'tail' appears!

Too Much of a Good Thing!

Holiday weather ... it's always the same - the good weather greets your return, rather than accompanies you for the vacation.  But this time, I think - even despite a wet Monday in the motorhome - I got it right.  This week has certainly been hot for driving, but it would have been unbearable for sightseeing.  I clocked 34.5 degrees at Heathrow on Wednesday afternoon, and 29 yesterday.

Workwise, it's been a good week, although it got off to a rather unsteady start when I drove round town to pick up my first job only to be told that it wouldn't be ready for an hour, so I had to return home again.  The highlights came mid-week, with a delivery in Stranraer on Wednesday morning, and on Thursday afternoon a trip to Newbridge, about 11 miles from Newport.   In the thirteen years I've been driving, it's the first time I've been to both Scotland and Wales in the same week - let alone on consecutive days! - and I found it quite exhausting.  The worst part, by far, is the 100-mile trek from the M74 across to Stranraer, although it is relieved by glimpses of the Irish Sea in places, and on this occasion by a relaxing breakfast stop at a roadside cafe that has far more to offer when circumstances are different!

When driving, I hear far more news bulletins than otherwise, and it was noticeable to experience things in my week that reflected the news.  Last summer, I did a delivery and a collection in Northern Ireland and, bearing in mind my comments above about the road to Stranraer, I made my journey there by way of Holyhead and Dublin.  I had forgotten the detail of that trip until this week, when I recalled spilling my change in the van after paying the toll on the motorway.  What brought it to mind was listening to the news reports of Greece's Euro-problems and looking down to see a 1-cent coin that had suddenly shaken into view beneath the passenger seat, having been lost since last summer's journey.

Yesterday, as I made my way back from a sweltering visit to a building site in Farnborough, I was given a job by the Heathrow office, which proved most beneficial, because it meant that I could find my way through the villages of Middlesex rather than sit for ages on a hot and crowded M25.  In order to collect this job, I had to visit the office.  This is in the village of Harmondsworth, which has been in the news this week because of the proposed expansion to Heathrow airport.   If this goes ahead as planned, the village would disappear from the map!

Of course, you will be pleased to know that the Repeating Genie is still alive and kicking!  It's some while since I'd been to Kent.  In fact, since the introduction of the Dart Charge in November, I've only just had to replenish my account for the second time!  This week saw me visiting Rochester for two separate deliveries, on Monday and Thursday.  Similarly, Heathrow has escaped my attention for some while, and the collection yesterday was the second visit in three days.  I had been spotted by the Leeds office on my way back from Scotland and was diverted to RAF Dishforth, where I collected a small parcel to take to an international freight depot in Hayes.  It's certainly useful when these other offices keep a close eye on their screens to spot someone else's vehicle passing through their area!

This afternoon's activities will include participation in the annual striking competition.  Our team is drawn to ring at 5.15pm, so I'm hoping it will be a little cooler by then.