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.
Friday, 24 July 2015
Friday, 17 July 2015
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.
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.
Saturday, 11 July 2015
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!
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!
Saturday, 4 July 2015
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.
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.
Saturday, 27 June 2015
Slices of Life ... and Death
It's been strangely symetrical, this holiday week ... and I do call this one a 'holiday' week, rather than simply one when I've been retired rather than working, because in many ways it has been my summer holiday ... even if I may have one or more such trips before the end of the season. It began with the news that, early on Sunday morning, one of the stalwarts of our church had died. She had been ill for some while, so it was not unexpected, but even so, it came as a shock to many of us when the announcement was made.
All my preparations were made, and all I had to do after the service was to return home, swap vehicles and within an hour I was setting off on my travels. The week took me to three caravan and camping sites, each different from the others, carrying with it its own atmosphere and experiences for me. I had planned that, staying two nights at each site, I would make an excursion during the full day there to some other place of interest. In the event, two of these extra visits were made on the way to the respective sites, and the third was simply abandoned. Coincidentally, all three site names begin with 'B'.
From Blackshaw Grange, near Leek, Staffs., I had planned to use two bus services to get to Leek and then to Ashbourne, but I realised that since time was on my side, it would be just as easy to make my visit on the Sunday afternoon. My aim was the Airfield Industrial Estate, to see whether there were any remaining evidence of the former airfield, since it was there that my cousin was based during the Second World War, and he had left there as a volunteer for the mission that claimed his life on D-Day. Since the airfield was closed about sixty years ago, and has since been slowly but surely taken over by industry, relics were few and far between. It was as well that I did go on Sunday, because Monday was wet all day, and I got to know the inside of my motorhome very well indeed!
The site at Blackshaw Grange is a small one run by the Camping and Caravanning Club, within sight of the open moorland. The facilities are in stone-walled buildings which look authentic, but are probably purpose-built in sympathy with the countryside around. It felt homely, the staff were helpful, and the only problem was picking a pitch under the trees, so that it sounded as if it were raining, even when it wasn't!
On Tuesday morning I set out for my second 'B' - Bwch-yn-Uchaf, at Llanuwchllyn, near the southern tip of Llyn Tegid, also known as Lake Bala. This is part of a working farm, and when I arrived haymaking was in progress. It's situated between river and railway line, with Afon Twrch on the left, and the Bala Lake Railway on the right. I was the only visitor at that time, and was sited back to the fence of the station, so I could see and hear all the comings and goings with no effort at all. It was interesting, too, to chat to the proprietor of the site and hear of all his plans for the future, to maximise all the attributes his land has to offer.
I had planned while there to drive round the lake to see a new development at Llanycil on the northern side, but like Sunday, I realised that I would be passing this on my way, with time to stop, so to do so would avoid the need to secure everything in the motorhome in order to drive round the next day. The place I visited was called Mary Jones World, and I shall be writing about this in the next few days on my other blog, Gospel Around Us, so to find out more, visit http://gospelaroundus.blogspot.co.uk/ and look out for "So who was Mary Jones?".
The site at Bwch-yn-Uchaf (the name means 'The Highest Buck', I think) was a little more primitive than the bespoke club sites, but the facilities were clean and adequate, and on reflection I think it was, for me at least, the most pleasant of the three locations.
Thursday found me at the other end of the spectrum, as I arrived at a large club site on the outskirts of Kidderminster, a place with rolling neatly-trimmed grass slopes, dotted over which were caravans and motorhomes, great and small, with the occasional tent hidden amongst the awnings. I chose a pitch back to the hedge, but made sure I wasn't under a tree! This wouldn't have mattered, because the weather was fine and for the most part sunny, too. The site, called Brown Westhead Park, while busy and commercial, boasting information and recreation rooms as well as all the expected facilities - which were spotlessly clean! - wasn't at all impersonal, as I found when I had a couple of small problems, which were dealt with both promptly and thoroughly.
While there, I had planned to take a look at the Severn Valley Railway, whose terminus is next to the main line station at Kidderminster, but in the event, realising that the bus tmes were somewhat inconvenient, I decided to walk into the town. Having done so, my thoughts were elsewhere than on the railway, my first purpose being to locate the departure point of a bus back to the site, since I had no desire to walk back again! I found the centre somewhat characterless in its newness, but clearly a good place to shop.
On my way home today, I planned to visit my cousin in Birmingham, the sister of the one who had been based at RAF Ashbourne. On leaving Brown Westhead Park, I made my way through the Worcestershire countryside to the southern suburbs of the city, to the last address I had for my cousin. A strange face met me at the door, and this lady explained that, not only had my cousin and her husband moved into a care home some while ago, but also that, since then, they had both died! We had not been close - the distance and lack of transport had meant that no one else from Norfolk had visited them, although they had made the trip in the opposite direction many times over the years - but this would have been my fourth visit in twenty years, and I was quite fond of her. She was only a few years younger than my mother and, being my father's eldest neice, she had provided some interesting insights into the family's life between the wars. I now have an address for her son, and this might be a source of more information in the months to come.
All my preparations were made, and all I had to do after the service was to return home, swap vehicles and within an hour I was setting off on my travels. The week took me to three caravan and camping sites, each different from the others, carrying with it its own atmosphere and experiences for me. I had planned that, staying two nights at each site, I would make an excursion during the full day there to some other place of interest. In the event, two of these extra visits were made on the way to the respective sites, and the third was simply abandoned. Coincidentally, all three site names begin with 'B'.
From Blackshaw Grange, near Leek, Staffs., I had planned to use two bus services to get to Leek and then to Ashbourne, but I realised that since time was on my side, it would be just as easy to make my visit on the Sunday afternoon. My aim was the Airfield Industrial Estate, to see whether there were any remaining evidence of the former airfield, since it was there that my cousin was based during the Second World War, and he had left there as a volunteer for the mission that claimed his life on D-Day. Since the airfield was closed about sixty years ago, and has since been slowly but surely taken over by industry, relics were few and far between. It was as well that I did go on Sunday, because Monday was wet all day, and I got to know the inside of my motorhome very well indeed!
 |
| A pitch beneath the trees |
 |
| Haymaking at Llanuwchllyn |
I had planned while there to drive round the lake to see a new development at Llanycil on the northern side, but like Sunday, I realised that I would be passing this on my way, with time to stop, so to do so would avoid the need to secure everything in the motorhome in order to drive round the next day. The place I visited was called Mary Jones World, and I shall be writing about this in the next few days on my other blog, Gospel Around Us, so to find out more, visit http://gospelaroundus.blogspot.co.uk/ and look out for "So who was Mary Jones?".
The site at Bwch-yn-Uchaf (the name means 'The Highest Buck', I think) was a little more primitive than the bespoke club sites, but the facilities were clean and adequate, and on reflection I think it was, for me at least, the most pleasant of the three locations.
Thursday found me at the other end of the spectrum, as I arrived at a large club site on the outskirts of Kidderminster, a place with rolling neatly-trimmed grass slopes, dotted over which were caravans and motorhomes, great and small, with the occasional tent hidden amongst the awnings. I chose a pitch back to the hedge, but made sure I wasn't under a tree! This wouldn't have mattered, because the weather was fine and for the most part sunny, too. The site, called Brown Westhead Park, while busy and commercial, boasting information and recreation rooms as well as all the expected facilities - which were spotlessly clean! - wasn't at all impersonal, as I found when I had a couple of small problems, which were dealt with both promptly and thoroughly.
While there, I had planned to take a look at the Severn Valley Railway, whose terminus is next to the main line station at Kidderminster, but in the event, realising that the bus tmes were somewhat inconvenient, I decided to walk into the town. Having done so, my thoughts were elsewhere than on the railway, my first purpose being to locate the departure point of a bus back to the site, since I had no desire to walk back again! I found the centre somewhat characterless in its newness, but clearly a good place to shop.
On my way home today, I planned to visit my cousin in Birmingham, the sister of the one who had been based at RAF Ashbourne. On leaving Brown Westhead Park, I made my way through the Worcestershire countryside to the southern suburbs of the city, to the last address I had for my cousin. A strange face met me at the door, and this lady explained that, not only had my cousin and her husband moved into a care home some while ago, but also that, since then, they had both died! We had not been close - the distance and lack of transport had meant that no one else from Norfolk had visited them, although they had made the trip in the opposite direction many times over the years - but this would have been my fourth visit in twenty years, and I was quite fond of her. She was only a few years younger than my mother and, being my father's eldest neice, she had provided some interesting insights into the family's life between the wars. I now have an address for her son, and this might be a source of more information in the months to come.
 |
| Rolling, neatly-trimmed grass slopes: Brown Westhead Park |
Saturday, 20 June 2015
A Drop of the Old Stuff
It's been very much a week in the old vein. Perhaps, being the third successive working week, my name had become 'part of the scenery' once more, rather than 'the man who comes and goes'; perhaps it was because Dave - still the principal controller, despite no longer running the operation - has been on holiday; or perhaps it's just been 'that sort of a week'. I neither know nor care. Suffice to say that I've been tested, and enjoyed it.
After a weekend of desk-clearing, shaking off lots of financial burdens and planning a touring week that's about to begin, Monday started quite quietly. Luckily I remembered reading on Saturday evening as I submitted my Tax Return that there would be a delay before it appears on my record, and that, during this approximately three-day window, there would be an opportunity to make amendments. As I tidied things up in the aftermath, I discovered something that I had wrongly declared, and there was just time to go online and put this right before my PDA beeped to call me into work mode once more.
The first job was a local delivery to Bedford, but on the way I was called to pick up something in a nearby village for Westerham ... my first visit to Kent for quite a while. As if to prolong last week's theme of things in pairs, I was diverted to collect from the office something another driver had picked up, which was going to West Malling, not far away. Later came another trip south, to Stevenage and Enfield, from which I returned just too late to be able to fit in my weekly ringing practice.
Tuesday began with a collection - though that might not be the best word! - in Stevenage. When I arrived and announced where I was going (Maidenhead), I was told where to park along with the comment, "There's a lot of stuff in that bay; you won't get it all in that little van!" Then the manager arrived to organise the loading and, with the efforts of both of us, with Mr. Doom-and-Gloom passing one item after another, it did all fit ... just. When I rang in, as requested, to say I was loaded, I was invited to go back to Letchworth, where another driver was collecting a small consignment which they'd like me to take if I could fit it in, bound for Barnstaple. This consisted of one large box for which there was just room inside the door, and six small ones, which filled a gap in the 'eaves'. I returned home just before midnight.
After a late start, Wednesday brought me a string of five jobs, no further than Aylesbury, the last of which was a collection for a nationwide parcel company from a nursery in Hertford, to go to their regional distribution depot in Enfield. Being the first time I had done such a job, I wasn't aware how the program on my PDA was, of necessity, being 'misused'. It appeared that I was to make a delivery to the same place from which I'd just collected, but this element had been added simply in order to record the number of packages I had picked up.
Thursday's curtain-raiser was a call at about 9.30 from the office. "I don't know if you'd be interested in this job, Brian, but it's a rather juicy one!" Intrigued, I asked where it was going. "Whitehaven" came the reply. I told him I was interested, and within minutes was on my way to Luton to collect ... a small package containing, as I later discovered, some fuses. By the time I arrived, the manager was just walking through his warehouse 'to see if they'd arrived'. We spotted each other simultaneously. As I walked towards him he asked, "Have you brought my fuses?" I could only say where they'd come from, which satisfied him. He said he'd been wondering if I'd make it in time, since he now had to get them to his customer ... presumably by the close of business that evening. After stopping for a meal at KFC in Penrith, I was home this time at 12.35 am.
I would have been quite content yesterday with the delivery of three bottles of wine in Stevenage and two kegs of beer in Hertford, but I was asked if I could accommodate four tyres as well. Although they were for a Porsche, I found there was just room, so my week finished in Reading, faced with a lengthy journey trying to avoid the regular crush around the M25. It's been an enjoyable one, I have to say. Apart from the pleasant back lanes of Kent getting between the two deliveries on Monday, there was also the delight of seeing part of Bath that was new to me, as I diverted from the motorways on my way home from Devon, and both Barnstaple and Whitehaven are places I'd never visited before. Coincidentally, my two 'near misses', to South Molton and Workington respectively, were during the summer and autumn of 2002, soon after I'd started doing this work.
Now for what one friend has described as a 'busman's holiday', of which I shall tell you more when it's over!
After a weekend of desk-clearing, shaking off lots of financial burdens and planning a touring week that's about to begin, Monday started quite quietly. Luckily I remembered reading on Saturday evening as I submitted my Tax Return that there would be a delay before it appears on my record, and that, during this approximately three-day window, there would be an opportunity to make amendments. As I tidied things up in the aftermath, I discovered something that I had wrongly declared, and there was just time to go online and put this right before my PDA beeped to call me into work mode once more.
The first job was a local delivery to Bedford, but on the way I was called to pick up something in a nearby village for Westerham ... my first visit to Kent for quite a while. As if to prolong last week's theme of things in pairs, I was diverted to collect from the office something another driver had picked up, which was going to West Malling, not far away. Later came another trip south, to Stevenage and Enfield, from which I returned just too late to be able to fit in my weekly ringing practice.
Tuesday began with a collection - though that might not be the best word! - in Stevenage. When I arrived and announced where I was going (Maidenhead), I was told where to park along with the comment, "There's a lot of stuff in that bay; you won't get it all in that little van!" Then the manager arrived to organise the loading and, with the efforts of both of us, with Mr. Doom-and-Gloom passing one item after another, it did all fit ... just. When I rang in, as requested, to say I was loaded, I was invited to go back to Letchworth, where another driver was collecting a small consignment which they'd like me to take if I could fit it in, bound for Barnstaple. This consisted of one large box for which there was just room inside the door, and six small ones, which filled a gap in the 'eaves'. I returned home just before midnight.
After a late start, Wednesday brought me a string of five jobs, no further than Aylesbury, the last of which was a collection for a nationwide parcel company from a nursery in Hertford, to go to their regional distribution depot in Enfield. Being the first time I had done such a job, I wasn't aware how the program on my PDA was, of necessity, being 'misused'. It appeared that I was to make a delivery to the same place from which I'd just collected, but this element had been added simply in order to record the number of packages I had picked up.
Thursday's curtain-raiser was a call at about 9.30 from the office. "I don't know if you'd be interested in this job, Brian, but it's a rather juicy one!" Intrigued, I asked where it was going. "Whitehaven" came the reply. I told him I was interested, and within minutes was on my way to Luton to collect ... a small package containing, as I later discovered, some fuses. By the time I arrived, the manager was just walking through his warehouse 'to see if they'd arrived'. We spotted each other simultaneously. As I walked towards him he asked, "Have you brought my fuses?" I could only say where they'd come from, which satisfied him. He said he'd been wondering if I'd make it in time, since he now had to get them to his customer ... presumably by the close of business that evening. After stopping for a meal at KFC in Penrith, I was home this time at 12.35 am.
I would have been quite content yesterday with the delivery of three bottles of wine in Stevenage and two kegs of beer in Hertford, but I was asked if I could accommodate four tyres as well. Although they were for a Porsche, I found there was just room, so my week finished in Reading, faced with a lengthy journey trying to avoid the regular crush around the M25. It's been an enjoyable one, I have to say. Apart from the pleasant back lanes of Kent getting between the two deliveries on Monday, there was also the delight of seeing part of Bath that was new to me, as I diverted from the motorways on my way home from Devon, and both Barnstaple and Whitehaven are places I'd never visited before. Coincidentally, my two 'near misses', to South Molton and Workington respectively, were during the summer and autumn of 2002, soon after I'd started doing this work.
Now for what one friend has described as a 'busman's holiday', of which I shall tell you more when it's over!
Saturday, 13 June 2015
Two by Two
It's been a Noah's Ark of a week. Everything, it seems, has been coming in pairs. Well, I admit 'everything' is an exaggeration, but let me give you some examples. In my prayers on Monday morning I thought of two particular ladies with whom I had been in communication in the past week or so. I had e-mailed one, asking about a particular matter that needed an answer ... there had been no answer. I had had an exchange of text messages with the other, whose daughter's illness might have prevented a family holiday. My final comment had been, 'let me know how things progress, if you're able, before you go'. Again, I had heard nothing; was I to presume that all was well, and they'd departed as planned on Saturday ... or had the holiday been cancelled? No obligation was due to me, of course, but I would still have liked to know.
As I mentioned last week, I had an early delivery at Shepperton Studios, so those prayers were indeed early in the morning! After my return I was sitting at my desk, reading e-mails and so on, when within minutes, text messages arrived from each of those ladies. The first gave me a four-word answer to my e-mail, with the explanation that family illnesses had delayed a proper response; the second told me that last-minute efforts had procured a doctor's certification of the daughter's safety in flying, and secured an alternative flight, enabling a foreshortened holiday to commence on Tuesday.
In recent weeks I have been dealing with some investments. I had some money left over from buying and fitting out the motorhome that I'm now getting familiar with in readiness for some travel in the early years of my retirement. This had been 'parked' in a savings account ready for the new tax year to begin, and last week I decided that I really ought to do something productive with those funds, and took the first step towards that end. On Tuesday I discovered that this money had landed in my bank account so, in a gap between jobs, I issued the on-line instructions for its investment. As I did so, I discovered that another matter I'd set in motion some weeks ago, the transfer of my pension from one firm to another where its growth is more likely and more firmly in my own control, had now progressed to a stage where I must take some action. Another metaphorical 'heap' on my desk!
Wednesday afternoon, workwise, found me in Luton. I'd picked up some goods in Hertford, and although I know the road where they were to be delivered, this was the first time, I think, that I'd arrived there from that particular direction, so I was content to let SatNav direct me. I was just thinking surprise that I was going by what, even in my supposed ignorance, seemed rather a circuitous route, when I found myself being directed onto the new busway that has been built in the last year or so on the route of a former railway line. It was then that I realised that SatNav had been misled by the fact that the busway actually passes above the road I would normally turn off, close by the small industrial estate I was making for!
By this time, as I quickly re-routed myself for the right destination, I had been spotted by another office, and had been given a pick-up in Luton, to take to Brentwood. The collection point was only a few streets away, and I was soon there, knowing the familiar name of the firm I was collecting from, and that it was at unit 20. I quickly identified the sequence of unit numbers, following 14,15,16 and 17 up a little side turning, and noticing 18 at the far end as I turned around. On the next corner was a sign directing deliveries to unit 21, and the unit beyond that was clearly marked 22. 19 and 20 were not to be found. As I drove up and down, looking at the numbered units and the names outside, I finally spotted 'member of the W...... group' - at last the name I sought. I parked and went inside, only to be told, 'Yes, but it's not us you want - it'll be the other W...... company ...'. Naming it, he directed me to another side turning in the far corner of the estate, beyond unit 23! I began to protest about the numbers. 'Yes, I know, they're all over the place round here. We're always getting people in, asking about them.'
This placid acknowledgement did nothing to soothe my demeanour. Nor did the fact that, when I did eventually find the place, tucked away in the corner as the man had said, I was told that the job had been cancelled! More frustration, and lots of phone calls to and fro, established that a previous job from the same place had indeed been cancelled, but that my job was definitely there. I should return, and go to the side of the building. Having previously enquired at the collections desk as is normal for these places, I now did as instructed, and found a small pallet waiting by a fork truck, to be loaded by someone wearing a totally different livery, bearing a name that had hitherto not been mentioned to me by anyone! Within minutes, I was on my way.
While all this had been unfolding in Luton, my own office had called to ask me travel to Brentwood via them, because they had another job going to the same place. In point of fact, neither was to Brentwood itself, but one to Warley and the other to Childerditch, from which as I drove away in the late afternoon haze, I was treated to a wonderful vista of the Thames valley. The trials of Wednesday thus assuaged, I was happy to be asked to collect a consignment from the office before going home, for delivery by 8.0 the following morning in Sheffield ... the first of two annoying Thursday twosomes.
I arrived, according to plan, at about 7.50, driving along a single road between large industrial sites, towards a retail park at the bottom end. Having been unable to identify my target as I'd slowly progressed down the road, I parked on the retail park to investigate further. Google verified the address, but provided no better directions. There was a phone no. however, and this connected me to a very helpful receptionist, who told me to look 'behind Homebase, but to ignore their service entrance. We're right opposite.' Sure enough, as I approached from the retail park, there was the gateway, clearly marked, but by one sign only, facing down the hill. All efforts to obtain a return job from local offices having failed, I was home by lunchtime.
After a couple of local jobs, I was sent to a mailing office at Farlington near Portsmouth, with several boxes of printed matter for Chelsea FC (name-dropping again!) I remember hoping when I left that there would still be someone there when I arrived, because it was already nearly 3.0. The M25 was predictably slow, and I eventually discovered that there was a broken-down car in the middle lane of the five-lane stretch just north of junction 12. He had my sympathies, sitting there with his hazards on, hoping that everyone would realise in time that he was stationary and go around him. The A3 was little better when I eventually reached it. Here I felt little sympathy when I discovered another stationary vehicle. This one had stopped two feet or more from the road's edge, its occupants wisely obeying the security advice sitting up on the verge well away from the carriageway. On a busy two-lane road, however, everything had to squeeze into one lane to pass, causing queues for several miles back. Why, oh why, I wondered, don't people who are breaking down use the last remnants of their motive power to position their vehicles where they can cause the least obstacle? If these folks, for example, had run up the low kerb, getting half the car's width off the road, there would still have been room for two lines of traffic to pass carefully by.
I finally arrived at Farlington around 5.25, and began to search for the name on my delivery note. There was no sign. In fact, where SatNav had pointed, there was no turning from the road at all! Up and down I searched, in at least two little side roads, but there was no trace of the name I sought. I was thinking of the research I'd undertaken that morning, some 200 miles away ... but here there was nowhere suitable to park. And then - on the opposite side of the road from where SatNav had pointed - was the name I wanted! Luckily, although the delivery shutters were down, there were still people about, and the delivery could be made, but as I left, relieved at having an empty van once more, I noticed that here, too, was a clear sign on its own, facing the opposite way from that whence I had approached! There is no chance of finding a place thus identified ... unless in child-minding mode, i.e. with eyes facing to the rear!
By yesterday morning, the theme for this blog was clearly in my mind, and I wondered how it would conclude. I had to wait until the last job of the week to find out. I had been sent to a local drinks distributor to collect a consignment for a pub in Stevenage - a nice local job to round off what had been a hot day. Typically, as I rounded the penultimate corner, my PDA beeped, to announce that this job had been cancelled. Before I could acknowledge this, the phone went, as the controller called to explain that he was sending me a different but more profitable job from the same customer. The pub in Stevenage was replaced by a hotel in Huntingdon and ... TWO Cambridge colleges!
Finding the delivery entrance to the hotel was a doddle, and there was no real problem making the second delivery to Robinson College, apart from reversing at an angle across a busy cycle lane and up a narrow ramp to the door nearest the bar. Jesus College, however, was a mystery. SatNav directed me along Jesus Lane, and as I marvelled at the eternal beauty and atmosphere of one of England's oldest collegiate cities, I debated parking on the roadside to make enquiries down a long roadway, or seeking a back entrance by driving around the block. I opted for the latter, only to be thwarted by a dead end, separated from the college by a row of pretty cottages. Back to Jesus Lane, then, where I chose the third option, an open driveway marked 'Master's Lodge - Private'.
I rang the doorbell. There was no reply. I tried the gate leading to the porter's lodge. It was unlocked. I entered the lodge, where I was met by a neat, possibly ex-military man, waistcoated, but unjacketed, in his late forties or early fifties.
"This is Jesus College ...?" I sought confirmation.
"It is," he replied, "and you have just entered from the Master's garden."
"That's right," I confessed, "how did you know."
"CCTV."
I explained my business: delivering a keg of Budweiser, clearly something that needed to get the van to the right place; clearly not a carryable item.
"Where are you parked - in the lane?"
"No; through there ..." I pointed to the gate.
"In the Master's driveway! You will not be popular!"
"In my experience," I struggled to regain equality, "with appropriate apologies, that proves to be a useful way to overcome a problem like this."
I think he appreciated the humour and earnestness of my remark. He showed me an aerial photograph of the college, and indicated that, if I were to back-track my original approach, I would find an intercom-equipped wrought-iron gate, through which he would admit me, and how I could get from there to the rear entrance to the bar. Armed with this key information, and after expressing my gratitude for his help, making the actual delivery was a simple matter and I could make my way home, being very thankful that this didn't involve a long crawl around the M25 as last Friday had done - that would have been one pair too many!
As I mentioned last week, I had an early delivery at Shepperton Studios, so those prayers were indeed early in the morning! After my return I was sitting at my desk, reading e-mails and so on, when within minutes, text messages arrived from each of those ladies. The first gave me a four-word answer to my e-mail, with the explanation that family illnesses had delayed a proper response; the second told me that last-minute efforts had procured a doctor's certification of the daughter's safety in flying, and secured an alternative flight, enabling a foreshortened holiday to commence on Tuesday.
In recent weeks I have been dealing with some investments. I had some money left over from buying and fitting out the motorhome that I'm now getting familiar with in readiness for some travel in the early years of my retirement. This had been 'parked' in a savings account ready for the new tax year to begin, and last week I decided that I really ought to do something productive with those funds, and took the first step towards that end. On Tuesday I discovered that this money had landed in my bank account so, in a gap between jobs, I issued the on-line instructions for its investment. As I did so, I discovered that another matter I'd set in motion some weeks ago, the transfer of my pension from one firm to another where its growth is more likely and more firmly in my own control, had now progressed to a stage where I must take some action. Another metaphorical 'heap' on my desk!
Wednesday afternoon, workwise, found me in Luton. I'd picked up some goods in Hertford, and although I know the road where they were to be delivered, this was the first time, I think, that I'd arrived there from that particular direction, so I was content to let SatNav direct me. I was just thinking surprise that I was going by what, even in my supposed ignorance, seemed rather a circuitous route, when I found myself being directed onto the new busway that has been built in the last year or so on the route of a former railway line. It was then that I realised that SatNav had been misled by the fact that the busway actually passes above the road I would normally turn off, close by the small industrial estate I was making for!
By this time, as I quickly re-routed myself for the right destination, I had been spotted by another office, and had been given a pick-up in Luton, to take to Brentwood. The collection point was only a few streets away, and I was soon there, knowing the familiar name of the firm I was collecting from, and that it was at unit 20. I quickly identified the sequence of unit numbers, following 14,15,16 and 17 up a little side turning, and noticing 18 at the far end as I turned around. On the next corner was a sign directing deliveries to unit 21, and the unit beyond that was clearly marked 22. 19 and 20 were not to be found. As I drove up and down, looking at the numbered units and the names outside, I finally spotted 'member of the W...... group' - at last the name I sought. I parked and went inside, only to be told, 'Yes, but it's not us you want - it'll be the other W...... company ...'. Naming it, he directed me to another side turning in the far corner of the estate, beyond unit 23! I began to protest about the numbers. 'Yes, I know, they're all over the place round here. We're always getting people in, asking about them.'
This placid acknowledgement did nothing to soothe my demeanour. Nor did the fact that, when I did eventually find the place, tucked away in the corner as the man had said, I was told that the job had been cancelled! More frustration, and lots of phone calls to and fro, established that a previous job from the same place had indeed been cancelled, but that my job was definitely there. I should return, and go to the side of the building. Having previously enquired at the collections desk as is normal for these places, I now did as instructed, and found a small pallet waiting by a fork truck, to be loaded by someone wearing a totally different livery, bearing a name that had hitherto not been mentioned to me by anyone! Within minutes, I was on my way.
While all this had been unfolding in Luton, my own office had called to ask me travel to Brentwood via them, because they had another job going to the same place. In point of fact, neither was to Brentwood itself, but one to Warley and the other to Childerditch, from which as I drove away in the late afternoon haze, I was treated to a wonderful vista of the Thames valley. The trials of Wednesday thus assuaged, I was happy to be asked to collect a consignment from the office before going home, for delivery by 8.0 the following morning in Sheffield ... the first of two annoying Thursday twosomes.
I arrived, according to plan, at about 7.50, driving along a single road between large industrial sites, towards a retail park at the bottom end. Having been unable to identify my target as I'd slowly progressed down the road, I parked on the retail park to investigate further. Google verified the address, but provided no better directions. There was a phone no. however, and this connected me to a very helpful receptionist, who told me to look 'behind Homebase, but to ignore their service entrance. We're right opposite.' Sure enough, as I approached from the retail park, there was the gateway, clearly marked, but by one sign only, facing down the hill. All efforts to obtain a return job from local offices having failed, I was home by lunchtime.
After a couple of local jobs, I was sent to a mailing office at Farlington near Portsmouth, with several boxes of printed matter for Chelsea FC (name-dropping again!) I remember hoping when I left that there would still be someone there when I arrived, because it was already nearly 3.0. The M25 was predictably slow, and I eventually discovered that there was a broken-down car in the middle lane of the five-lane stretch just north of junction 12. He had my sympathies, sitting there with his hazards on, hoping that everyone would realise in time that he was stationary and go around him. The A3 was little better when I eventually reached it. Here I felt little sympathy when I discovered another stationary vehicle. This one had stopped two feet or more from the road's edge, its occupants wisely obeying the security advice sitting up on the verge well away from the carriageway. On a busy two-lane road, however, everything had to squeeze into one lane to pass, causing queues for several miles back. Why, oh why, I wondered, don't people who are breaking down use the last remnants of their motive power to position their vehicles where they can cause the least obstacle? If these folks, for example, had run up the low kerb, getting half the car's width off the road, there would still have been room for two lines of traffic to pass carefully by.
I finally arrived at Farlington around 5.25, and began to search for the name on my delivery note. There was no sign. In fact, where SatNav had pointed, there was no turning from the road at all! Up and down I searched, in at least two little side roads, but there was no trace of the name I sought. I was thinking of the research I'd undertaken that morning, some 200 miles away ... but here there was nowhere suitable to park. And then - on the opposite side of the road from where SatNav had pointed - was the name I wanted! Luckily, although the delivery shutters were down, there were still people about, and the delivery could be made, but as I left, relieved at having an empty van once more, I noticed that here, too, was a clear sign on its own, facing the opposite way from that whence I had approached! There is no chance of finding a place thus identified ... unless in child-minding mode, i.e. with eyes facing to the rear!
By yesterday morning, the theme for this blog was clearly in my mind, and I wondered how it would conclude. I had to wait until the last job of the week to find out. I had been sent to a local drinks distributor to collect a consignment for a pub in Stevenage - a nice local job to round off what had been a hot day. Typically, as I rounded the penultimate corner, my PDA beeped, to announce that this job had been cancelled. Before I could acknowledge this, the phone went, as the controller called to explain that he was sending me a different but more profitable job from the same customer. The pub in Stevenage was replaced by a hotel in Huntingdon and ... TWO Cambridge colleges!
Finding the delivery entrance to the hotel was a doddle, and there was no real problem making the second delivery to Robinson College, apart from reversing at an angle across a busy cycle lane and up a narrow ramp to the door nearest the bar. Jesus College, however, was a mystery. SatNav directed me along Jesus Lane, and as I marvelled at the eternal beauty and atmosphere of one of England's oldest collegiate cities, I debated parking on the roadside to make enquiries down a long roadway, or seeking a back entrance by driving around the block. I opted for the latter, only to be thwarted by a dead end, separated from the college by a row of pretty cottages. Back to Jesus Lane, then, where I chose the third option, an open driveway marked 'Master's Lodge - Private'.
I rang the doorbell. There was no reply. I tried the gate leading to the porter's lodge. It was unlocked. I entered the lodge, where I was met by a neat, possibly ex-military man, waistcoated, but unjacketed, in his late forties or early fifties.
"This is Jesus College ...?" I sought confirmation.
"It is," he replied, "and you have just entered from the Master's garden."
"That's right," I confessed, "how did you know."
"CCTV."
I explained my business: delivering a keg of Budweiser, clearly something that needed to get the van to the right place; clearly not a carryable item.
"Where are you parked - in the lane?"
"No; through there ..." I pointed to the gate.
"In the Master's driveway! You will not be popular!"
"In my experience," I struggled to regain equality, "with appropriate apologies, that proves to be a useful way to overcome a problem like this."
I think he appreciated the humour and earnestness of my remark. He showed me an aerial photograph of the college, and indicated that, if I were to back-track my original approach, I would find an intercom-equipped wrought-iron gate, through which he would admit me, and how I could get from there to the rear entrance to the bar. Armed with this key information, and after expressing my gratitude for his help, making the actual delivery was a simple matter and I could make my way home, being very thankful that this didn't involve a long crawl around the M25 as last Friday had done - that would have been one pair too many!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)