Friday January 9th was D-day. Delivery day, or at least collection day.
Friday January 9th was D-day. Delivery day, or at least collection day, as I caught the train up to Burton On Trent, then a cab ride to Don Amott Leisure collected my Bessacarr. It was a cold, blustery winter’s day and an instruction session which lasted the best part of an hour was frankly, a waste of time to a large extent, as the interior walk-through instructions tended to go in one ear and out of the other, and the exterior instructions fell on deaf ears as the wind and rain lashed down. What I was sure of was that it would take a while to figure out how to run and maintain this beast, with its myriad instructions spread across two thick manuals, and several ancillary instruction booklets. I’ve never been a great one for manuals and when the sales rep said “we’re just at the end of a telephone if you need anything explaining” I knew instantly that I’d be straight on that blower almost as soon as I got home.
The initial drive out and onto the M50 and the M1 south was interesting. I’d driven a van before - a transit van belonging to Courier Express when I did summer holiday work for them in the late 80s at University, and another delivery job involving frozen chickens and black forest gateaux in Leamington as a student but that was all a long time ago and I’d forgotten the experience entirely, other than that some urgent braking manoeuvres had almost put me and a whole bevy of said frozen chickens through the transit windscreen on the notoriously dangerous Coventry ring road once. I vowed to get used to the feel of the van as quickly as possible and a windswept M1 was as good a place as any to start. It took a while to get used to the rattling, but I realized that with judicious use of tea towels and bubble warp, the ‘on the move’ noise could be minimised.