Now here’s an interesting episode. I was hanging out the washing when there was a loud knock at the front door, resulting in my dog hurtling to the front of the house to pant a greeting through the door to whoever was on the other side. I followed meekly behind and opened said door to find a postman of the summer-short-wearing-variety standing on the step. As the dog relentlessly welcomed him, he handed me my post and greeted me by my first name (having read it from the envelope that was too large to come through the letter box). He then walked away with nary another word, nor pat to the dog – who was beside herself with affection as she has a particular thing for men in shorts (Disclaimer: I have neither responsibility nor familiarity for this particular fetish of hers, thank you). Clearly unimpressed with the brevity of his visit and lack of response to her obvious adoration, she bounded down the path in pursuit. Normally obedient, but on this occasion completely ignoring my best Joyce Grenfell crossed with fish-wife method of command, the beast was clearly heart set on a knee licking with this one, so I was forced to follow down the path to retrieve her. At this point there was a bang from the front door. The now-shut front door. The postman turned to face me.

“The door’s shut” he announced.

“That’s not good,” I replied, as it seemed useful to identify this as a problem, to a potential rescuer.

However, the postie’s earlier familiarity of apparent first-name terms was then lost as he gave me a curt nod, turned heel and continued on his merry way, leaving me with a collection of post in one hand, and a squirming dog, held by her collar, in another.

The builder from next door looked over the fence. “I don’t have a rope” he stated matter-of-factly.

“It’s OK” I smiled “I’m just locked out, not suicidal.”

He looked at me blankly and nodded in the beast’s direction. “For the dog.”

“Oh.” I pondered my dilemma as he returned back to his important work with a bucket and spade (I’m really not kidding)!

Ultimately, dear reader, my return to my humble abode was achieved by my testing of the security features of my back fence, as accessed from the road behind, having trailed one handful of dog and one handful of post up my road and back down the one behind, all in my slippers. The fence (thankfully on this occasion) failed the security test by facilitating a gap big enough for me to first shove said dog and post through and then climb through myself. However I reached only half way in, before the dog decided to come back through the same gap. Now she’s a big girl: laid end to end I am the smaller, so her return trip resulted in some kind of push-me-pull-you type creature (bottom end of me and top end of her) left poking out on the road side. Enter courier-man, happily delivering in the next street: “Are you ok?”

Unsure which end of which of us he was addressing, I maintained my dignity (as if I had any left at this point) and mumbled “yes thank you” just as the dog decided that this one was indeed the man of her dreams and shoved herself all the way back through to show him so, consequently scraping the whole of one of my legs along the rough edge of the fence panel in the process.

Kind courier man held her collar whilst I righted myself, then inserted her back through the gap and secured it on the road-facing side by means of careful replacement and propping with stones, whilst I thanked him through gritted teeth as I pulled the most immediately painful splinters out of the leg. He gave us both a fantastic grin and “no problem” before he too went on his merry way.

So, post- man 0, courier-man 1: chivalry at the roadside is alive and kicking as a result of this episode (although the dog’s days may well be numbered)!

This is a true event in my life, so how about one of yours? Have you, as a courier, happened to be in the right place at the right time, to help out in a crisis or damsel, if not deranged dog-owner, in distress? Do tell!

Bookmark It

My stepdad, as it happens, has the ultimate in enjoyable courier roles. His post-retirement job includes that of being a courier of charity buses from the main or local manufacturer to the recipient charity organisations. These are the typical “Sunshine” or “Rotary Club” buses that you see out and about or, if you are not sure what I mean, check out the disabled spots of local retail parks, often you can see an example there, painted up with some bright charity logo on the side – perfect for days out and group-wide domestic errands.

This role has taken him from one end of the UK to the other – he generally drives the bus to the charity organisation and then gets the train back, all as emissions-friendly as a brand new engine on a maiden-voyage can be. At other times more than one journey is required, if he is needed to fetch the bus from the main manufacturer and then drive back to the local workshop for the organisation’s personalisation or modification requirements to be carried out before, a day or two later, driving on to make the delivery at the organisation itself.

The deliveries can be anything to dropping off in a car-park of a charity HQ, being invariably greeted by a site-manager with his sandwich in one hand whilst looking at his watch on the other, to driving coaches into high-profile presentation ceremonies, where the bus takes centre stage and assorted dignitaries invariably including the donating body, some kind of celebrity (often the ones still pursuing the Butlin’s entertainment circuit or, bizarrely, Chris Tarrant) or alternatively still a royalty-related patron of said charity, as well as representatives of the charity’s client-group. He finds these enjoyable because he is always invited to join in the top-notch refreshments (typically catered for by the donating body) and can usually settle down to a welcome tea, along with the designated driver of the new bus, and have a very happy hand-over hour chatting about the technical side of the new coach’s features.

His favourite drop-offs though? Arriving at a special school where students, staff, governors and patrons all hail him and flag frantically a safe passage into the car-park for an awaiting special greeting and thank you committee. He loves these events the best because he gets to really put the bus into the context of its purpose and is able to pass on information first-hand to its subsequent drivers and passengers, sharing their delight in what the new bus will mean to them, even if it does include giving 20 of them a ‘turn’ on the wheelchair lift before he gets a well-earned cuppa!

So, that’s his courier role. I’m guessing there are few courier jobs that can give that much humility and satisfaction in the course of a working day, but I know there must be others out there – ambulance drivers and special medical drivers spring to mind: patients or organs- one must have to go to the other for transplant, right? Undertakers – a very humbling courier task indeed, which often involves this very professional service in several necessary transportations before that very final one. How must it feel to have that responsibility?
So, do you have a particularly fulfilling courier role? Here at Find My Courier, we’d love to know about any courier specialism you have, so do let us know! In the meantime, when you’re out on the road, give a little hail to the bus driver of the charity buses – the kids love a little honk and wave and, if it’s a lone driver, well, it might be my step-dad undertaking his ultimate courier role!

Bookmark It