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Brian Lee, managing director of Allan Morris Transport, finds that
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a sense of humour and a sharp HB pencil are the best tools to help you through a busy week.
• tf you would like to feature in Working Week please fax your details to features editor Patric Cunnane or Micky Clarke on 020 8652 8912 or phone 020 8652 3618.
MONDAY
Six o'clock every Monday morning, however hard I plan, there's always a challenge that needs solving. On the rare occasion that the phone doesn't ring. I'm still waiting for it anyway.
A couple of hours later, down to the depot. Terry's already been beavering away for an hour, pouring statistics into his computer, a glance around the parking area and I breathe a sigh of relief because it's a vehicle-free zone.
I am settling down to my beloved traffic sheet, admiring the work of art crafted the previous day, when I'm brought back to reality with the phone ringing. A customer; there's a change of plan, scout comes my rubber and within minutes the sheet is mutilated. The cavalry (an HB pencil) soon restores the work,howeveralbeit transformed from a Rembrandt to a Picasso.
The girls are now in fielding the phone calls, when one is pushed through. A voice that resembles Hitler on a bad day Informs me that he's sick to death of having to overtake a convoy of Allan Morris trucks every Monday on 'his' road, the A41. I make enquiries with the drivers and he's Identified as the loony that eventually passes them after fourteen miles duelling with death. He continues that if he sees the fully taxed, insured, serviced-every-five-weeks vehicles on his road again he will report us to the DfT. For what I ask: an accolade? Some mothers do have 'ern!
Terry's labours on the computer all day yesterday have generated the earnings and performance of the vehicles from the previous week. Essential reading—and the fresher they are, the more useful
Apr they are. We dissect the numbers and dig deeper if necessary. Walter from the garage pops in to persuade me to allow him to create a Rolls Royce when a humble Mercedes will do nicely. Waiter's motto is: "If a jab's worth doing, then do it very, very well and blow the downtime:'
WEDNESDAY
A very early morning call from a wide-awake Northern Ireland call centre tells me the depot alarm has gone off. A glance at the clock, 3am, too early for a forgetful driver—I'd better attend. Our industrial estate is a hive of activity during the day but deserted at night. Armed with a keyed-in mobile and a high-strength torch, I inspect the parts of the depot I can get to. Everything seems in one piece, so back to bed for the remaining couple of hours of rest. Later that afternoon, at the local bi-annual residents' committee, I feel the room getting darker as the last meeting's half-page of minutes are discussed for three-quarters of an hour. Terry's nudge brings me back to the land of the living, as the definition of a footpath is finally agreed. No questions were raised on transport issues, thankfully.
THURSDAY
"Brian, thankfully I've just nudged him in the rear, no damage to our vehicle!" How many times have I heard that statement, and I know that letters like confetti will arrive within seconds, claiming whiplash for the family and all that know them. That tiny nudge in the rear will cause more damage to the vehicle than Saddam's weapons of destruction could have inflicted on our sceptred isle. It never ceases to amaze me that we find the only G-reg Lade fitted with quadraphonic sound systems and genuine (allegedly) white rhinoskin seats, all of which are ruined because of that rear nudge. "Did you take a photo?" I asked him. But no, he forgot! I do my Basil Fawlty impression while explaining why we provide cameras.
A call from James Faulkner of the RHA to discuss the plight of an applicant for assistance from the RHA Benevolent Fund brings me back down from the ceiling. It's a fine line between making it and being driven to poverty through an accident or a severe illness— the Benevolent Fund kicks in and assists where we can. However, there are many calls an our cash so we can only scratch the surface with our assistance.
FRIDAY
The thrill and anticipation of an RHA Working Time Directive seminar sees me picking Terry up at 5am. The journey time should be one-and-a-half hours but it's south of Birmingham, so we allow three-and-a-half to be careful. Three hours later we arrive, again no thanks to the British road network, but then we are only the 'motorists'. Unfortunately, we don't enjoy the luxury of an underground system, or buses bunching up and leaving 15-minute gaps. Where] live, three buses in a row would mean Tuesday's had been caught by Thursday's and Saturday's.
Five hours later, we have learned nothing and the Working Time Directive implementation clock ticks on. On the way back, lget a call from a car driver who's mad because Bernie wouldn't allow him in and he had to bash the cones. He then tells me exactly what he's going to do to Bernie at the end of the contraflow. I tell him not to delay Bernie too long as he has to be at the regimental reunion in Hereford tonight. After a pause, the penny drops. Well, Bernie was in the Royal Army Catering Corp! So the week ends with a senseless threat. Thank goodness it's Friday!