After all the delays with the decorating of the study, we've been spurred into action by the plumber announcing that he can fit our new radiators next Friday. Before he can do that, we need to have fitted the skirting board behind the pipes, and before we can do THAT, the walls have to have been painted.
So I ordered the skirting board last week and today the wood yard called to say it was ready for collection. Now I remembered from the cutting list that several of the pieces were quite long, and I was more than a little doubtful that I'd be able to fit them in the car, so I enquired about delivery. As it happened, they're a driver down at the moment and the earliest they could deliver was Tuesday of next week - a day when I have to be in Sheffield. Any later than that and it's getting scarily close to Radiator Fitting Day and I knew the pressure would be on for me to fit those two pieces. I decided to call round to the woodyard and size things up.
It's been raining here pretty much every day for the last 4-5 weeks, but today in particular it was absolutely hissing down. I arrived at the woodyard and was directed to the mill, where our skirting had been piled neatly by the door. 27 metres in total, cut into about eight lengths. I let down the back seats, rolled the passenger seat forward, wound the window down and started loading up. Some of the lengths protruded from the open passenger window about a metre but I've travelled like that before. It's not ideal but I knew as long as I took it slowly I'd be OK. That was, until I came to the bottom of the pile.
It was quite logical for the mill manager to put the longest piece on the bottom, but until I saw it I'd forgotten quite how long it was going to be. 5.4 metres to be precise. When I fed it into (or to be more precise through) the car, it stuck out of the passenger window by a good eight feet. Way beyond the front of the car and, since it was at an angle of about 30° to the left, way out to the side too. Every good sense screamed at me to unload the wood and let them deliver it, but it was still pouring with rain, I was at risk of being late to pick Nikki up, AND being late for the evening's concert, AND I didn't want to wait to fit those bits behind the radiators, so I belted up and took off.
As before, when I'd transported the plank, I couldn't get above 30mph without the wood vibrating madly and waving all over the place, so I took it slow and headed for the M60. Staying in the inside lane I soon built up quite a following, only I wouldn't call them fans. Whenever they saw an opportunity they would swerve past me, some grinning, some honking, more than one showing their impatience by cutting me up as they swung back in front of me. Quite what that achieved I couldn't work out.
Then, on the hard shoulder a couple of hundred yards in front of me, I saw a sight that sent a chill down my back. The traffic cop I'd seen on the way over was still there, dealing with someone he'd pulled over. I drove slowly past, one arm on my load to stop some of the wobble, and sent up a silent prayer. Checking my rear view mirror every few seconds I could see the patrol car had not pulled out to follow me. Pretty soon the curve of the motorway took him out of sight, but I still kept an eye out behind. Not that I could have done anything to avoid being pulled over, if he decided I was worth booking.
About half a mile further on, as I passed the exit for Manchester Airport, a bump in the road or a sudden gust of wind shifted the long section and it slipped down a couple of feet. Now sitting parallel with the road and with its back end pressed against the roof of the car, the wood would not pass harmless over anything on the hard shoulder; it would hit it. Cars joining from slip roads were a hazard too. I had to stop. I pulled over and as I stopped the skirting board clipped the trees at the side of the motorway, knocking several leaves and twigs off. I got out of the car and adjusted the section, moving it to the inside of the bunch and wedging it between them and the door so that it wouldn't move again.
I looked behind. Still no sign of the patrol car. I was less than half a mile from the exit. Slowly I pulled away and entered the inside lane again. The countdown markers appeared for the exit. Still nothing in the rear view mirror. I took the long sweeping slip road onto Princess Parkway and breathed a sigh of relief. The worst was over. Now I was a mile or so from home, and on local roads. But was it better to stay on the Parkway as long as possible, or take the side roads? I figured the Parkway had the greater risk of encountering more police, but it was wider. By hugging the outside edge of the left hand lane I could keep the plank as far away from the footpath and the street lights as possible. I decided it was safer to stick with the main road, even though I was continuing to get funny looks from everyone who passed me.
The relief when I finally pulled up outside the house was short-lived. I still had to get all the wood under cover, get back to Northenden to pick Nikki up, and then get across to Holmfirth by 6.30. I took the long section in first. As soon as I cleared the front door it was obvious I wouldn't be able to get the beast upstairs. It will have to be cut to length in the kitchen, but for the time being at least I could stand it in the stairwell.
That's the second time I've transported building materials like that and definitely, definitely the last!
Friday Five:
1. What do you do?
Trying not to overanalyse here - I guess this means "... for a living" in which case the answer is I'm a computer systems architect. I design large-scale (as in, thousands of users) computer solutions for government, finance, banking and retail customers.
2. What makes you pay attention?
A loud noise or kerfuffle
3. What's your inspiration?
It's when I breathe in.
4. Do you believe in magic?
Not in the Harry Potter sense, but I do believe in the paranormal.
5. What is your favorite subject to write about?
Aside from stressful journeys home from the builder's merchant I like to write about anything at all, and have written a novel about a man and his discovery of some science that goes wrong.
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2 comments:
Friday the 13th indeed! You did get lucky that you didn't get stopped or have worse trouble! Did you realize how much work was going to be involved in the house when you bought it?
Oh yes, that much was obvious. In fact it's the first thing Nikki's Mum said when she saw the place. Sucking air over her teeth she gritted: "Lot of work, John. A LOT of work."
But, you know, if we weren't doing this, what would we be doing to keep ourselves occupied? :-\
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