aspects of my new job.
After five minutes sitting to attention in the kitchen with all of my gear on, ready to run out and jump on the bike, whose engine had already been heated, I came to the conclusion that I could relax a bit, even though I was standing by. I slipped the radio off my shoulder, removed my jacket, put the kettle on and lit up a cigarette.
There’s something decidedly reminiscent about smoking a cigarette, perhaps because of the “time out” involved, perhaps because of memories of previous smokes or even because the act makes you breathe deeper, which is relaxing in itself which can trigger off memories.
This was not a good thing for me at this stage of my life. Even as I exhaled the first drag, I felt my spirit sink that sickening slide into the hurt and heartache that engulfed me every time I let my guard down; my emptied lungs mirroring metaphorically the loveless sack of a soul that remained within me.
Each drag deepened my depression as I smoked on; reluctant each time to breathe in again, indeed not doing so on occasion until the bodies defences kicked in and it happened involuntarily.
The click of the boiling kettle startled me out of my reverie and I dragged my sorry arse over to make a cup of tea.
“Go ahead, Mick.” The radio reminded me of its presence.
“Roger. First away on the north side.”
I made a mental note of the time - eight fifty three-and vowed never to radio in before that. I could have had a few minutes more sleep instead of feeling miserable.
“Activity is the key, Sean - keep as active as possible, mentally and physically, every waking moment.”
I sat back down, flicked my dangerously long ash into the ashtray and took my first hot sip of tea. The usual thoughts of Saoirse came to me: why had she forsaken me so easily? I would have crawled a mile on broken glass for her and she just dumped me because some prick she worked with said that I would get her sacked.
It had to be jealousy. That prick must have wanted her for himself.
“Yeah go ahead, Dolores.”
“Mick got in ahead of ye, chicken an’ it’s a quiet morning. D’ye want to start rollin’ in slowly an’ we’ll get ye a juicy run out of town?”
“Oh, I know that Dolores, but sure what are ye gonna do?”
“I’ve got Eight Ray and someone else. Ray go ahead.”
“Are you still in bed, Ray?”
What’s going on here? I thought.
“I mean that Mick has north covered, Dolores is on the way in and now you decide to radio in.”
Ray was one courier that I remembered from the previous day. I was eager to know what this new base controller was playing at with this sort of antagonism. Ray must have had a lot to say, for it was a while before I heard the base controller again.
“All right Ray, I’m only havin’ a laugh. I know you need the money and ye won’t make it from bed; it’s just funny that you radio in immediately after the other two northsiders every morning. If you were lazy you could be lyin’ in bed makin’ eejits out of the lot of us. Now, who else is callin’ there?”
Was Ray still in bed? Did couriers stay in bed until work was despatched to them? That could mean a lot of extra time in bed, but frantic scrambles when work was despatched; including tearing away at speed with a cold engine.
“Roger, Naoise, stand by there. Who else is calling?”
“No thanks, Ray, I don’t want to hear your engine. Who else is calling there?”
I knew what was going on here; Ray was protesting that he was ready to go and was going to let the base man hear his bike to prove it. The thing about that was that he could easily have put on a dressing gown and run down to his bike by now anyway. This was highly amusing though.
“Roger, Gizzard, stand by there, who else?”
“Ray, I believe you, you’re logged in, there’s no hassle now please, people are trying to get logged in, I need the airways clear!”
Then there was a little beep followed by a courier’s voice. “Go back to
After five minutes sitting to attention in the kitchen with all of my gear on, ready to run out and jump on the bike, whose engine had already been heated, I came to the conclusion that I could relax a bit, even though I was standing by. I slipped the radio off my shoulder, removed my jacket, put the kettle on and lit up a cigarette.
There’s something decidedly reminiscent about smoking a cigarette, perhaps because of the “time out” involved, perhaps because of memories of previous smokes or even because the act makes you breathe deeper, which is relaxing in itself which can trigger off memories.
This was not a good thing for me at this stage of my life. Even as I exhaled the first drag, I felt my spirit sink that sickening slide into the hurt and heartache that engulfed me every time I let my guard down; my emptied lungs mirroring metaphorically the loveless sack of a soul that remained within me.
Each drag deepened my depression as I smoked on; reluctant each time to breathe in again, indeed not doing so on occasion until the bodies defences kicked in and it happened involuntarily.
The click of the boiling kettle startled me out of my reverie and I dragged my sorry arse over to make a cup of tea.
“Go ahead, Mick.” The radio reminded me of its presence.
“Roger. First away on the north side.”
I made a mental note of the time - eight fifty three-and vowed never to radio in before that. I could have had a few minutes more sleep instead of feeling miserable.
“Activity is the key, Sean - keep as active as possible, mentally and physically, every waking moment.”
I sat back down, flicked my dangerously long ash into the ashtray and took my first hot sip of tea. The usual thoughts of Saoirse came to me: why had she forsaken me so easily? I would have crawled a mile on broken glass for her and she just dumped me because some prick she worked with said that I would get her sacked.
It had to be jealousy. That prick must have wanted her for himself.
“Yeah go ahead, Dolores.”
“Mick got in ahead of ye, chicken an’ it’s a quiet morning. D’ye want to start rollin’ in slowly an’ we’ll get ye a juicy run out of town?”
“Oh, I know that Dolores, but sure what are ye gonna do?”
“I’ve got Eight Ray and someone else. Ray go ahead.”
“Are you still in bed, Ray?”
What’s going on here? I thought.
“I mean that Mick has north covered, Dolores is on the way in and now you decide to radio in.”
Ray was one courier that I remembered from the previous day. I was eager to know what this new base controller was playing at with this sort of antagonism. Ray must have had a lot to say, for it was a while before I heard the base controller again.
“All right Ray, I’m only havin’ a laugh. I know you need the money and ye won’t make it from bed; it’s just funny that you radio in immediately after the other two northsiders every morning. If you were lazy you could be lyin’ in bed makin’ eejits out of the lot of us. Now, who else is callin’ there?”
Was Ray still in bed? Did couriers stay in bed until work was despatched to them? That could mean a lot of extra time in bed, but frantic scrambles when work was despatched; including tearing away at speed with a cold engine.
“Roger, Naoise, stand by there. Who else is calling?”
“No thanks, Ray, I don’t want to hear your engine. Who else is calling there?”
I knew what was going on here; Ray was protesting that he was ready to go and was going to let the base man hear his bike to prove it. The thing about that was that he could easily have put on a dressing gown and run down to his bike by now anyway. This was highly amusing though.
“Roger, Gizzard, stand by there, who else?”
“Ray, I believe you, you’re logged in, there’s no hassle now please, people are trying to get logged in, I need the airways clear!”
Then there was a little beep followed by a courier’s voice. “Go back to
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