It's been extremely busy in the office we are organising two coaches of clients to go to the Commercial Vehicle show next week at the NEC one from Stoke and one from Wrexham...Plus on Sunday we have the Sandbach Transport Festival and I am working on the DAF stand so come on down!! We've printed off badges for all the guests at the CV Show and we did have a chuckle cos one of our guests is Chris Hicken and his badge has printed off MR CHICKEN...one year we had a
Steve Wellings MR SWELLINGS like I say never a dull mo!!
http://www.coldmoss.co.uk/html/transport_festival.html
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- http://www.michelin.com/corporate/front/templates/affich.jsp?codeRubrique=99&lang=EN
- Tuesday, Apr. 17, 2007 @ 09:37:51
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JessicaSmith
Pro - http://www.messyjessy.blog.co.uk
- Wednesday, Apr. 18, 2007 @ 00:42:58
Thanks for your message it was really interesting. I've been working around trucks for 18 years now so diesel is in my blood too!!
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- http://www.extelligence.co.uk/dictionary/wordlist.htm
- Wednesday, Apr. 18, 2007 @ 15:24:37
> I've been working around trucks for 18 years now so
> diesel is in my blood too!!
You indeed have a remarkable chemistry :-)
I hope it's a first-class turn-out on Sunday. Work takes me from home that day, but next year, my familial memories ought to be indulged. And being reminded of One-Six-One in Hale Barns (and their often excellent DJs and bar staff with elephantine memories) revives the idea of lighting this place with just primary colours: well, the mixture of red, green and blue additively should be white in the right proportions? hmm... headaches, anyone?
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- Thursday, Apr. 19, 2007 @ 08:20:58
Booo... Shameless blog based marketing tactics. Theres an article about using blogs for marketing in the leader column of the current issue of The Drum!
tut tut tut (neil wags finger at jessica) -
- Saturday, Apr. 21, 2007 @ 13:33:37
i remember mr swellings, it gave me a chuckle at the time. i used to hate doing name badges, they were always a last second disorganised rush!
Evocations of the past abound when you mention the transport festival. These memories return like the green shoots from everlasting seeds in the earth; for over three decades ago, my childhood holidays were spent in the truck-sheds and transport bases of the Midlands and the North when Britain had an even bigger transport industry than today. Although my father begged me not to follow his choice of career, which was serious technical and development advisor to the Michelin tyre company, he let this little boy, aged six or more, come with him to visit huge smelly trucks and their huge, friendly, even sometimes smelly, drivers. Of course, this was 1970 onwards, when daily showers were still a novelty. And these vast yards and their iron-roofed sheds, reeking of used oil and the manager's shoe-polish, became the Alton Towers of my childhood.
Thanks to the trucks and tyres of the Midlands, school holidays were not spent playing football but playing the part of a secret weapon: when the man from the tyre company whose rubber engineering is being tested turns up with a (perhaps) cute and disgustingly nosy little boy, how could a haulier not refuse to try out some new development? And thus I'd break all the health-and-safety laws yet to be enacted, and traverse road-building projects in the cabs of huge articulated vehicles; lay pipelines across Wales with Shell; and learn the ritual of the nearly-gone transport cafes whose deep cauldrons put iron into the blood cells of this trading nation. You want photographs? We got 'em, cabinets of 35mm negatives of exciting trucks whose drivers were turning them into stunt cars for the sake of testing the tyres. These were the days when my father's payslip still contained a space for "carbon black", a compensation paid to manufacturing workers whose skin and lungs had become contaminated with one of the raw, possibly carcinogenic, ingredients that made up our tyres.
He had to test other tyres too, in practical ways, for all kinds of vehicle fleets and manufacturers. It was difficult for a comprehensive schoolboy to live down his father dropping him off at school in Rolls-Royces or other exotic cars, no matter how workman-like the explanation. So I did as my father requested, followed him nowhere, and became a sort-of musician instead, living within shouting distance of the weekend's festival.
At least, when I'm in charge of a crew, the drivers and engineers are gods.