Just in time deliveries, don't make me laugh, I have come to the conclusion there is no such thing. Last week I was called out late at night (at, I hasten to add, a premium rate) to run my Sprinter with a “line stopper” load to a factory in Wiltshire.

Arriving at my clients depot to load everything as usual was at panic stations with the van being loaded quite literally within seconds of the handbrake being applied. With much worried looks and frowns I was repeatedly asked if I could get this extremely urgent load to Wiltshire by 10am next day, and it was impressed on me just how vital it was that this load was there on time. Apparently without these highly important plastic washer things the whole factory would stop production, no doubt resulting in an economic meltdown in the South West that would spread worldwide causing global recession. Well perhaps not that bad, but there was certainly a real sense of impending doom if the washers didn't make it on time.

Driving safely and courteously through the night (Yes some of us white van men do you know) but inspired by the life and death urgency of the load I arrived at the destination with time to spare. With a sense of pride of having averted some terrible misfortune on the inhabitants of Wiltshire I presented myself and my paper work, at the goods in leper hatch.

At this point the whole story of professionalism within our logistics industry falls apart. Now don't get me wrong, I am used to being ignored, ( I'm a) Married, b) have 2 teenage children). But for some strange reason I find standing getting ignored at a leper hatch in the pouring rain and gale force winds for 30 minutes by a goods in clerk who looks young enough that he should be still at Primary school a little galling, even more after I had got out of my nice warm bed to get the most important plastic washer thingy's to his warehouse in time to stop civilisation collapsing around his ears..

After a while contemplating if dragging a ignoramus through a leper hatch would in fact be unreasonable I decide that a less forthright approach may work better, and announce my presence at his window yet again, this time a little louder and with a few extra words that his mother probably didn't teach him. The little Oik at this point manages to at least acknowledge my presence by uttering the immortal words, “You will just have to wait your turn driver”.

Some what taken aback, firstly because the mutant behind the desk has actually registered my freezing cold presence and secondly, because from where I am standing I can survey the entire factory yard, and one thing is noticeable to me, although obviously not to the halfwit behind the desk, is that apart from a solitary Sprinter van the entire place is totally bereft of any vehicles, drivers , horses and carts, wheel barrows, in fact anything that could in any way shape or form carry any sort of load.

I could rant on but you probably have got the drift of my whine already, suffice it to say, the plastic washer thingys, that were so vital to the economic well being of Wiltshire, finally got unloaded 3 hours after the point when the world was supposed to stop turning if they hadn't been delivered.

But business is business and I know that even though those urgent plastic thingys are not that urgent after all, when my customer phones me up next week in a panic, yet again I will drag myself out of bed and head for Wiltshire. But this time I will be taking a good book with me to read.

Paul Mcbride runs a small courier business running 4 light vehicles on urgent deliveries throughout Europe