With the curtain set to go up on the long anticipated global sporting bonanza on Friday, those of us working on its doorstep in Redbridge are increasingly realising that transport in the Eastern quadrant of London (and several other bits of this fair city) could be a challenge for most of the next seven weeks. Fortunately our transport chaps are equal to the challenge and for the three weeks of the Olympic period and the two weeks of the Paralympics we have instituted a system of delivering to our trade customers in the dead of the night.
Starting last night our brave boys have been delivering in the wee small hours of the morning. We realise most private individuals will prefer not to take in deliveries between 12-3 or 3-6 in the morning, so we shall have to make other arrangements, but as a result deliveries may take a little longer to reach you. We ask you to be patient with us.
The night time delivery schedule only affects Olympic and Paralympic Games venue areas and Central London. Deliveries outside these areas are unaffected – note that we will revert to daytime deliveries in the affected areas between the two Games. Click here for full details.
In tribute to our Noble lorry drivers, working in the dead of the night as Coe Vintners contribution to keeping traffic off the capital’s roads in these busy periods – and in anticipation of the likely daytime chaos I have penned some doggerel that might amuse, or alternatively have you wishing that somebody from Porlock had dropped by for a natter!
David Allen MW
Kubla Coe – An Olympic Nightmare
-With apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge
In Stratford East Sebasian Coe
A mighty velodrome decreed :
And Bolt, the fastest sprinter, ran
A distance measured out by man
Down by the River Lea.
In one square mile of urban ground
With walls and fences girdled round:
Stadia were built and tower bent,
There blossomed many a new planted tree.
All from industrial waste-land rent,
Watched o’er by Group Four Security.
But A12, that wide car-choked artery which slanted
Past Green Man roundabout, under Bow flyover!
As savage a street, by Olympic lanes now halted
As the motionless traffic haunted
By woman wailing from inside her stranded Range Rover!
And from this highway, with turmoil normally seething,
As if the earth in lycra pants were sprinting,
A mighty jam was permanently formed:
Among whose still, unmoving cast
Coe’s lorries halted like stationary snails,
With cars parked together from nose to tail:
And ‘mid the sleeping trucks moving never
All traffic gridlocked, seemingly for ever.
Five miles leading without any notion
Through Bow and south the cloggèd highway ran,
Around tracks measured out by man,
To Blackwall’s tunnel bereft of motion:
And from this turmoil Lord Coe heard from cars
Horns blaring prophesying wars!
In the shadow of that park of pleasure
Sitting amidst the Jams;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From Redbridge and from Coe’s,
Delivering was a miracle, a rare delight,
The sun-less prerogative of the night!
A damsel in a Daimler
In a vision once we saw:
On a telephone her order said,
And on Defacto Paula made,
An order for Mount Gay.
Could we deliver to thee?
That symphony in rum,
So deep a delight we’d win thee,
That with journey slow and long,
We would bring that order there,
That bright mojito! that crushed ice!
And all who heard should see us here,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
Our flashing eyes and receding hair!
Olympic Lanes circle round us thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For we in daylight hours hath slept,
To deliver the milk of Paradise.
by David Allen MW