MONDAY
A bleak start to the week; my carrier and my supplier are locking horns.
The reason? The stow, of course. I reckon more arguments take place in Durban over stows than take place in America over euthanasia. The Master wants more lashing, and the stevedore says everything's OK as it is. So, a problem on board a ship in Durban obviously has to be settled by someone sitting in an office in Jhb some 600 kms away. For the millionth time this year, I curse myself for joining an industry which seems at times to be filled with petulant squabblers whose abdication of any form of responsibility is exceeded only by their desire for more power. The problem gets solved, of course. How? A faxed invoice for extra lashing arrives on my desk. C'est la vie.
TUESDAY
I'm saddened to hear that the excellent branch manager of Mitchell Cotts Jhb, Gavin Wade, is to be laid up in dry dock for some time due to a back injury. A naturally active man, Gavin is viewing his immediate future with ill-disguised irritation. He can however draw solace from two points; firstly, his branch will be in the more than capable hands of Keith Elliott whilst he undergoes repairs (Gavin, not Keith) and secondly, his enforced absence coincides nicely with the cricket World Cup. Do I hear the pitter-patter of a DSTV installation team? I think so.
WEDNESDAY
I dine with Carl Durrant, owner of Sea Act Shipping. Carl's first year of post-Nomad self employment has been a success and I remonstrate with him that he hasn't marked the anniversary of Sea Act's foundation with some form of liquid gathering for his clients, as is the norm. He then surprises me by stating that it could well be sparsely attended; a lot of his business is off-shore. I mull this over on the way home. Carl is one of a few brokers who have realised that to succeed in today's climate one needs to add value by developing a niche market and thereby providing a unique service. As a shipper/receiver, I can only concur. Good luck to him.
THURSDAY
A delightful young girl enters my office and asks me to take my pick.
Of what? Calendars, obviously. Nothing depresses me more than this annual waste of money, but we do it all the same. Calendars and diaries seem to conform to some Law of Escalating Return; for every 6 I give out, I receive 9, and so on. The only people who derive any real benefit (apart from the delightful young girl, of course) is my daughter's creche, which has the entire unwanted collection dumped upon it. One notable exception - the MACS 3 month calendar, which is very popular with my documentation department.
FRIDAY
A postscript occurs regarding Monday's problem; unhappy with my invoice, I phone the Oracle for advice. Captain Mike Lever (for it is he) in my opinion is one of the industry's greatest assets. After due deliberation, the venerable Captain pronounces: the correct procedure would be for the Master to refer the matter to his P&I representative who in turn could involve SAMSA if negotiations still proved unproductive. If indeed the stow was adjudged insecure, SAMSA could prevent sailing and thus the legal implications would tend to favour the Master. Or not. Good advice is never cheap, and I view our next lunch bill with trepidation.
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