tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-360349442024-03-07T19:15:07.477+00:00Stately MoansBulletins from behind the scenes at one of the nation's hidden gems.Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.comBlogger218125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-30471946362062295812019-09-20T17:52:00.001+01:002019-09-20T17:52:28.709+01:00The Interview<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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"So, why do you want to volunteer here?"</div>
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I'd expected this question. I spoke about the impromptu tour I'd recently given and how it had rekindled the joy I have in sharing what I love about the place with other people. I explained at length about my fourteen years of employment with this particular organisation, the last seven of which were spent living and working in the house and how much I'd loved it. </div>
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"What do you think volunteering in the house will entail?"</div>
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Was this a trick question? Maybe things had changed more in the time I'd been away than I had previously imagined. Perhaps volunteers no longer performed the same tasks as they had in my day, meeting and greeting visitors and providing information as required. Maybe they stage fully costumed historical re-enactments, complete with realistic battle scenes now or illustrate complicated timelines through the medium of dance. This could be possible, they may have successfully bid for an arts grant. In the end I decided to go with what I know. </div>
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I outlined the role of the house volunteer as I have always understood it and, unsurprisingly, this was entirely what the role entailed. </div>
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There were further questions (what's my favourite part of the house? If I could go back to any time in history where would I go and why?) and then I was asked to pick a time to come and do the first of my three "shadow sessions".</div>
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"Shadow session?"</div>
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"Yes, you shadow another volunteer for three sessions to learn all about the house, and then if everything goes ok we finalise the paperwork and make you official."</div>
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"You did hear me mention that I actually lived in the house, that one right there, for seven years, right?"</div>
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"Oh yes!"</div>
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"And that the reason I filled in the application form was that I was here, just a couple of weeks ago, giving a tour. A tour about the house. Because I know a lot about the house."</div>
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"Yes."</div>
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"But I still need to do three shadow sessions. To learn about the house."</div>
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"Yes."</div>
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"Ok."</div>
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"Any questions for me?"</div>
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"Do I seriously have to do three shadow sessions to learn about the house?"</div>
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"Yes."</div>
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"Ok. Where do the volunteers have their breaks now? I can't help noticing this office is in what used to be their room."</div>
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"Oh, we've made them a new room, at the end of the cattle sheds in the courtyard."</div>
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"The bit next to the toilets?"</div>
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"Yes."</div>
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I was surprised there hadn't been some sort of uprising. When I'd moved the volunteers from my office into their own purpose-built break room they been upset enough. I couldn't think moving them into the sheds would be well received. I supposed I'd find out soon enough.</div>
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"Well, I can't wait to begin! Let's get a date in the diary so I can start learning all about the house."</div>
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Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-3846184504226721252019-08-31T18:18:00.000+01:002019-08-31T18:18:45.660+01:00The ReturnI moved out of the house in January 2011. I didn't move far, only about a mile up the road, but I never went back. Until now.<br />
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After 14 years of working in the heritage and conservation sector I decided it would be good to focus my career on people, rather than places, and switched to the health and social care sector. I now work with children and young people which is great fun and hugely rewarding. One of my colleagues works with adults, rather than children, and last month I saw she was planning a group visit with them to my old stomping ground. Without giving it the time and consideration it probably warranted I blurted out "I used to live in that house! I can give you an exclusive behind the scenes tour if you like?"<br />
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It turned out they did like. Which is how I came to be stood outside the gatehouse in the rain with a small crowd around me, pointing out fascinating architectural features, interesting medieval customs and where my old cat is buried. (There is now a rustic swing hanging from the apple tree in what was my garden, which is obviously very popular with visiting children, given the deep grooves in the earth where their feet graze the ground. If they go much deeper they may soon disinter the late, lamented Janet Cat. Now that would make for an interesting comment card).<br />
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When we came through the gatehouse I warned everyone to be careful climbing up the steps if they wanted to see inside and regaled the group with the <a href="https://statelymoans.blogspot.com/2008/05/watch-your-step.html" target="_blank">tale of the woman who fell down both the gatehouse stairs and the stairs in the Great Hall.</a> I was aware as I did so of the volunteer on duty in the house, watching with interest as I entertained my group.<br />
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At last, once everyone who wanted to see the bat poo and cluster flies collection in the gatehouse had done so, we moved across the lawn to the front door. "Hello!" I said. "Hello," said the volunteer, "have you been before?"<br />
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I thought that was a bit of an odd question, given that I'd been outside talking about the house to a group of people for at least twenty minutes. I'd have thought that would make it seem unlikely I was a first time visitor.<br />
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"Yes," I replied, smiling brightly, "I used to live here."<br />
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"Oh," she said.<br />
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Just that. I didn't get a ticker tape parade, a klaxon, a flicker of interest, nothing. She was one cool volunteer.<br />
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Unfazed I swept by with my group and proceeded to give them the full tour, complete with the new showrooms which had been our family home in years gone by. I got to say things like "Janet Cat weed there so much we had to cut a piece out of the carpet" and "future archaeologists will be able to tell a woman of low social standing once lived here and lost her pendant from Next through the gap in the floorboards".<br />
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Afterwards, as I chatted to the group over ice creams in the courtyard, they told me how much they'd enjoyed the tour and hadn't laughed so much in ages. This pleased me, as the whole point of the exercise was to give these people a great day out, as part of my current health and social care role. It also struck me that it had been hard enough to raise a smile, let alone a laugh, from the volunteers I met in the house that day. They obviously weren't having enough fun. I ought to do something about that.<br />
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Later that evening I filled in a volunteer form online and hit submit.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4nRZsHIZo55Y8cCAwTdeJKddTy-_j4CCljjskLZY_renXNXlr-6KUJfm42MiX2ZAVmfKE9SpcOtnQaoW0YLXQR0l0su8Ju1Dhq9TsaBEmdveIElV9n3KKMvSVDS1snxZB01I/s1600/69954376_10157804486915229_8337185765314265088_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="502" data-original-width="697" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4nRZsHIZo55Y8cCAwTdeJKddTy-_j4CCljjskLZY_renXNXlr-6KUJfm42MiX2ZAVmfKE9SpcOtnQaoW0YLXQR0l0su8Ju1Dhq9TsaBEmdveIElV9n3KKMvSVDS1snxZB01I/s320/69954376_10157804486915229_8337185765314265088_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, I have been before.</td></tr>
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Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-61884027695558761502013-03-23T17:40:00.000+00:002016-08-21T15:14:09.048+01:00(Nursery) Crime and PunishmentThose of you who have read my ramblings for some time will be familiar with the traumatic trail known as the <a href="http://statelymoans.blogspot.co.uk/2007/05/nursery-crime.html">Nursery Rhyme Walk</a>. I had long harboured dark fantasies of taking a blowtorch to those badly painted and peeling boards featuring warped monstrosities from the Salvador Dali school of children's decor.<br />
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With the departure of Old Boss and the arrival of Acting Manager a window of opportunity had presented itself, under the guise of <i>change</i> and<i> improving the visitor experience</i>. My proposal went somewhat as follows:<br />
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"Can we rework the existing walk and turn it into a nature trail?"<br />
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"There's nothing in the budget for a new trail."<br />
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"Not a problem, what I have in mind won't cost a thing."<br />
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"All right then."<br />
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A few days later saw myself, McColleague and Lovely Warden standing amid the forlorn Nursery Rhyme exhibits wondering just where to start. We were quivering with excitement, this moment had been anticipated so eagerly for so long.<br />
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In the end McColleague kick-started things. Take that, Little Pig. We hate you and everything you stand for.<br />
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Then it was the turn of the Three Little Pigs' houses. What the Big Bad Wolf couldn't achieve Lovely Warden most certainly could. Huffing and puffing is all very well but opposable thumbs and an ability to fling bits of wood a very long way is what's needed to top the food chain. It was all as deeply satisfying as we'd imagined it would be.<br />
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All too soon we found we'd demolished the whole walk. Humpty, Little Miss Muffet, Snow White and the rest of the mutants had been uprooted and flung into the abyss. We'd closed off the steep stairs of doom down to the swamp of despair and re-routed the walk entirely. No more would families with pushchairs find themselves confounded by uneven steps and tricky gates. Toddlers would no longer have to negotiate nettles and clouds of mosquitoes on their way to be terrified by what looked like Eeyore, if he was made of plastic and been left on a hot radiator for too long. Now they could stroll contentedly through our nature meadow and on down to the bird hide. They could even buy a bag of bird seed to take with them to top up the bird feeders if they so chose. Not only had we improved the walk for nothing, we had found a way to generate a tiny bit of income while improving the visitor experience.<br />
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This was surely a triumph and would look good on my annual review. I could almost taste the rewards to come.<br />
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Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-63882598092507706702013-02-23T20:38:00.000+00:002013-02-23T20:38:28.563+00:00Big Red"So, you want to build a gingerbread cottage on the Nature Trail?"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCwYjpthtv3cmMkA-oJlzNcwfkNQ4U7EImX0FG6CqTXRo_y9xJo6ek_QmcUOmK_bUot39qQZNkYzn1uYkheGsHpJmC71mlH3MBrsMFTAPGWcvzCPs5zgXg5X2UoS11NGfHxNm/s1600/Image151.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUCwYjpthtv3cmMkA-oJlzNcwfkNQ4U7EImX0FG6CqTXRo_y9xJo6ek_QmcUOmK_bUot39qQZNkYzn1uYkheGsHpJmC71mlH3MBrsMFTAPGWcvzCPs5zgXg5X2UoS11NGfHxNm/s320/Image151.jpg" width="240" /></a>"Yes. Just a temporary one. It's for my exciting new interactive Halloween event I have planned. I want to tell the children the story of Hansel and Gretel and have them actually discover this amazing house made of sweets and lollipops as we walk the trail. I want to inspire awe and wonder."<br />
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"I've got a shed, some off-cuts of wood and a bit of leftover paint."<br />
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"That'll do."<br />
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* * *<br />
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A few days later saw myself, McColleague and Lovely Warden bringing these mundane entities together to create <i>magic.</i><br />
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"Well, I don't know about you, but I think it looks <i>amazing</i>."<br />
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"Compared to the old <a href="http://statelymoans.blogspot.co.uk/2007/05/nursery-crime.html">Nursery Rhyme Trail</a> a couple of garden gnomes and a plastic windmill would look amazing."<br />
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"True. But once we're in costume and the group are in the right frame of mind, I am quite sure this simple garden shed with painted bits of wood stuck to it will be utterly convincing as a magical gingerbread cottage in the woods. Don't look at me like that. It'll be<i> fine</i>."<br />
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The day of the event was a perfect October day, sunny and crisp. I planned to take three guided walks over the course of the afternoon, each one telling the tale of Hansel and Gretel. I wanted it to be as interactive as possible, so the children were actually part of the story. So many guided walks and tours are hugely dull for adults, let alone children, and I wanted this to be anything but.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_a3xCr1GI0PYPQLM4dXMI-k37-Ibz_aGL55AOpB-PeIJ8TPoRxpEL3fJbkH0WqmkbPiwXXdTJ0YQyd5x9DPDRXBoLsOazZi1kSW5O0p7YpZBB5m0IxAA29ZBAH4qmjFBpZBy/s1600/Dont+Worry+I+Fixed+That+Wolf+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_a3xCr1GI0PYPQLM4dXMI-k37-Ibz_aGL55AOpB-PeIJ8TPoRxpEL3fJbkH0WqmkbPiwXXdTJ0YQyd5x9DPDRXBoLsOazZi1kSW5O0p7YpZBB5m0IxAA29ZBAH4qmjFBpZBy/s320/Dont+Worry+I+Fixed+That+Wolf+crop.jpg" width="320" /></a>I was the story teller and guide, Big Red. I used to be Little Red Riding Hood, I informed the groups, but I grew. I had personal experience of these woods but not to worry, the big bad wolf wouldn't be bothering us today (at which point I showed them the wolf's head prop I had cunningly stashed in my wicker picnic basket.)<br />
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The picnic basket also contained a big bag of breadcrumbs which the children were encouraged to dip into so we could leave a trail just as Hansel and Gretel did and which would be obligingly eaten by ducks, sheep and, on at least one tour, a visitor's dog.<br />
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McColleague was a part of each group, coming with us from the start, nonchalantly carrying a large shoulder bag. As we drew nearer the gingerbread shed I paused for a while in the orchard, to recreate Hansel and Gretel's fearful night in the woods. "Close your eyes," I instructed, "and listen. What sorts of noises can you hear? What sorts of noises do you think you might hear in the night?" Some of the children were entertainingly creative with their hoots, growls and comedy parps.<br />
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While all this was going on McColleague would leave the group and hurry on ahead to the shed, where she would complete an amazing transformation using only the contents of the big shoulder bag.<br />
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After sufficient time had passed I would move the group on to the next chapter of our story. Hansel and Gretel, tired and hungry, finally stumble across a dwelling in a clearing. Hooray, they are saved! It looks like a shed, but no, it's a totally edible and completely realistic gingerbread house!<br />
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The children would eagerly gather round as I recounted the delight with which Hansel and Gretel broke off pieces of chocolate and biscuit and gorged themselves silly. But what they didn't know was that in this house lived.....<i><b>a witch!</b></i><br />
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And bang on cue McColleague would come flying out of the shed and chase the children, cackling madly. The kids never failed to shriek and run while their parents collapsed in laughter.<br />
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Eventually things would settle down again and we would finish the story, with Hansel being slowly fattened up and the short-sighted witch being fooled into thinking he was still too skinny to eat when he hands her a bone instead of his finger to squeeze through the bars of his cage. We re-enacted this with a small plastic dog bone from the pet shop as I didn't want to risk upsetting anybody with a real one.<br />
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The tale finally ended with clever Gretel tricking the witch and pushing her into her own oven. I did the pushing for this bit. Interaction is all well and good but knowing how keen over-stimulated children would be to shove a wicked witch headfirst into a painted fireplace I thought it best to cover this part of the roleplay myself so that McColleague and her pointy hat would survive to perform another day.<br />
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By 5 o'clock we were all interactived out.<br />
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"There aren't any more tours now, are there? Please tell me that was the last one. Please don't put me back in the shed."<br />
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"That was the last one, McColleague. All that remains now is to close up, cash up, put more lippy on, open the wine and partay."<br />
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I am a great believer in balancing hard work with an equally demanding level of play. Some people might say that having been on their feet all afternoon, talking non stop, having to do it all again tomorrow, they might prefer to have a quiet evening in on the sofa, resting. Those people are sensible and have probably never known the pain of having to open a visitor attraction the morning after with a head full of ball bearings. However, these people do not get to go to my after-event parties, so who's the real winner here? Answers in the comments, as per.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Red</td></tr>
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<br />Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-59643414927375859102013-02-14T18:42:00.000+00:002013-02-14T18:42:40.784+00:00The First Goodbye<br />
She arrived in a cardboard box over twenty years earlier. The runt of the litter, she wasn't even chosen by my husband when he came to select a cat. She came free with his purchase of her sister, a somewhat larger, cuter kitten.<br />
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She was tiny, mottled brown and orange in colour, with large yellow eyes and pointy ears. She looked a bit like a gremlin but was far gentler in nature. She might take on a burly spider if feeling particularly fierce. She would follow me down the street as I walked my infant daughter to nursery school. I would fear for her safety on the road and turn round to chase her off back home only to find her behind me again a few steps later.<br />
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Her purr never worked properly. It stuttered like a faulty engine. I would wake in the night with it buzzing choppily in my ear as she licked my hair and dribbled contentedly on my head. She always drank my water. If I put a glass down she would immediately put her head in it. She loved barbecues, appearing as soon as the coals were lit and begging shamelessly for food, taking off across the shed roof with a piece of sausage held proudly aloft.<br />
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She outlived her better looking sister by eight years. I was worried she would be lonely and brought new kittens into the house, which gave her a second childhood for a while as she chased them about. She grew skinnier, tattier, louder, madder. She became a suitable mad old cat for a mad old cat lady. She only wanted human food and would yowl incessantly, annoyingly, until I caved in and shared. She developed a relaxed attitude to litter trays, preferring, in her old age, to go in exciting new places like games consoles, behind the television or in my shoes. Her favourite place to sleep was in a cardboard box on the landing.<br />
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She always hated travelling, being in the car frightened her. So the vet came to us because I couldn't bear to see her scared. The tumour in her abdomen, he told me, was the size of a cricket ball. I was doing the right thing, he said. Would I like to stay? Of course. I held her and talked to her and then she was gone.<br />
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My husband carried her out of the house in her cardboard box, an unconscious echo of her arrival so long ago.<br />
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It's no different to any other relationship, really. There will always, at some point, be a parting. It hurts and on some level we know it's inevitable but, for the most part, we forge ahead regardless, keeping our focus on the journey. If we didn't we would never have pets, children, lovers, careers or even new shoes, we would be too scared of losing them. This deliberate act of forgetfulness is what enables us to keep starting anew. The pain fades and only the silvery scars remain to remind us.<br />
Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-80835957135308452572013-02-09T15:46:00.001+00:002013-02-09T15:49:28.700+00:00From a DistanceI'm still here. More or less. Perhaps a mile and a half to the west of where you last found me but still on the estate itself, if no longer residing within the medieval manor house.<br />
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I no longer work for my former employer, the national conservation charity I gave my love and commitment to for 14 years as they decided to make me redundant and replace me with a younger, more compliant model. There, that's finally resolved that particular cliffhanger!<br />
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With the benefit of time and distance I finally feel able to continue lovely old Stately Moans. I have a good 2 years worth of material to write up and many blanks to fill. I have missed writing here but if I'd tried to do so before now I think the keyboard would have suffered irreparable vitriol damage or else it would just be pages of "bastards, bastards, bastards" or variations thereof. It probably still will be, to be fair, but hopefully with a witty, wry spin that will take the edge off. The bastards.Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-85271942832715436882010-06-07T23:18:00.004+01:002010-06-07T23:29:46.940+01:00Under New ManagementThat is the current situation.<div><br /></div><div>We no longer have a Property Manager - the Boss I referred to in posts past left in April 2009 and was never replaced. We now have a General Manager who was appointed in March 2010 and whose brief is to manage not just us but all the other properties in this region. He will be Re-Structuring the Portfolios. He will be unveiling his masterplan in July. Until then I, McColleague and indeed all my colleagues are in limbo. I may not have a house to live in, love and blog about in a month's time. Or I may be Queen High Poobah of the Western Territories. I just don't know.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bear with me and I'll keep you updated. I mean it this time. Really.</div>Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-89350780377729755272010-02-24T16:43:00.005+00:002010-02-24T18:57:02.783+00:00It's Cold Inside<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7fDzVFy6vhYMqDRQGMXyTBLa8DNyYv6q97oDm3NM5ESEwfd-3RLMKrF1_Jcqik3ogzg8oPGFDOBa0IG2Vs_xISwCzSfWnh2okBjLiRuVyWNBreUVfBcKcgUddWN379zWV5deM/s1600-h/DSCF0973.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441854114340845058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7fDzVFy6vhYMqDRQGMXyTBLa8DNyYv6q97oDm3NM5ESEwfd-3RLMKrF1_Jcqik3ogzg8oPGFDOBa0IG2Vs_xISwCzSfWnh2okBjLiRuVyWNBreUVfBcKcgUddWN379zWV5deM/s400/DSCF0973.JPG" border="0" /></a> "It's so cold my face hurts," moaned McColleague as she returned from the freezing conditions in the Great Hall to the relative warmth of my office.<br /><br />It is very cold in there. The old circa 1970s storage heaters stopped working a couple of years ago and curatorial debate over replacement heating is still in progress. (For those of you familiar with the Lord of the Rings, Ents make speedy decisions in comparison with those responsible for deciding what light fitting or heating system should be put in place in our historic buildings.) In the meantime McColleague and I plug in electric heaters (and lamps) where we can and put on several layers of clothing before venturing into the showrooms.<br /><br />"I don't know how our volunteers are going to manage when we open in a couple of weeks time. This cold snap isn't forecast to end anytime soon. They're likely to freeze to the flagstones."<br /><br />We ponder for a while.<br /><br /><p>"I'm not lifting the ban on hot drinks in the house," I assert. "Not after the <a href="http://statelymoans.blogspot.com/2007/03/top-tiptastic.html">coffee ring on the chest</a> incident."</p><p>In the end we decide to let the volunteers keep the front door closed and stay in the Parlour, the warmest room in the house, emerging only to meet and greet visitors as they spot them coming up the path. That and as many trips to warm up in the staff room with a cup of tea as they like should help keep hypothermia at bay. And possibly taking it in turns to wear the Stately Moans fleece (budget restraints mean I can't buy one for each individual, sadly. I'm happy to share mine though, if people don't mind the fact it has paint on it and biscuit crumbs.) </p><p>"It's all moot though if the cold snap continues and the drive stays icy."</p><p>This is true. The drive down to the house is two miles of twisty-turny, slippy-slidey ungritted ice when the temperatures drop to below freezing. Getting down is a scary yielding to gravity and the patron saints of bobsleigh teams. Getting up is impossible. I spent two weeks back in the January snows dependant on Lovely Warden bringing in supplies over the fields on the <a href="http://statelymoans.blogspot.com/2007/01/best-toy-ever.html">Gator</a> and what I could wrestle off the cows in the barn.</p><p>"Ah well, it's all beyond our control. Now give us that fleece and I'll go back and finish the bat covers."</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441879493273941506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF79bF4uG2SaRV9VU7mhF2wpSBfIhhIeQ2_1PqInXJ1MRoyZJURXpatY3trTFUyU2x-kU8nzgksTOOwcYLR2s_TtBMhnUf78cfbppQA0Yoan3csBVuTJfYDICyoGo3je6LlMjO/s400/DSCF0964.JPG" border="0" />Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-28913923093807993612009-12-03T22:01:00.003+00:002009-12-03T22:11:47.034+00:00About a MetreRegular readers of Stately Moans will be aware that Lovely Warden is very good at making things, just as long as they happen to be things that are very big and made of wood.<br /><br />I have written of <a href="http://statelymoans.blogspot.com/2008/01/top-table.html">the enormous table</a>, <a href="http://statelymoans.blogspot.com/2007/11/hide.html">the giant bird hide</a>, <a href="http://statelymoans.blogspot.com/2008/01/mighty-mallet.html">the mighty mallet </a>and more.<br /><br />Talking to Lovely Warden in my office one day I happened to ask him how big his current woodworking project would be when completed.<br /><br />"About a metre," he replied, stretching his arms wide, like Jesus on the cross, to demonstrate.<br /><br />"That's not a metre," said McColleague, shrewdly assessing the extensive span of his outstretched arms.<br /><br />"Yeah, it is," he affirmed. "This is the way I was taught to measure a metre."<br /><br />"When?"<br /><br />"When I was a boy. I was taught that the width of your arms - like this - is a metre."<br /><br />"When you were a boy."<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />There was a pause while we all digested the significance of this and understanding dawned as to why Lovely Warden's creations are all so massive.Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-80614157437212235422009-11-25T19:49:00.003+00:002009-11-25T20:23:26.450+00:00Doris's Question Time"How did it go?"<br /><br />"It was all right."<br /><br />I had been to a Very Important Dinner. The idea was that myself and other heads of department, from this property and others, would dine with the candidates who had applied for the new and prestigious Very Important New Role in the organisation. We would mix and mingle with the potential new bosses and ask thoughtful and incisive questions.<br /><br />I had given long and careful consideration to the questions I would ask. I had devoted almost as much time to them as I had as to what to wear.<br /><br />"So, did you ask your questions?"<br /><br />"I asked <em>some</em> questions, yes."<br /><br />It was not my fault. The candidates weren't allowed to remain seated next to the same person for too long, they kept getting moved along, almost like we were speed dating. You'd just get the small talk out of the way and be about to launch your killer question when the organiser would tap his knife on his wine glass and call a halt to proceedings. <br /><br />"What did you ask?"<br /><br />It really was not my fault. I've been the only one on duty since my old Boss left at the end of March. I don't get to go out in the evenings as a rule. I was over-excited by the people, the food and drink.<br /><br />"Come on, you must have got at least one of your questions in. The one about reward and recognition? Security cover? Lone working? Long term visions?"<br /><br />"Not really, no. I mostly asked about wine."<br /><br />"Wine."<br /><br />"Yes. I asked if they could pass the wine, if there was any more wine, if anyone was drinking the wine on their table and if not whether I could have it, you know, the usual wine related queries that come up at dinner.<br /><br />I think I made an impression."Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-16958240442354135242009-05-11T21:00:00.004+01:002009-05-11T21:29:03.044+01:00Fair CommentWe have a new design for our comments cards.<br /><br />One side is aimed at adults, the other for children. The children's side is colourful and asks questions such as "what did you enjoy the most today?" ("the baby lambs!"), "what did you enjoy the least?" ("sheep poo") and "what did you discover?" ("nofing").<br /><br />Reading the children's cards is always entertaining. My all time favourite has to be the one I retrived from the box after our wildlife day. Lovely Warden runs this event and takes the children on a nature walk as well as making bird boxes and bird feeders with them. It is a fun afternoon of romping through the woods, getting to play with a hammer and drill and, as if all that wasn't enough excitement, then rolling a pine cone in lardy dough and birdseed.<br /><br />You can only imagine my delight at discovering the following gem under the "what did you enjoy the most today?" heading:<br /><br />"I liked going round the house, making a bird box and Lovely Warden's fat balls."Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-55800126004234417822009-03-24T20:18:00.001+00:002009-03-24T20:23:48.635+00:00Just Ask“When will you ask about the staff car?” whispered McColleague.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“When the moment is right,” I answered. With our Boss leaving we had been given the opportunity to ask questions and put forward suggestions for how things should progress. I had plenty of both along with a keen interest in the future of the company vehicle. I did not want to sound crass though, given the situation.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The Area Manager spoke at length of the thirty amazing years our Boss had given to the property. He mentioned all the achievements our Boss had accomplished during his time here and how sorry everyone was to see him go. It was all quite emotional. I decided this was not the time to ask about the car.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">He then moved on to plans for the future. This boiled down to the not unusual tactic of holding fire on recruiting a replacement for indefinite months while discussions on the staffing structure take place at a higher level. In the interim we will be managed by an existing Property Manager from a neighbouring property. This was all very interesting, if not entirely unexpected, yet still not the moment to ask if I could have the staff car. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Then came the question and answer session. You would think that this would have been the ideal time to ask about the staff car and yet somehow the subject never arose. There were so many other issues to cover, so many staff with their own concerns to address, and overriding all there was still this feeling of “it’s so sad you’re going”. It just didn’t seem <span style="font-style: italic;">appropriate</span> to chime in with “but can I have your car?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">So I left it and then asked in an email, later.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">I’m not getting the car.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-38339154151111226592009-02-28T14:29:00.007+00:002009-02-28T15:26:00.105+00:00Pre Season Pressure (Washing)We open the doors to the public very soon. The weeks before re-opening are always a manic time of trying to get all your essential repairs and building works completed with no staff and no budget but this year has been even more frantic than usual.<br /><br />To condense many months of ongoing drama and angst in certain quarters the end result was my Boss and our volunteer shop manager resigning simultaneously and not entirely unexpectedly at the end of the pre season volunteer meeting just a couple of weeks ago.<br /><br />To compound matters the volunteer shop manager also provides most of the stock. Since she was leaving she decided to take all her wares with her, leaving me with some dusty bare shelves and the pricing gun.<br /><br />So, in addition to the usual long list of requirements before opening (re-lettering and replacing the signs, interviewing and hiring seasonal staff, unpacking the many boxes of 2009 literature and recruiting materials in the ticket office, updating the handbook, proofing a myriad of advertising, agreeing budgets, and so on) McColleague and I have also had to become impromptu shop managers. We have been scavenging every stock and store room in our quest for merchandise. There was great excitement when we unearthed an entire box of out of date crisps - that's lunch sorted for the next month!<br /><br />Normally we make great use of the wardens in our pre season preparations, as they are so helpful when you need to move heavy oak furniture or shift an ice cream freezer. This year, however, we are effectively down to just one. Luckily that one is Lovely Warden but he is over-burdened and we try not to add to his workload if we can avoid it. Hence my decision to pressure wash the courtyard myself.<br /><br />In the shady areas a treacherous green algae proliferates, making the surface incredibly slippery when wet. I donned protective clothing - wellies, cropped trousers and a mac - plugged in the pressure washer and did my bit for health and safety. It's a fearsome beast the pressure washer. It removes algae and dirt effortlessly and blasts them safely onto my face and body in a thick coating of filth. Effective at removing years of mud, it is equally good at removing huge chunks of cement and gravel from the courtyard surface itself, and you can't get cleaner than that.<br /><br />After many, many hours I had completed cleaning maybe a third of the courtyard. I was caked in goo and my trigger hand was still vibrating for hours after I finished. The rubble and silt I had created had blocked the drains and the muddy water refused to drain away. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI91Zs-hjfWFM1LnGepFCSe3hepkL52Zv6ED8uQnBB5KcdatAbDk9kIBR7HJ1P4-0jzyVIPyrVI7Z30gipzdLzGzF9vTVChMY0865rJZFHA4jLZkYF5s8pl5jgj0nfnHmCEpVP/s1600-h/DSCF0097.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI91Zs-hjfWFM1LnGepFCSe3hepkL52Zv6ED8uQnBB5KcdatAbDk9kIBR7HJ1P4-0jzyVIPyrVI7Z30gipzdLzGzF9vTVChMY0865rJZFHA4jLZkYF5s8pl5jgj0nfnHmCEpVP/s400/DSCF0097.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307855834011616898" border="0" /></a><br />"I tried to save you a job," I explained, as Lovely Warden unblocked the drains and shovelled the mud and rubble into a wheelbarrow. "Would you like some out of date crisps?"Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-35235321772568404812009-02-11T18:17:00.012+00:002009-02-11T19:44:04.537+00:00It's Not Like It Used To Be"Sodding hell, I've got another one!"<br /><br />"Another complaint letter?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"Is it because there weren't any craft stalls?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[Sound of head hitting desk]</span><br /><br />It's been hard work changing a long standing event. For many years now we have held an annual Christmas Fayre, with numerous stalls situated in and around the house. Each year, however, visitor numbers grow smaller as competition grows greater. The problem is we are a small property with a smaller budget. We simply cannot compete with the garden centre up the road or the big shopping centre in town when they advertise that Father Christmas will be arriving by reindeer-drawn sleigh, as opposed to Mini Metro, and will then be available in a proper grotto that isn't just a hastily erected shed. To make matters worse, neighbouring properties have also jumped on the Christmas Craft Fair bandwagon, often holding the same event as we are, on the same day, thereby effectively, and pointlessly, thinning out the audience.<br /><br />In previous years we have had all the fun of moving the heavy oak furniture upstairs in the house to accommodate the craft stalls, helping the traders unload their cars and set up their stands, and then listening to them complain bitterly all day that there aren't enough power points, that the lighting is insufficient and that there aren't enough customers and we should have advertised it better.<br /><br />So, for 2008 we decided to change our Christmas event. Let's play to our strengths, I said. Let's feature what we do have and stop trying to compete with properties with more money or big commercial operations. What we have is a unique, moated medieval manor house. We shall hold an authentic medieval Yuletide event!<br /><br />The re-enactment group were most enthusiastic when I explained the concept to them. I wanted the public to feel like they'd stepped back in time by 500 years. Characters in costume would be making medieval Christmas food, staging <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">mumming</span> plays, bringing to life and illustrating the origins of many of our modern traditions, everything from original meat-filled mince pies, to Yule logs and Saint Nicholas.<br /><br />I tried to sum up the essence of the event in our promotional material. The press releases, the adverts in the local papers, the posters, even the banners on the road all emphasised the living history aspect of it all. "Enjoy a Merrie Medieval Christmas" went the blurb. "Experience the music, food and customs of Yuletide as it would have been 500 years ago. See the Great Hall decorated with foliage from the estate and join the household as it prepares for the Christmas festivities." I stressed to anyone that would listen that this was a turkey and tinsel free zone. One thing I was very clear about, one thing it did <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> say in <span style="font-style: italic;">any</span> promotional material at <span style="font-style: italic;">any</span> point was that this was a craft fair.<br /><br />The event itself went very well. Visitor numbers were high and our re-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">enactors</span> were fantastic. The public seemed particularly fascinated by the food piled high on the tables and kept our household ladies very busy with questions about it all. One unexpected point of interest was the skinning of a hare! The group had brought some game with them - a hare, some pheasants, a mallard - so that the men would be able to return successfully from their staged hunt. On the second day of the event one of the medieval ladies asked me if there was anywhere secluded in the courtyard she could go to skin (or pluck, in the case of the birds) and gut the game before it spoiled. I set her up in a discreet corner, where no one had to be privy to the blood and guts of real meat if they didn't want to, but still on show if anyone took an interest. She ended up with a huge crowd around her! Children in particular were quick to express an "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Ewwww</span>" and immediately draw closer with a volley of follow up questions.<br /><br />At the close of the weekend I felt confident that we had provided a top quality educational and entertaining event, with far more people in attendance than at the Christmas Fayre the previous year.<br /><br />Then I received a letter. It stated how disappointed the author was with our Craft Fair this year. There weren't any stalls at all. I replied to say how sorry I was that he was disappointed with our <span style="font-style: italic;">Merrie Medieval Christmas</span> event but that this was not a craft fair and had never been advertised as such.<br /><br />Then I received a couple of emails which said pretty much the same thing. The complainants came to our Craft Fair every year but this year it was rubbish! The re-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">enactors</span> themselves were good, they said, but the courtyard had no trade stands whatsoever. What kind of Craft Fair was this?<br /><br />Almost every week since Christmas I have received another letter complaining about the paucity of stalls at my Craft Fair. I really don't know what more I could have done to raise awareness of the fact that this event was not a Craft Fair other than emblazoning "<span style="font-weight: bold;">NOT a Craft Fair</span>" over all my publicity material. There is annoyance that the event has changed, even though the new event is much better than the old one. There is annoyance that they were unable to not buy anything from a selection of tat-laden trestle tables despite the fact that we were surrounded by venues offering exactly that on the very day they attended.<br /><br />I truly believe that if I invented a time machine and actually transported people back in time to experience the house in its medieval prime, some people would still be disappointed that the paths were muddy and that there was no opportunity to buy a hand-painted tea tray. It confounds me. Why come for a day out at a medieval house, for a medieval event, if all you really want or enjoy is shopping?<br /><br />Heaven help me if I ever decide to change the format of our Easter Egg Hunt!Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-49508499012471595612009-02-05T10:42:00.007+00:002009-02-05T12:29:07.242+00:00The Return of the Doris (Again)I am returned, with so much to update upon it is a little overwhelming. In the meantime, while I get my hilarious stories in order, I shall give you a brief, visual summary of the intervening months.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">November</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_V1OsB1jTPDiUWYem-gu5BAAH_Jlou88242ava3fpoWg0Pxpe9KFkS3pI1lLD0C0iRT81K0uztbjRcA1bDm7F3BkcfyKE_vaw0pDzLYy82WH7UcC_PgeYnMZu-n4KgkGC2X-v/s1600-h/Collection+Day.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_V1OsB1jTPDiUWYem-gu5BAAH_Jlou88242ava3fpoWg0Pxpe9KFkS3pI1lLD0C0iRT81K0uztbjRcA1bDm7F3BkcfyKE_vaw0pDzLYy82WH7UcC_PgeYnMZu-n4KgkGC2X-v/s400/Collection+Day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299266790642984978" border="0" /></a> It is a sad day for me, after Halloween, when our amazing <a href="http://statelymoans.blogspot.com/2007/10/bonus-features.html">creature creations </a>have to be taken down and put back into storage. I was immensely proud that several visiting families told us that ours was the best Halloween trail in the region. I can believe it. No crappy paper ghost flapping forlornly in the corner for us! We do Halloween properly. Full-sized monsters and spooky sound effects abound. Still, all good things must come to an end and, reluctantly, I put away the rubber spiders and turned my mind to other issues, such as the water leaking into the house every time it rains.<br /><br />It isn't a new problem. I have been flagging it up for quite a while now. Still, at long last, shortly before Christmas, some buildings department people and an architect came to see the problem for themselves. Of course, as is the nature of such things, it wasn't raining. It was a glorious winter day with not a cloud in the sky. We would have to recreate rainy day conditions if they were to try to pinpoint where the problem lay. No problem.<br /><br />"Up you go," we said to Lovely Warden, issuing him with a ladder and a hosepipe. "Try not to fall off, but if you do, try to roll with it."<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyz-PBNfIgoE_SpEXhZnWpTLcyXVAy8F_qk5wffPNFnGnLtEPs5hx63Bzfjw4al_P_l3YVKrqVzv_KvFaUsHvasA_xgGCfY7aaqd2xKZ7vT0BOQVrTTLfnIJZElJDkb-E8VqA_/s1600-h/Spray.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 136px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyz-PBNfIgoE_SpEXhZnWpTLcyXVAy8F_qk5wffPNFnGnLtEPs5hx63Bzfjw4al_P_l3YVKrqVzv_KvFaUsHvasA_xgGCfY7aaqd2xKZ7vT0BOQVrTTLfnIJZElJDkb-E8VqA_/s400/Spray.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299273189293333570" border="0" /></a>Afterwards, while I was mopping up the subsequent indoor water features that resulted from this experiment, the architect came to show me the water ingress points he had marked on his drawing.<br /><br />"So, that's pretty much all of it."<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"The entire front of the house."<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"Almost every timber and every panel needs attention."<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"And when can we start work on this?"<br /><br />"March."<br /><br />"When we re-open?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />I have been on a course. I know that this is not a disaster. It is a challenge to be met.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">December</span><br /><br />Time to prepare for the annual Christmas event, which entails much joyous <a href="http://statelymoans.blogspot.com/2007/11/winter-games.html">gathering of foliage. </a><br /><br />Lovely Warden McColleague and I duly donned our foliage gathering hats and wellies, climbed into the Gator and set off up the road, singing festively.<br /><br />"Why's it making that noise?" asked McColleague as the Gator thwup-thwup-thwupped its way along.<br /><br />It turned out that a knackered tyre was making that noise and Lovely Warden had to remove the entire wheel and take it into town to be repaired.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqID6j74vfRbX3EVa8N3rhKiBc_g-ykOwhPcrBiag-DgLVcvxzoKIU5StT7LjATmIKYCeMlpwDliwNN1fhJxf0xY21tlc8w8A0elHW5RyqJjEGfW_QcdUxeqsloFl_GtBZd6z/s1600-h/Bugger.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 236px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqID6j74vfRbX3EVa8N3rhKiBc_g-ykOwhPcrBiag-DgLVcvxzoKIU5StT7LjATmIKYCeMlpwDliwNN1fhJxf0xY21tlc8w8A0elHW5RyqJjEGfW_QcdUxeqsloFl_GtBZd6z/s400/Bugger.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299273190975808930" border="0" /></a>Undaunted we set off on foot to gather whatever we could carry back to the house. We wanted an enormous ball of mistletoe to hang as our centrepiece in the Great Hall. In one of the many old orchards on the estate we found just the specimen.<br /><br />"Up you go," we said to Lovely Warden, issuing him with a saw and a pair of loppers. "Try not to fall off, but if you do, try to roll with it."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhchxHcVhBc29NqXm0TTsqGBfxmvinJXD6WHFo8nXIkTHSEHKMlDSOhNWgomkGx9VsxZahfGgxINCxeM-6h2jo4kzTUpp_aMHAwlpd6RQeTb9W08N9bLtne3YMU9VTCSASMM_V5/s1600-h/Mistletoe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 196px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhchxHcVhBc29NqXm0TTsqGBfxmvinJXD6WHFo8nXIkTHSEHKMlDSOhNWgomkGx9VsxZahfGgxINCxeM-6h2jo4kzTUpp_aMHAwlpd6RQeTb9W08N9bLtne3YMU9VTCSASMM_V5/s400/Mistletoe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299273187443571682" border="0" /></a><br />It was an impressive size once Lovely Warden cut it free. Almost as big as McColleague. We used double the rope we would normally to hoist it aloft in the Hall and even then I had a nagging concern it might plummet onto an unsuspecting visitor and flatten them, festively.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVgQRaaxXqIt0wUy1hEuVZ7kDh-nA8o4doFysWr6FzicqJLcNqg6T7nq-8q3quXKZ09JxJe46FQL7-BAonWtO2JIY8RL5fQ4K__lyAQgNR1cxpOUq8OCL6lOY3iabWMHLVaDfm/s1600-h/Mistletoe1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVgQRaaxXqIt0wUy1hEuVZ7kDh-nA8o4doFysWr6FzicqJLcNqg6T7nq-8q3quXKZ09JxJe46FQL7-BAonWtO2JIY8RL5fQ4K__lyAQgNR1cxpOUq8OCL6lOY3iabWMHLVaDfm/s400/Mistletoe1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299272908196598434" border="0" /></a><br />It was an exciting walk back across country with the fruits of our labours. Lovely Warden has a habit of taking shortcurts which involve fording streams and scrambling up near vertical slopes of mud. It all got a bit Blair Witch Project for a while. Which I liked, being a Halloween queen.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheA6fGpzK4EhBXX3joTihlSYOxM4-ch0B4sE7ktnR5paSTtt746WD5Oi-zMhx19f8j6EeazyRZWIEfQ8IQyKC3AXY-_caqvmPpbl176yu-dZTe6dHsd0fDBdHxLhcYAjJ925rl/s1600-h/Foliage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheA6fGpzK4EhBXX3joTihlSYOxM4-ch0B4sE7ktnR5paSTtt746WD5Oi-zMhx19f8j6EeazyRZWIEfQ8IQyKC3AXY-_caqvmPpbl176yu-dZTe6dHsd0fDBdHxLhcYAjJ925rl/s400/Foliage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299272907620916146" border="0" /></a>The Hall was duly decorated and set for a medieval feast. Sadly the public can't sample the food, but the re-enactors are happy to feed it to me. They have lots of interesting spiced alcoholic beverages to pass around in wassail bowls too, which makes for an entertaining evening.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfT1MTcQrs8gDZAIJvQykMTqTl0Jrw-_-IM8dG_RXbWscZUVnQENWuJrOX9xePbzZEdZYdwKljWFhi3E0PSlKRjEoNWEzg2F6rfhIKC4cATWZaXdjI5AKvyura0mgOrrtQWn50/s1600-h/Feast.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 352px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfT1MTcQrs8gDZAIJvQykMTqTl0Jrw-_-IM8dG_RXbWscZUVnQENWuJrOX9xePbzZEdZYdwKljWFhi3E0PSlKRjEoNWEzg2F6rfhIKC4cATWZaXdjI5AKvyura0mgOrrtQWn50/s400/Feast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299272907633678178" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">January</span><br /><br />Ah, back to work after the Christmas break. The moat froze solid and the flagstones in the Hall developed an alarming mould. I phoned the curatorial department for advice on the best way to tackle it and was informed to brush the mould carefully before vacuuming it up via a special filter and to wear face masks of the correct specification, to avoid breathing in spores.<br /><br />Ten minutes later Lovely Warden appeared with a broom, McColleague fetched the Dyson and we all pulled our jumpers up over our noses for safety. It was fine.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">February</span><br /><br />So far this week I have missed the Spring Conference, a training day and a staff meeting due to the heavy snow. While I am obviously deeply disappointed I am making the best of it. Luckily McColleague and I only just re-ordered toilet rolls and biscuits last week so I think I may survive until the thaw.<br /><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCEH-vV5VS7X7VP3SeUW-FFjI8LRBrLoh6yAVIRorQPflbIOKoRZ_WrELZbBEB7eNa-ZVF1lTpX6UIuMu3zc8DJsK-v88O99CIWtyQEvC98ijDmxNa1RseSwo8hdMhJy1kCVFs/s1600-h/Jacobs.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCEH-vV5VS7X7VP3SeUW-FFjI8LRBrLoh6yAVIRorQPflbIOKoRZ_WrELZbBEB7eNa-ZVF1lTpX6UIuMu3zc8DJsK-v88O99CIWtyQEvC98ijDmxNa1RseSwo8hdMhJy1kCVFs/s400/Jacobs.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299272901563582482" border="0" /></a>Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-45100725172426575672008-10-28T21:20:00.005+00:002008-10-28T21:32:39.725+00:00Fright Night DelightThose of you have been with me a while know of my love of Halloween and the amazing skill that goes into taking our event budget of £0.00 and turning it into a fabulously scary production.<br /><br />We still have last year's monsters ready to go back into position, but we have some new props too. I have been busy making a jolly clown for the children. Everybody loves clowns, right?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkK4O9asqRWkDZh9Xl9OP9KnheQ_uL0hw2cEZO08TRVWlb8P5Kh0Zh00BJDKrSRAEPP0Nxt_ButXy3uZWT7vqn0NrKGxnzm81grgyR6yDCKzITZkEKdCEIiEM3-KJNPjSVC7hY/s1600-h/clown.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkK4O9asqRWkDZh9Xl9OP9KnheQ_uL0hw2cEZO08TRVWlb8P5Kh0Zh00BJDKrSRAEPP0Nxt_ButXy3uZWT7vqn0NrKGxnzm81grgyR6yDCKzITZkEKdCEIiEM3-KJNPjSVC7hY/s400/clown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262318189977341602" border="0" /></a>Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-85657574196299745902008-10-22T12:13:00.003+01:002008-10-22T12:22:18.052+01:00Doris Ponders Going LegitHello!<br /><br />I can only apologise for my shameful neglect of this lovely little blog recently. Things have been happening. Work things, family things.<br /><br />As some of you will recall, I got into a spot of bother earlier this year when an article I wrote about a forgetful coach party generated a complaint letter to Regional Office. Not wanting to give anyone any more sticks to hit me with I laid low for a while. Now I am pondering where to go from here.<br /><br />My anonymity has always been as effective a disguise as Clark Kent's glasses or Undercover Elephant's eye mask. Those of you who wanted to know badly enough where I am based were able to trace me with a minimal amount of googling.<br /><br />What I'd really like is to go legit. To post openly about where I am, what we are doing, the challenges we face and - ideally - get input and feedback from everyone as to what you think we ought to be doing, what you would like to see. It would take away the fear of discovery and - who knows? - maybe even become an effective marketing tool.<br /><br />So, I am thinking of asking the Powers That Be whether they will bestow their blessings upon a blog I just happen to be thinking of writing.<br /><br />E-engagement. That's the buzzword I shall be hanging it on.<br /><br />What do you think?Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-34382063597408571802008-09-02T16:18:00.005+01:002008-09-02T17:49:43.615+01:00Animal CornerThe Boss wanted to put on an Animal Corner as part of our Country Fair.<br /><br />"I've got this cockerel," said <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">McColleague</span>.<br /><br />"Great, bring it!"<br /><br />"It's not very big," she confided as the date grew nearer. "It's only a bantam. I'm worried that if Animal Corner is relying on it as the main attraction it could be disappointing."<br /><br />"Trust me, any disappointment in this event won't be solely down to your cockerel."<br /><br />Things weren't looking promising at this stage. Animal Corner currently consisted of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">McColleague's</span> cockerel, some ducks, a few rabbits and a couple of sheep. The rest of the Fair was also remaining at the distinctly low key stage, with most of the exhibitors we wanted dropping out and leaving us with a couple of vintage tractors to display, a gazebo from the Local History Society and a trestle table with some pots of jam on it.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">McColleague</span> and I marked out the exhibition area with our finest quality orange baling twine and some pointy sticks. "It's not exactly the Three Counties Show, is it?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_unqvtVaoO-MrQX3E1ow2EeGeMLOeJhcLQJoiiR-b0VRSAMZdlmdXYCEjrD41QpfbpFdsKSeYntaQs_puBvcY2Xx4vt37s4OsGjJMB7C5R8TLq2y_CIGcTPO4-pZDzqczq0YT/s1600-h/Image002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_unqvtVaoO-MrQX3E1ow2EeGeMLOeJhcLQJoiiR-b0VRSAMZdlmdXYCEjrD41QpfbpFdsKSeYntaQs_puBvcY2Xx4vt37s4OsGjJMB7C5R8TLq2y_CIGcTPO4-pZDzqczq0YT/s400/Image002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241447148554451490" border="0" /></a><br />"It'll be <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">fine</span>."<br /><br />And, against all expectations, it <span style="font-style: italic;">was </span>fine.<br /><br />The day of the event dawned sunny and dry and the public turned up in their droves to experience the free and simple rustic charms of the Country Fair we had so kindly laid on for them.<br /><br />Who could resist the lure of the balloons on sticks, an irresistible gateway to Countryside pleasures?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDdLB_4JmwafrhjXSEveOQ_WEbnQEkUQeGync2XUT0_W5rWCfYSN40_MlySMvnz1MMITqSUv9UJmPHYds6JJsryeTa7N6c8eDbpfAACUxWnY78w-1vv0nStTfCBQcpGbcwcpZ2/s1600-h/Image004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDdLB_4JmwafrhjXSEveOQ_WEbnQEkUQeGync2XUT0_W5rWCfYSN40_MlySMvnz1MMITqSUv9UJmPHYds6JJsryeTa7N6c8eDbpfAACUxWnY78w-1vv0nStTfCBQcpGbcwcpZ2/s400/Image004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241447155349414194" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As for McColleague's cockerel, it never did make an appearance in Animal Corner.<br /><br />"I couldn't catch the cockerel this morning," she confessed.<br /><br />I was unable to mask my disappointment. "You've let the team down, you've let the event down, and - most importantly of all -"<br /><br />" - I've let myself down. I know. I brought three chickens and some ducks instead."<br /><br />"Well, that's all right then."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdONj73yo-EyTqeC5wUiOLoZmQgaAbvqVBT9RZH1q4y5O7UY7AXYsqWIqsQpFnnVRYaWtxmWM8xeKb8e3WBOY8_OBVnNdCVrBhmbQjDMlA3rCqjmqYJtQ_jQM7K1uL9Cwc6wQ/s1600-h/chickens.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdONj73yo-EyTqeC5wUiOLoZmQgaAbvqVBT9RZH1q4y5O7UY7AXYsqWIqsQpFnnVRYaWtxmWM8xeKb8e3WBOY8_OBVnNdCVrBhmbQjDMlA3rCqjmqYJtQ_jQM7K1uL9Cwc6wQ/s400/chickens.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241447163532259250" border="0" /></a><br />"That's quite a display," I nodded approvingly at the chicken wire and timber construction, resplendent with Union Jacks. "The flags just set it off nicely. And the child's paddling pool is a nice touch."<br /><br />From Animal Corner we could see all the rest of the Fair. The wardens had an enclosure of their own, in which they showcased their talents. I must say that I have often wanted to know more and it is good to know that the wardens are open to questions and won't savage my ankles.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1EKumtAplChVxbUGiguhRArHya5P0IQLcg5Hi0bty4uezjIkQ6b5Gj57YURug6UPESpNyK02hLWf40AlhD5kYYb_p8hDyWqVnxIhVXkLVgyDG8zEFiK0Mbnv7YIWzG-BIP3t/s1600-h/Image010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1EKumtAplChVxbUGiguhRArHya5P0IQLcg5Hi0bty4uezjIkQ6b5Gj57YURug6UPESpNyK02hLWf40AlhD5kYYb_p8hDyWqVnxIhVXkLVgyDG8zEFiK0Mbnv7YIWzG-BIP3t/s400/Image010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241447159740756562" border="0" /></a>Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-81838020069293976752008-08-19T18:32:00.003+01:002008-08-19T19:04:04.924+01:00A Nice Little Retirement JobIt had been a long day.<br /><br />The school holidays mean that a sunny day is often a long day. It is wonderful having so many visitors and it is lovely to see happy families picnicking by the moat and enjoying the walks. It really is. No, it is. Really.<br /><br />It's just that lots of children in the house means lots of extra care has to be taken to ensure that they are entertained and that the precious things are unmolested. The two states do not naturally exist together. On the typical family intensive day I will find the pot <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">pourri</span> liberally sprinkled around the place, rubbish in the leather fire buckets, stickers on the furniture, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">devastation</span> in the Family Room, and situations you really don't want to know about in the lavatories.<br /><br />It was at the end of just such a demanding day that a final family came through the doors a couple of minutes past closing time. They knew they were a little late, but could they have a look round? "Of course," I replied. "Do come in".<br /><br />I could hear the sound of the early 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">th</span> century typewriter in the study having its keys thumped enthusiastically from downstairs. I climbed the stairs and found three children clustered around the - admittedly tempting - typewriter and explained that it was very old and by bashing all the keys at once it would simply jam and break. At this point their parents, who had been in the adjacent room, came through and I engaged them in conversation too.<br /><br />At one point the fact emerged that the part of the house not open to the public was still lived in, and from there it was a short step to being identified as the fortune favoured person in residence.<br /><br />The usual "Oh, you're so lucky," conversation ensued, but then the woman asked me "how do you get a job like that?"<br /><br />I sketched in the sort of background needed.<br /><br />"The thing is," she said, "my husband will be retiring in a few years and I can just see us in a place like this, pottering about."<br /><br />Pottering about? <span style="font-style: italic;">Pottering</span>? It's not their fault, I know. They obviously think that standing in the house, talking, is the job in its entirety. I debated telling them about the fact you can't leave the house without arranging cover, the three nights in a row I'd been awoken by the alarms sounding at 4am due to an errant bat, the working every weekend and Bank Holiday, the lack of privacy, the fact that if someone does crap all over the toilet seat then it's down to you to clean it up, and so on, but then thought better of it and simply explained how these jobs are advertised in the local press and can be searched for online, on our website.<br /><br />They'll find out.Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-13688904977685906072008-08-07T17:35:00.010+01:002008-08-07T19:06:39.206+01:00Successful Event Planning, the Stately Moans WayWhen we first had the idea to hold a Fairy Tale Trail it seemed relatively simple. <a href="http://statelymoans.blogspot.com/2007/07/doris-creature-workshop.html">We'd held one before, after all</a>. Apart from the trail itself, and our cunningly concealed creations, we only had to prepare an area for the activities we had promised - wand making, mask making, that sort of thing. A couple of tables in a marquee should do the trick.<br /><br />Lovely Warden and my Boss duly arrived a couple of days before the event and put up the marquee. They hammered in the tent pegs and tethered it well. "Safe as houses," they declared.<br /><br />"It looks a bit bare inside," McColleague mused, once it was up .<br /><br />"We could get some material to create swags," I said, over-confidently, as if I knew about this sort of thing. "And hang up some fairy lights. It'll be a Magical Wonderland!"<br /><br />So, we went into town and bought acres of pink material and returned, triumphant, ready to work our creative magic.<br /><br />We were intercepted on our way to the office by a colleague. "Go and look at the moat!" she cried.<br /><br />The problem was immediately apparent. My Magical Wonderland had developed a definite aquatic theme. Putting the swags up now was going to be a challenge.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLaAsFwW-ejgc3BR3zuJLDCezyHkrxZBwXLdlWkaeMiuV0HRHtFYaMuHEBPnkCUBdItDJdn1jq-YE2Rz5IkYTuhZ6wN23FL8sBI1R0qwFzREA0yct2lkUKE04lw4VgEou1HaKC/s1600-h/Image028.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLaAsFwW-ejgc3BR3zuJLDCezyHkrxZBwXLdlWkaeMiuV0HRHtFYaMuHEBPnkCUBdItDJdn1jq-YE2Rz5IkYTuhZ6wN23FL8sBI1R0qwFzREA0yct2lkUKE04lw4VgEou1HaKC/s400/Image028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231821176341690498" border="0" /></a>I hastened to reassure bemused visitors and volunteers alike that we did not actually erect the marquee in the moat and that it must have blown in. After the tenth repetition I got bored with that and started telling people it was for a duck wedding instead.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglxi9S2-m3oEqMbD4CWouOm7diY2N1jjcOGQ3bDh3Hs0PiA2lipiwfOAypOp2m2Zo4MKQpF_C2j84ETmkw_d4eOxfLgF7b1A6wP5R64C2VIXVnjt9GKJFFnrZ5MWvTiKWH1VdN/s1600-h/Image025.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglxi9S2-m3oEqMbD4CWouOm7diY2N1jjcOGQ3bDh3Hs0PiA2lipiwfOAypOp2m2Zo4MKQpF_C2j84ETmkw_d4eOxfLgF7b1A6wP5R64C2VIXVnjt9GKJFFnrZ5MWvTiKWH1VdN/s400/Image025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231821183346817794" border="0" /></a>Eventually help arrived, in the shape of our gardener, Lovely Warden and assorted other estate staff. They donned waders and climbed into the moat. Progress was not simple, due to the knee high mud and dense vegetation. I gamely assisted by taking photographs and calling out helpful comments like "Careful now!" and "I think it's going to tip over."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkl3hn4BnOYvc2JBNMAkonOVjYw_HjcR2-Na_qIFaLauFdJvOd_ikNhkKl2Ato-99g9wpeaZ3bRrY2lx4F5ePdkKXQcePdPgob3iGrLITWVx-BCZKzmyHVenhyphenhyphenNQWvdBAQekSq/s1600-h/dismantling.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkl3hn4BnOYvc2JBNMAkonOVjYw_HjcR2-Na_qIFaLauFdJvOd_ikNhkKl2Ato-99g9wpeaZ3bRrY2lx4F5ePdkKXQcePdPgob3iGrLITWVx-BCZKzmyHVenhyphenhyphenNQWvdBAQekSq/s400/dismantling.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231821182314057586" border="0" /></a>It tipped over. It was bit like a warmer, muddier version of Titanic.<br /><br />"It's not going well, is it?" said McColleague, somewhat redundantly.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHixjXEYLdd5vd1PTC8Jymgk2g97l7c2Yk3g6MMXFKCmItG4XZzB_UeQtRbrasn82EH8mNIriPDUOdsWTi4vjqxXKaSj3ACuAMchYaN9zvq0bs1Rd6XAaixflpkCA8HNZo0Nr/s1600-h/DSCF0457.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHixjXEYLdd5vd1PTC8Jymgk2g97l7c2Yk3g6MMXFKCmItG4XZzB_UeQtRbrasn82EH8mNIriPDUOdsWTi4vjqxXKaSj3ACuAMchYaN9zvq0bs1Rd6XAaixflpkCA8HNZo0Nr/s400/DSCF0457.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231821187349447634" border="0" /></a>"Never let go!" I shouted, but it was too late. Several of the leg poles sank to the bottom of the moat, never to be recovered. That's really going to confuse the Time Teams of the future.<br /><br />At last the bulk of the marquee was dragged out of the moat and onto dry land. Several key elements were broken, bent or entirely missing. The plastic covering was covered in foul smelling mud and pondweed.<br /><br />"I don't think I'm going to bother with a marquee for Fairy Day," I decided. "Let's put a couple of tables in one of the buildings in the courtyard instead."<br /><br />It was at this point we discovered that every single trestle table we owned had been taken away to one of the tenant farms, where they were hosting a wedding party. And that the building in question was full of a disassembled shed, some rusty metalwork and a rickety old piano.<br /><br />If it wasn't for all the hot wardens-in-waders action the day could have been a tad on the frustrating side.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf6yXCFGgIe2DYmYwWidYA_hYzPqp6rwCX-jwwQ9fs7ogK5nTn6QaBBN5tj1tn2QgF5nGeN4CMlGKbJXGwMkYGDBCqL8NYbT8d2lJxIkOabYlt_39GeE2bii86l80hF9dpr-Y1/s1600-h/waders.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf6yXCFGgIe2DYmYwWidYA_hYzPqp6rwCX-jwwQ9fs7ogK5nTn6QaBBN5tj1tn2QgF5nGeN4CMlGKbJXGwMkYGDBCqL8NYbT8d2lJxIkOabYlt_39GeE2bii86l80hF9dpr-Y1/s400/waders.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231821189920667042" border="0" /></a>Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-33379118307105518702008-08-06T19:37:00.002+01:002008-08-06T19:47:46.989+01:00The Return of the DorisIt has been a stressful time lately, hence my quietness online.<br /><br />There have been work issues ranging from staffing problems to grievance hearings, all of which have required my time and attention.<br /><br />Then my father became ill and had to go into hospital and all my work related dramas paled into insignificance.<br /><br />Anyhow, the good news is that while none of these issues are entirely resolved they are better than they were. I have decided to re-open the blog and continue posting on such vital subjects as biscuit consumption, suicidal sheep and batty behaviour.<br /><br />Stay tuned for comedy marquee japes aplenty!Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-76489050298528406202008-06-24T09:46:00.002+01:002008-06-24T10:06:52.740+01:00Directory EnquiriesThe phone rings.<br /><br />"Good morning. Could you tell me, are you open today?"<br /><br />"Yes we are. The house opens at 12 noon and last admission is at 4.30."<br /><br />"Oh, thank you. You really should have a word with your organisation, there's nothing about your place in the book. "<br /><br />"I'm sure we <span style="font-style: italic;">are</span> in the handbook."<br /><br />"Well I couldn't find you."<br /><br />"Hang on, I'm just checking in my copy. Yes, here we are."<br /><br />"Where?"<br /><br />"In the section for the Midlands. Page 244."<br /><br />"No, you're not there."<br /><br />"Page 244? Are you on page 244?"<br /><br />"It's Hadrian's Wall on page 244."<br /><br />"Which book are you looking in? It is the 2008 version isn't it?"<br /><br />"Yes! 2008/2009 English Heritage!"<br /><br />"Ah. We're not English Heritage."<br /><br />"Ah."Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-71524720997568273262008-06-16T18:52:00.002+01:002008-06-16T19:05:26.656+01:00MomentsIt has been a bumpy ride lately.<br /><br />The weekend was full of drama and tears and resignations.<br /><br />The drama and resignations were not mine, thankfully, but some of the tears were. It was heavy going.<br /><br />We did have some lighter moments, though.<br /><br />McColleague and I were trying to look up an item online, part of a crossbow. It is called a Goat's Foot lever and I typed the relevant words into Google.<br /><br />"I'm just going to get pictures of actual goats feet now, aren't I?"<br /><br />Lovely Warden spoke up from his corner of the office. "You don't want to know what I got when I searched for helmet sanitiser."Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-89413100766704728262008-06-01T20:19:00.003+01:002008-06-01T20:31:18.467+01:00Undercover DorisHello!<br /><br />I know, I have been quiet of late.<br /><br />And now I have taken the blog to invite only! "What's going on?" I hear you - yes, you - wail.<br /><br />Well, I write a monthly article for our local magazine. Often there is a bit of an overlap with what I write about on Stately Moans and what goes into print. Especially if a tight deadline is looming.<br /><br />Some of you may remember a post I wrote a while back about a <a href="http://statelymoans.blogspot.com/2007/06/coach-parties-welcome.html">coach party</a>. I tidied it up a little, made it user-friendly (I thought) and inoffensive and thought it would provide an amusing insight into managing a group of people who can't make up their minds what they want.<br /><br />So I was somewhat dismayed to find an email from my Boss to say that he'd had a call from our Regional Office to say that a complaint about my article had been received and would I write no more until further notice. I hasten to add, it is just one letter, but rather than write to me, or the editor of the magazine, the complainant has chosen to go higher up the chain to inform the good people at Regional Office that I have "no empathy" for my visitors and that I should publicly apologise.<br /><br />I have therefore decided to lay low until this situation is resolved. I have no reason to think anyone would search online to see if other amusing/offensive (depending on your point of view) articles on coach parties have been written, but decided to err on the side of caution until I am satisfied that all my posts on Stately Moans are safe to air.<br /><br />Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034944.post-22247313041263435452008-05-14T20:18:00.002+01:002008-05-14T20:57:30.602+01:00Watch Your StepI was typing at my computer when the volunteer on duty that day appeared in the office doorway.<br /><br />"Doris," she said, "a visitor has just fallen down the stairs in the Gatehouse! I don't think she's hurt but you ought to come and have a word."<br /><br />"Of course, I'll just grab my accident report form and a pen."<br /><br />The Gatehouse is fabulously old and has a slight lean to it. The stairs are very steep, narrow and worn. You only have to look at the stairs to see they are not suitable for carelessly running up or down, yet, just to be on the safe side, we have a large sign at the foot of the stairs which reads "Please Take Great Care on the Stairs." Still, wherever you have steps and thousands of people, statistically, sooner or later, someone will miss their footing.<br /><br />I followed my volunteer out into the house. She looked around her, perplexed. "Where's this visitor then?" I asked.<br /><br />"Well, she was here a moment ago. Maybe she's gone to look round the other rooms." My volunteer went off to see if she could spot her, while I went the other way, into the Hall.<br /><br />From the Hall you can go up to the Minstrel's Gallery and explore the rooms on the first floor. The staircase is old, made of oak, and we do warn our visitors to take care upon them, as they are somewhat steep and uneven.<br /><br />As I stood by the staircase, looking around for my volunteer to see if she had found our missing accident prone visitor, I heard a cry, a thud and turned round in time to see a woman bumping down the last few stairs on her back.<br /><br />"Not again!" she exclaimed as she slid to a stop.<br /><br />"Um....are you by any chance the lady who fell down the stairs in the Gatehouse?" I asked.<br /><br />She was.<br /><br />I completed the necessary paperwork and mused on the odds of falling down both sets of stairs in the space of about ten minutes. It reminded me of <a href="http://statelymoans.blogspot.com/2007/08/moat-dipping.html">the boy who was sick on the bug hunt and then fell in the moat</a>, last year.<br /><br />Some people really do know how to get the most from a day out.Dorishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05073772085574986623noreply@blogger.com12