Big Red

"So, you want to build a gingerbread cottage on the Nature Trail?"

"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."

"I've got a shed, some off-cuts of wood and a bit of leftover paint."

"That'll do."

                                       *   *   *

A few days later saw myself, McColleague and Lovely Warden bringing these mundane entities together to create magic.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I think it looks amazing."

"Compared to the old Nursery Rhyme Trail a couple of garden gnomes and a plastic windmill would look amazing."

"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 fine."

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.

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.)

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.

 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.

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.




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!

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.....a witch!

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.

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.

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.

By 5 o'clock we were all interactived out.

"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."

"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."

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.

Big Red

The Big Clean Up

One of the major perks of living on the job is the fact that I can hold private functions in the house. I have hired out the Hall for several birthday parties, lunches, wine tasting evenings and the like, and I always enjoy seeing the place being used as it should be. After all, a medieval Great Hall was built for feasting and merriment. It was never meant to be a room to tiptoe in and out of reverentially. Its purpose is to provide a perfect place to party, and this is what it did over the weekend. Better still, this was my party, rather than one for the public.

Well, by "my party" I actually mean "my daughter's party". She has reached the official state of adulthood and the occasion was marked in style. The only request she made with regards to the festivities was that there should be balloons. I duly obliged, hence the wondrous balloon model I subsequently fashioned as a conversation piece.

Admittedly, many of the balloons were ones I had left over from children's events. I appraised the logo and iconic hedgehog emblazoned across them and set to work with a black marker pen. Brilliant. No one would ever guess that they were not professional, shop bought balloons. Well, given the dim lighting and a few drinks, anyway.

I feel that my quality balloon decorations, hand crafted banner, and assorted novelty items were a key factor in the success of the party.

The only downside is that now I have to face the clearing up. The food and drink were consumed on the night, with glasses and plates brought through to the kitchen the morning after. The now wrinkled balloons still hang forlornly from the rafters though, and hundreds of little metallic "18"s and "Happy Birthday"s are stuck in every crevice. The multicoloured streamers from countless party poppers languish under tables, waiting to snag on any passing heel to be tracked further through the house. I need to take down the disco lights and move the big speakers from the Minstrel's Gallery. Part of me is reluctant. After most functions and events I have to get the house back in order by 12 noon the following day, preferably before the volunteers and visitors arrive. There is still another month to go before we open to the public again. Surely I can think of another party opportunity before then?

Party On

There had been some grumbling. Some volunteers did not like the concept of combining the end of season meeting with the Christmas Buffet. I hoped the concept of free food would win the day, and it did.

A bumper turn out. Record attendance. All in all a successful meeting. Only a bit of argy-bargy and one minor spat. No walk outs! Mind you, if you have a buffet after the meeting, it is unlikely anyone will walk out. They are too busy waiting for the clingfilm to come off so they can get stuck in.

I should be used to it by now, but I am always amazed at how swiftly the volunteers depart once they’ve had their food. They just eat ‘n’ go. Voom. Like that.

I noted that the volunteer who had been the most vocal in her protests about this combined function madness was the first to arrive and last to leave. I smiled into my vodka and thanked her for coming.

And, joy! Lots of leftovers! And friendly bar staff who fetched plastic bags and tin foil so we could divide the goodies between us. “Good news, family”, I was able to cry. “Tonight we have two kinds of gateaux for tea! And mystery sandwich selection!”