The Outing

Organising the annual coach outing is one of the hardest tasks involved in my role.

Choosing a venue is not simple. It has to be within a reasonable driving distance, not have been visited in previous outings, be open on one of our closed days, and belong to our same organisation so we don't have to pay an entrance fee.

Next, I have to invite all the volunteers. I put up a poster near the kettle where they are most likely to notice it. I send each volunteer a letter with precise details - where we are going, when the coach departs and where from, and a date by which I need to know whether they are coming or not.

I will then spend the next few weeks having interchanges like the following:

"Are we having a coach trip this year?"
"Yes. Yes we are. I sent you a letter."

"So, it's half past nine at the car park then?"
"Nine. It's nine o'clock from the car park."

"Oh, why'd you have it on that day? I can't go!"
"Nor me."
"Or me."
"Right, I'll order a smaller coach."

"Can I bring a friend/partner/relative?"
"And me."
"Me too!"
"Right, I'll phone the coach company and order the bigger coach again."

"Can I get picked up from a special place, convenient to me?"
"And me!"
"And me!"
"Sorry, we're leaving from the car park at nine and no other pick up points."

"I'm not coming now."
"Nor me."
"Or me."
"Damn it, I could have stuck with the smaller coach."

All in all, it is a stressful experience. On the morning of this year's trip I carefully checked I had everything I needed before I left the house to drive the one and a half miles up to the estate car park, from where the coach would depart. I had my big box of sweeties to pass around the coach on the journey, my spare volunteer cards for those who might have forgotten their own, my payment for the coach and my clipboard and pen, for ensuring all those who were coming were ticked off as they got on board so no one was unwittingly left behind.

My daughter and her boyfriend were coming on the trip too, since she works as a seasonal staff member on the estate and he volunteers. I set the alarms, locked the door, bundled them into the car and set off. As we arrived in the car park I felt a glow of satisfaction. I was here, in good time, and well organised. I was cool and unflustered.

"I can't remember if I switched off my hair straighteners," my daughter suddenly announced.

"Oh, God, really?"

"I'm not sure. I think I did. I usually do. But I can't remember if I actually did."

We stared at each other with mirrored expressions of angst.

"Try!"

"I can't!"

"Right. Get back in the car."

There was a swift, atmosphere laden drive back down to the house.

I pulled up outside the door with a crunch of gravel. My daughter ran into the house, thudded up the stairs and into her room. She returned, equally as swiftly.

"They were switched off."

There was a swift, atmosphere laden drive back up the coach.

I arrived for the second time a good ten minutes late and with a definite air of fluster about me.

The day itself went entirely smoothly from the point onwards, I am pleased to say, and we all had a most enjoyable day out. I have only now begun to relax though, now it's all over. And already they are asking me, "where are we going next year?"

Moat Dipping

"How's it going?" I asked McColleague, as she approached.

"All right, " she replied. "I've had to come back once already. One of the kids was taken poorly in the woods."

We didn't have time to exchange much more information than that. It was the changeover section of our children's event, our Bug Hunt and Pond Dipping activity. This outdoor event is very popular and always fully booked. As the numbers are so large we split it into two sections, with one group heading off into the woods - on this instance with McColleague and Lovely Warden - to hunt for insects and wildlife, while the other group stayed with me and New Warden for a go at fishing in the moat for water creatures. After an hour the groups swap over, so everyone gets to have a go at both activities.

"Right," I announced to the assembled crowd of adults with children in wellies, clutching brightly coloured fishing nets. "Those of you who have done the moat dipping will now be heading off with McColleague and Lovely Warden here. Those of you who have just been on a bug hunt will now be coming with me to see what we can find in the moat!"

I did the usual health and safety chat about taking great care by the water's edge, washing their hands after they'd finished, and then handed out the plastic trays into which the children would be landing their catch of the day. It's always water boatmen. We get the occasional stickleback, a water scorpion, perhaps a leech. But by far the most common sight, zipping about in their trays, is the water boatman.

"Now, what have you caught?" I will ask, squatting down to peer into their inch of muddy water with leaves. "Ah yes," I'll continue, "It's a water boatman."

It was as I was crouched over just such a tray full of little black aquatic beetles that I heard the splash. Then I heard the crying. A small boy came running up to me. He was laughing. "My brother's just fallen in!" He pointed at the source of the noise - an even smaller boy, crying, soaked through from head to toe. As I strode over his mother appeared beside him. She soothed him. "It's all right," she said, "you're just a bit wet. I've got dry clothes here." And to my pleased amazement she produced a towel and a full change of clothes. I was impressed. Once the child was dry and happily sucking a sweetie I expressed my admiration to this paragon of motherhood.

"Oh," she said, "I always come prepared. I know what he's like. Honestly, he was sick in the woods earlier."

I couldn't wait for McColleague to return with her group. "Hey," I pounced, as soon as she returned. "You know that kid who was sick in the woods?"

"Yes."

"He fell in the moat!"

Oh, how we laughed. He's not going to forget his big day out at our property in a hurry. I would love to read his "what I did in the school holidays" essay, complete with pictures.

Bat Scat

Look at the state of my bat covers!

This is the time of most activity in the house for the bats. Each morning the pile of poo seems to be bigger and wider.

The problem I currently have is that the bats seem to be present during the day as well. Usually they fly about the Great Hall at night and then return to their attic roost for the daylight hours. However, over the weekend I noticed bat poo and even tiny splashes of bat wee on the tables after I taken the covers off and dusted them. I suspect the little buggers have moved in full time. If so, that presents a whole new challenge for protecting the contents.

Suggestions?

Memento

At the top of the estate is our little kiosk, a small hexagonal wooden building where our kiosk attendant spends the day meeting and greeting everyone who comes past.

The chap in question - let's call him Ken - is lovely and I drive past him many times a day.

My daughter and her boyfriend walk past him often, on their way to the post box, or taking the dog for a stroll. Sometimes my daughter goes past on her bike, on her way out somewhere.

Invariably Ken will emerge from his hut to stop us and ask if we are here for the walks, if we want to visit the tea room or go to the house.

The first few times it happened we would respond: "No, no, it's ok, we live here, we're just out for a walk," or "Hello, Ken, it's me, Doris, I'm just off to the estate office."

However, despite these repeated clarifications, Ken never recognises any of us next time we go past. Which can literally be 10 minutes later on the way back from the post box or office.

"It's like being in Memento," sighed my daughter.

Maybe I should buy Ken a polaroid camera.

The Maize Maze

Some of you may recall my scepticism regarding the maze ever being open before the end of the season. And the Rabid Badger theme.

However, the recent bout of sunshine after the rains has given the maize a much needed growth spurt and earlier this week my Boss decided the time had come to make the maze.

This, as predicted, involved he and Lovely Warden disappearing into the field of maize armed only with some string and a strimmer. After a couple of hours they re-emerged, caked in mud.

"Does it look like a badger?" I asked.

"Well, we simplified the design a bit."

"Right."

McColleague and I had some concerns, so decided to test the maze ourselves before sending unwitting members of the public into it.

Note the badger motif (no longer rabid, thankfully).

There is a quiz sheet to go with the maze, with badger related things to spot en route. McColleague was in charge of that and duly ticked things off as we trudged along.

"I'm bored now," she said, some time later.

"What time did we come into the maze?" I asked.

We worked out we'd been at it for about 10 minutes.

Twenty minutes later we had reached the "Finish" sign.

"Well, that wasn't worth £2," opined McColleague.

I think I'll just put out a donation tin.

Apple Tree

While out walking today, assessing the flood damage to the Nursery Rhyme Trail, and regretfully discovering that apart from a bit of silt on the footbridges the rest of the exhibits were completely unharmed, I spotted this apple tree. It has just the one, red apple upon it.

It looks slightly unreal, like a set dressing. It really fits with what a Nursery Rhyme tree should look like. It is my favourite thing on the walk at the moment. Still, once the apple drops, it will be just a tree again. There must be a metaphor for something in there....

Washer Woman

The washing machine died. It didn't just stop working. Oh no. First it let me strip all the beds, load it up with lots of towels and jeans, filled itself with water and then it stopped working.

When I finally managed to get the laundry back out of it again it had started to smell a bit funny. Being a bit of a clean freak I couldn't bear it, so finished the load of washing by hand, in the bath tub.

Wet towels and jeans are amazingly heavy when you can't spin dry them. I actually sprained my wrist, and not in a fun way. As I pegged out my exceptionally soggy washing in the hope it would drip dry (and in a state of anxiety in case the line snapped and all my back breaking labour ended up in the duck shit) I had a flash of inspiration. There are numerous holiday cottages on the estate, surely there'd be one with a washing machine. If I was lucky, there may be an unoccupied one with a washing machine!

I was lucky! The cottage was a mile and a half up the road, but that was still better than having to wash all my kit by hand, in the bath.

So that is why I have been a little quiet this week, on the blogging front. I have been spending all my spare time trekking up and down the road with my baskets of washing. I have been on a mission to wash as much as possible before the holiday cottage is occupied again tomorrow, in the hope we will then all have enough clean knickers to last until the new machine arrives.

Mending Fences

Some freeloading git has broken the fence next to the padlocked gate. They have obviously attempted to climb over the railings, given the footprints in the grass leading up to the fence, and have snapped the top bar clean away from its post. Possibly the weight of all the change in their pockets, saved from not paying the admission fees, has been a contributory factor.

I wonder if they hurt themselves?

"You Don't Remember Me, Do You?"

It's a phrase that causes an internal slumping of the shoulders every time I hear it.

Today is no exception. I have given my customary welcome as this visitor enters the house and he has responded with "you don't remember me, do you?" My smile remains constant as I search the filing cabinets of my mind. Is he a volunteer I used to see occasionally at a previous property? Is he a visitor I have had a lengthy chat with a year or two ago? A member of staff I was on a course with some time?

It's no good. The folders in my mental filing cabinets are as blank as my expression. He takes pity on me.

"It's Dave! I service your water filter. It'll be due for another in a couple of weeks."

"Dave! Right! Yes, of course. Sorry, it's because I'm seeing you out of context," I explain, relieved the Visitor Memory Game was over for the moment. Dave still looks a little crestfallen I hadn't remembered him. I feel a little guilty, as if I have somehow chosen not to store the water filter man's face in my memory banks. The problem is I see literally hundreds of people every day. If I remembered all of them I'd have no room left to store important memories like where I put my shoes or how much wine is left in the fridge.

The slightly awkward moment ends as I gratefully spot more visitors approaching the door. "Hello," I smile. "Have you visited before?"

"No, they reply. "It's our first time."

I am genuinely delighted to hear that.

Body Odour

An instantly identifiable smell permeates my office.

It swells and fades throughout the day, and is proving difficult to pinpoint. That hasn't stopped me dragging everything out of every corner in my search for the source.

It is the smell of decaying rodent. That awful dead mouse smell that nothing can mask. Unfortunately it is very rare to find the actual body, having gone through this process many times in different rooms of the house. If the unfortunate animal has died under the floorboards or in a wall cavity, we're stuck with it until nature takes its course. My pest control chap has a supply of "rodent deodorant" for these situations, but, frankly, it's so pungent it's a close call as to which smell is harder to live with.

Given the overpowering stench one tiny dead mouse can produce, it does make me wonder how killers manage to hide bodies under floorboards without detection. I have spent the day sitting as close to the open window as possible, apologising to my volunteers for the terrible smell and recommending they eat their sandwiches outside today.

Summer, Finally

It has been simply heavenly having a return to sunny, summer weather. The only remaining signs of the floods are the terribly gouged and potholed roads and the fact that there are an awful lot of carpets and furnishings now discarded outside people's homes.
And the return of the good weather means the return of barbecue season! The fridge has been restocked accordingly.

Back to Normality

Well, almost.

It has been a challenging week. After the drama of the previous week it has been a huge relief to have had a sunny, mostly dry weekend. In particular it has been great to have some visitors again. We opened as normal during the week, but we were fighting a losing battle, really. The surrounding roads were still closed, with many of the staff and volunteers being unable to get to us, let alone visitors. While the catering staff stood around in the empty tea room, the scones untouched, the cakes uneaten, the volunteers roamed the deserted house, switching on lights and moving the furniture in an attempt to remain entertained.

There were a couple of days where everyone went home early, after having no customers at all for hours. Conditions have been generally gloomy.

Thankfully, things seem to be improving. I hardly had to put anything back to how it should be in the house today, which must mean they were nicely busy again.

Uninvited Guests

I stood on the lawn in front of the house, smiling and chatting to the assembled group.

They had each paid to be a part of our Pledger and Benefactor day and we were making sure they felt they received their money's worth. I had given a guided tour of the house and was now making myself available to answer any questions they might have.

As I explained for the seventh time in as many minutes about why the house is limewashed, and therefore not black and white, I noticed a couple of people in the crowd that I was certain were not part of the group. For a start, our Pledgers and Benefactors were all dressed in wet weather gear and sensible footwear, having previously toured the woods and farms on the estate. They also wore name badges. A couple in brightly coloured shorts, with a dog in tow, stood out somewhat.

I watched them for a while, as I continued to chat to our official guests. They'd obviously taken advantage of the unpadlocked gate, as this was actually a closed day, and they would have found the ticket office unmanned. Dogs are not allowed beyond the Gatehouse either, so my hackles were up, but I felt loathe to have a public confrontation in front of our VIPs.

Eventually the man separated from his companion and headed into the house. I was agog at the cheek of it. I finished my conversation about limewash and excused myself. I found the uninvited guest in the Great Hall.

"Hello," I smiled. "Are you with the Pledger group?"

"Oh no, " he replied, "we're just visitors."

"Ah," I said. "Well I'm afraid we're actually closed today. This is a private function."

"Well nobody told us!" he exclaimed.

"That's because there was nobody in the ticket office to tell you. Because we're closed."

I walked him back outside and locked the house before any other opportunistic passersby wandered in.

I then scampered over to the courtyard where McColleague was in charge of the refreshments. I began to recount my tale of naughty visitors blagging a free visit.

"So, I had to usher him out of the door and - bloody hell! There they are again! I've asked them to leave once already!"

Sure enough, the completely unfazed couple, with dog, were now wandering into the courtyard and having a good look round.

"Well," huffed McColleague, "the nerve of it! I'd be so embarrassed, wouldn't you, if I found out I was in the middle of a private function and shouldn't be there?"

"Absolutely," I agreed. "They'll be over here wanting a cup of tea and a biscuit next!"

Our steely stares may have dissuaded them for trying for a free cup of tea, though. As it was they made a point of having a leisurely stroll around, before sauntering off - in the opposite direction to the exit. It was most frustrating. It was as if they knew I couldn't go for the jugular, wouldn't risk a potential scene, it being a day to impress our paying guests and all.

How very, very naughty some people are.

Flooded

I had taken the week off, as holiday, and even booked a locum, so I could be entirely footloose and fancy free.

Ah, the joy of getting up in a leisurely fashion, happy in the knowledge Somebody Else Was Dealing With It. I decided to spend my time off having some day trips out to visit friends and to spend some time with my family. So I drove into town yesterday for a girls day out with my daughter. We had our hair done, shared a splendid lunch, did a bit of shopping. It rained incessantly but I was determined to enjoy my time off, so stayed out as long as possible. A text arrived on my mobile phone. It was from McColleague: The Boss has closed the house and estate and sent everybody home, due to the severe weather.

Perhaps it was time to return, after all.

The journey home was exciting, to say the least. During the hours we'd spent in town the road had flooded in several places and long queues of cars had formed wherever one of these impromptu fords had occurred. The rain lashed the windows of the car, big 4x4s and lorries zoomed by and sent waves of water flooding over us, reducing visibility further as my poor squeaky windscreen wipers tried to keep up with the job in hand.

I was relieved when, an hour later, we finally made it back onto the estate.

"Nearly home now," I said to my daughter.

We drove through the first mile of parkland, the single track road now a torrent of water. The road twists and turns downhill and the last stretch goes through the woods. As we entered the trees I had a feeling all was not well. I couldn't see the road ahead in the distance, just a mass of foliage.

As we drew nearer I could see the massive tree which had fallen down, completely blocking the road. "I'm not staying here in case any more trees are about to come down," I said as I reversed all the way back through the woods and onto the parklnad again.

I phoned my Boss. He was with Lovely Warden in the landrover and we didn't have to wait long before they arrived.

"We'll go down and take a look," said my Boss. "Then we'll come back and let you know the situation."

They rode off into the murk of the woods, and my daughter and I sat and waited, the rain drumming on the roof.

Eventually they returned. "It's too dangerous to move," yelled my Boss from the landrover. "We'd be putting ourselves at risk if we try to work in there now."

I was perplexed. How was I going to get home? There is only the one road.

"Is there anyone in the house now?" asked my Boss.

"There's my daughter's boyfriend," I replied.

"Well, phone him and get him to walk up to the fallen tree from the house, and bring your wellies and wet weather gear. Lovely Warden and I will drive you down to the tree in the landrover and get you around it on foot. You'll have to leave your car here."

There then followed a few minutes of prioritising, as I peered into the boot of the car and decided which shopping I would carry on foot and what I would leave behind. It says a lot about how people react under pressure, as I opted to bring the cheesecake and wine and leave behind the toilet rolls.

My daughter and I then clambered into the back seat of the landrover, with our bags, and headed back into the wild woods. My Boss wasn't happy. He kept looking out of the window and saying scary things like "That one's going to go soon, as well."

When we reached the fallen tree again we were instructed to stay put while he and Lovely Warden assessed the best route past it.

"Right," he said, opening the landrover door and gesturing for us to scramble out. "I want you two out of here as quickly as possible."

He guided us up the steep muddy bank and around the massive uprooted base of the tree. My shoes were sodden and didn't provide much in the way of grip. My daughter had sensibly worn her Dr Martens so was doing somewhat better than I. Still, we did both make it to the other side and back onto the road without falling over or dropping the wine and cheesecake. We have finely honed survival skills.

Fortunately my daughter's boyfriend appeared at that point, soaked to the skin himself but clutching two carrier bags full of wellies. At least the final mile was walked with dry feet.

So, the house remains closed for the time being. We are cut off from the outside world rather efficiently. At times like this all you can do is settle down with your cheesecake and wine and count your blessings.

I've Come All the Way From...

I was telling McColleague and Lovely Warden of my experiences with the visitors who had tried to blag a freebie the other week. We were standing on the lawn in front of the house, at the end of a long day. It was not an open day, but we had all been involved in the Pledger and Benefactor event.

"Then there are those who turn up on closed days and always claim to have come all the way from Australia or something." I was saying. "They have always travelled an unfeasible distance and this is the only time they can see the house, as they have to fly home in the morning, and their visit won't be complete without seeing the place. Which is why they've left it until 5pm on a closed day to turn up, as it's so very important to them."

I paused for breath, momentarily distracted.

A car was approaching along the drive. The gates must have been left open after our Pledgers and Benefactors had departed for the day.

Lovely Warden strode off to intercept them. The car drew to a halt alongside him, and the window rolled down.

I didn't hear the first part of the exchange, but as I drew nearer I had to try hard not to laugh.

"New Zealand?" said Lovely Warden. "No, sorry, that's not quite far enough. Now, if you'd said Australia we'd have let you in, but New Zealand...."

Fortunately he said it with such twinkly-eyed good humour no offence was taken. I will definitely be using that line again though.

True Grit

Last year we had a celebration. McColleague and I decided to put on a bit of a do to mark an important anniversary in the history of the house. We went to the Cash and Carry to spend our massive £30 budget on drinks and nibbles to offer our visitors as they entered the house.

I made my signature dish - cheese and pineapple on sticks - and McColleague knocked up some "Festive Fizz" out of Lambrini, orange juice and lemonade. Our budget goes a long way. We set everything up on doily-lined trays on a table in the Gatehouse. It looked quite posh. We then sprinkled metallic confetti numbers around the base of the glasses to complete our theme. Fancy.

The thing about the gatehouse, though, is that the design means that it is a bit of a wind tunnel. If you stand in it with a tray of drinks and cheese and pineapple on sticks there is a strong chance great gusts of wind will blow assorted grit and debris all over you.

"The confetti!" I cried, as all our little numerical bits of glitter flew into various crevices of the gatehouse and across the lawn.

We spent much of the day trying to keep little black specks of who knows what from getting into our glasses of fizz. The cheese and pineapple was even harder work, as the grit just embedded itself into it.

"This was a terrible idea," McColleague asserted, and I was forced to agree.

"What we should have done," I opined, helpfully, "was to set all this up in the Ticket Office."

"Why didn't we?" wondered McColleague. We didn't know.

This year we had a Pledger and Benefactor day. It is a day for presenting the place at its best in the hope of impressing people so much they decide to give us money. McColleague and I were asked to provide the refreshments. We have a good reputation for refreshments, given our past triumphs. This time we played safe, and stuck to tea, coffee and biscuits. We waited until the last possible moment to put everything out on the tables, which, granted, were outside in the courtyard, but under cover and not in a gusty area.

And yet, despite these efforts, there was still a moment or two when I had to excuse myself as I discretely replaced the milk which had inexplicably been contaminated with various bits of grit and a fly.

Amazing!

There is a field of maize right next to the car park.

There was some talk of making a Maize Maze to entertain our visitors and generate a little extra income for the farmer.

There was further talk of making it in the shape of a badger.

I could spot a couple of major flaws in these plans.

1. The maize is still only ankle height. It is not going to be a challenging experience. By the time the maize has grown tall enough to create a truly enjoyable maze experience it will probably be the end of the visitor season.

2. My Boss is unlikely to employ a professional maze maker to create the badger motif. No. It will most likely fall to Lovely Warden to try to fashion something that looks vaguely like an animal out of uprooted plants. I foresee a blobby thing with four protuberances.

The ultimate nail in the Maize Maze coffin came earlier today. Our Learning Officer has been creating flyers to send out to various bodies, announcing the forthcoming attraction.

"Our Property's Maize Maze," the title proclaims. "Can you help our badger back to his set?"

And beneath it, this:
I am bewildered. What word had she intended to use, really? I mean, this is the work of our Learning Officer. How could she have looked at this and thought, "Yup. Job well done. That'll get them in"? How did she put them in envelopes and pop them in the post without once thinking "Hang on a minute! Not rabid. No. Fluffy! That's what I meant!"

I am not sure this is the best marketing ploy we've ever tried, myself.

I Have the Power

It's true. The delightful Miss Despina has bestowed a Blogging Community Involvement Award upon me. According to the creator of this award, (Mike at Ordinary Folk)"when it comes to blogging, schmoozing is your ticket to making new friends, getting yourself noticed and building a reputation."

I am surprised really, as I always thought I was a grumpy old ratbag who did not so much schmooze as complain endlessly about volunteers, visitors and badly conceived Nursery Rhyme Trails. Maybe complaining is the new schmoozing!

Still, it is very nice to receive anything, and, like my other award, this one will not change my life.

Apparently I am supposed to choose five other bloggers to receive this award. That's a tough call, as most of the bloggers I know would prefer a crate of booze or the equivalent in cash. If you're a blogger and would like this award instead, do let me know.

But surely those signs don't apply to me?

11am, an hour before we open.

I am getting the house ready, taking off the bat covers and checking the loos are clean. I spy three men the other side of the moat, walking towards the gatehouse.

I head over to the gatehouse myself. They are just the other side of the heavy oak door. I can hear their voices. I open the door, which momentarily surprises them.

“Hello! I’m afraid we don’t open until 12.”

“Yes, I know. It's ok. I’ve been before, I’m just showing these two round.”

“Right. But I’m afraid we don’t open until 12, as it clearly says on the signs on all the gates you’ve come through.”

He decides to go for the cheeky chappie approach.

“Have we woken you up? Were you having a lie-in?”

“No. I am busy getting the house ready for when we open at 12. In the meantime I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises until then, for health and safety reasons.”

“Health and safety, eh? That gets everywhere these days doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It does. Are you members?”

“No.”

“Right. Well if you want to visit the house you’ll need to go back to the car park and come through our ticket office, where you can buy an admission ticket.”

“There was nobody there.”

“No, that’s because we don’t open until 12.”

“We’ll be long gone by then.”

“’Oh, I’m sure you will. Enjoy your free visit.”

Long Service Award

Dear Doris

It gives me great pleasure to congratulate you on achieving 10 years of continuous service with our organisation.

Under our policy on Long Service Awards, you are eligible for an award of £100, just a small token to thank you for all the effort and commitment you give to our organisation. You will receive your award in the July salary payment.

Thank you for the dedication you have shown over so many years.

insert squiggly signature here

Director General

insert handwritten "Thank you" here