Lost in Norfolk

I'm still adjusting to the way of life in Norfolk. In the summer, thousands of people find their way here -- and presumably go home again. They all have happy memories of lazy days in a county geared up for visitors.

Traditionally, Norfolk has been a place to go and rest, or even hide. In Tudor times, many of the key players came from this part of the world and retreated here when they were out of favour. Anne Boleyn's father was one such, and Blickling played its part in the intrigues of Tudor England.

This is still true today. Sandringham is where the royal family spends Christmas -- there were pictures of the Queen on the train to Kings Lynn last week heading for her Christmas break. Her grandchildren are often seen in local villages. The other day one of my colleagues saw Prince William and Kate Middleton in her village shop. William wanted to buy a copy of the Times -- the last in the shop -- but the shopkeeper refused as it was promised to a regular customer!

All this is fine, but getting out of Norfolk in the winter isn't always easy. I had to cancel a trip to head office a few weeks ago as none of the rail lines out of Norfolk were working over the weekend. One Saturday, Paul and I were heading to London for a dose of culture. Vandals had stolen cables from the signalling system and the trains were all running late, and taking 3 hours instead of 2 to get from Norwich to London. We got there in the end, but as the cables are replaced, more get stolen, creating a real problem for commuters. I'm starting to think this is the East Anglian edition of the Truman Show.

Then last week it snowed. On Thursday evening we went shopping in Cromer, about 8 miles north of here on the coast. It was snowing sideways, with wind coming straight from the north pole, gusting to 55 mph. That was only the beginning. The wind dropped Friday, but it kept snowing. Saturday it snowed some more, and Sunday. By now we're feeling triumphant if we can get out of our driveway, let alone along the lane to the village. Our wood burner is on all day and the birds are leaving tracks across the garden in between snowfalls.

Luckily, we've done most of our Christmas shopping. Collecting Hannah from Leicester was a bit of a challenge, but we managed it. If it thaws before Friday, we'll have a slushy Christmas. It will still be beautiful.

Pictures by Paul Bailey of Blickling Hall and Point Cottage, December 2009.

Halloween

We have had the most beautiful autumn. September and October have been warm, sunny, simply delightful. For most of the last 2 months, preparations have been underway for one big event -- Halloween at Blickling.

Halloween falls on the last open weekend for the House -- the gardens continue to be open 4 days a week all year around, but the house closes to the public for most of the winter. Just at the point you would expect everyone to be winding down, or at least preparing for the big winter clean, the focus is on getting ready for a big party with 600 paying guests. Outside the entrance, a 22 foot wide bat; inside, a huge spider with glowing red eyes sits across the staircase in the Great Hall. Monks in black habits jump out from dark corners, a gory 2nd Earl (who died after losing a duel) moans and complains about his injuries, two witches in a cavern stir their cauldron, line dancing skeletons encourage visitors to join in to music provided by a group of drummers in costume.

Having finished the tour of the house, visitors then go to hear a ghost story -- actually a very educational tale of Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII and the torture and execution preferences of Tudor England. Anne's ghostly connection with Blickling is emphasized, of course, but some of the adults felt there was too much gruesome detail. The children didn't complain. I got to play the Good Fairy, helping children make a wish after the story was finished. None of them looked traumatized, unless it was my purple wig and wings upsetting them.

In the gardens, the floodlights were coloured to give an eery glow and the mist rose from the lake forming the perfect spooky atmosphere. The child catcher was out with his net, a spider descended on the unwary as they walked past the yew hedge, and two vampires took it in turns to jump out of a coffin. One person fell over trying to get away, but we didn't complete an accident form. Shrieks and laughter could be heard all over the gardens.

The best thing about this event was seeing the whole house being used, not just static displays of stuff, but the space being occupied by staff and volunteers enjoying themselves with the visitors. Breaking away from the habit of showing the house in a formal and rigid fashion will take more work, but Halloween has shown me it can be done.

Water leaks and damp squibs

The water main at Blickling is a testament to ingenuity: that of the generations of engineers and plumbers who have built it, extended it, added pipework in a variety of different materials, and above all failed to leave any reliable records of where it goes and where the stopcocks are.

I met a tenant farmer who told me that his family have been farming on the estate here for 300 years. Seven generations have worked the land, passing their knowledge of the seasons, the crops, the animals one to another. But they must have forgotten about the water pipes because a week after I met him, this same farmer managed to spike the water main that passes through his field, thus cutting off supplies to a dozen or so houses and farms. Our building surveyor was soon on the scene, just in time to watch the same farmer spike the same pipe in a neighbouring field! Water was gushing out, washing away all the topsoil, demonstrating the soil loss -- the pipe was less than a metre deep in the middle of the field, but two metres deep at the margins. This is typical, I'm told, of the soil erosion that occurs in Norfolk.

After several hours' work, the householders and farmers were reconnected, but this underlines the fragility of the infrastructure which we all rely upon. A week or so later, another leak appeared outside the Hall, probably a mile from the field of the first leak, but undoubtedly related. A section of the damaged pipe was brought to me (I get to see all sorts of stuff) -- the rusted Victorian cast iron pipe was barely a millimetre thick and the impact of turning the water off and on again had caused a crack. Because the leak was close to the house, we were concerned it might damage the foundations, or the moat bridge, or even the yew hedge above it. The engineers were fantastic and discovered more stopcocks in the garden that had been carefully covered with lawn by previous generations of gardeners. So we didn't have to disconnect everyone on the property and we saved the yew hedge. Everyone was happy. Next year we have decided we must begin to replace this ancient water main -- or at least get it properly mapped.

So what about the damp squib? Well, we were meant to be having a royal visit. The King and Queen of Malaysia were visiting Lotus cars south of Norwich, and we were told that the Queen wanted to visit Blickling for a tour of the house and garden and afternoon tea. She would have a retinue of 20 people, and a press corps of 10. And she was bringing her own butler to serve her tea. So on a chilly Friday afternoon, we were all ready to receive the royal party, with tea laid on in the house, a seating plan prepared, various staff on hand to receive the guests and give them guided tours.

Then a series of phone calls. First, the Queen has her two youngest children with her, and they aren't on the seating plan. Then, the press corps won't be coming as they have to file their stories. Then -- no Queen! But we will be receiving a group of 5 ladies -- one director of Lotus and 4 of her colleagues' wives! They were charming and seemed to enjoy their special tour and a rather huge afternoon tea -- but no butler.

But the following day, the local newspaper proudly reported that the Queen of Malaysia had enjoyed her visit to Blickling Hall. Perhaps she was incognito.

It's Showtime!

My first experience of a real agricultural show was memorable. A very hot and humid August Bank Holiday Monday was my chance to see the Aylsham Agricultural Show, a proper farming event for the local community held in Blickling Park.

Needless to say, the animals stole the show. Showjumping, donkey rides for children and alpacas you could take for a walk around the showground drew the crowds. But my favourites were the cattle, sheep and goats in pens waiting to be led around a ring to be judged by experts. Goats seem to think their main aim in life is to head butt any other goat that catches their eye. I've had colleagues like that. I never knew how many different breeds of sheep there are -- some have ginger wool, some have rabbit-like ears, all look pretty stupid. I'm told the disadvantage of being a sheep farmer is that sheep spend most of their lives figuring out how to die.

The cattle are huge and beautiful and clearly love having a fuss made of them. In the picture at the top of the blog, you can't quite see the lady standing at the rear of this bull, washing its bottom and brushing it with a curry comb. Not a job I'd volunteer for. The animals walk fairly placidly round the ring, being led by their handlers. But once they return to the pens, cooperation is over. I saw three large men pushing with all their might to get a cow to move a few inches. Then, with a sigh, she lifted one foot and shifted her weight to the other side, just about making room for a neighbouring cow to get in alongside.

All the usual fairground attractions were there -- daredevil motorcycle riders, dog display teams, parachutists and even a chainsaw sculptor. The local community were out in force, spending money at the trade stands and overflowing the beer tent.

It only lasts one day, and then September is here, children are back at school and coach parties reappear to enjoy the treasures of Blickling. And we start to plan for our next big event, Halloween.

Summer Harvest

For the last few weeks, we have had to warn our guests that apples are likely to fall off the tree and land on their car while parked outside our cottage. Luckily, there have been no damaging incidents, although the apples are now turning into large Bramley cooking apples, some weighing over half a pound.

Harvesting fruit from the garden and hedgerows is one of the joys of living here. It has become impossible to keep up with the glut of apples. The freezer is crammed with bags of sliced apples, and we are picking blackberries from the hedgerow as well. Blackberry and apple crumble is a favourite -- the fruit melts in the oven into a delicious purple mush. Today we picked nearly seven pounds of damsons off the tree outside the window. Half went into spiced damson chutney and the other half into damson jam. The tree is still laden with fruit. I'm speckled with damson juice and feeling strangely fulfilled from the pleasure of standing over a large preserving pan all day. And all the fruit was picked only a few feet from my front door.

At the Hall, the staff car park is an old orchard with various local apple and pear trees. I picked a large eating apple the other day, and ate it with my lunch. I'm hoping I will have a chance to try several different varieties before they finish. Someone can probably tell me what they are called, but for now I'm happy enough to notice the different shapes, colours and flavours. The trees are old -- planted several generations ago by people prepared to try different varieties of fruit and looked after so they are still fruitful today. Although the estate has been through many changes, people were sufficiently prescient to allow the trees their space. A remarkable legacy.

There is always a temptation to rip things up and start again -- gardeners, decorators and builders can be entranced with the thought of starting from scratch. But there is value in keeping and restoring the old, replacing things past their best, and being honest about what one is doing. Getting the balance right between conservation and restoration is yet another challenge for the Trust. Recreating a walled garden to supply produce for the restaurant, staff and volunteers is one of next year's projects. The garden was taken out after WW2, due to the effort required to maintain it. Now we have a waiting list of volunteers who want to work on it.

This emphasis on the value of local seems an enormous strength to me. So often local is equated with parochial, with an underlying meaning of restricted or even small-minded. Developing local relationships, with suppliers, contractors, farmers is a way of engaging with the community. I'm open to the idea of going local and feeling part of something that has a human dimension.

Come the winter, we will be eating our jams and chutneys, sitting in front of the wood burner full of logs from the estate. I could get used to this.

Summertime

The joys of an English summer -- flowers, sunshine, rain, thunder, umbrellas and mud. Norfolk has it all, as well as an overwhelming number of bugs, spiders and creepy crawlies of all descriptions. At least the birds are looking well fed.

The picture at the top of this post is of our outdoor concert, on one of the wettest and stormiest days of the summer. Simple Minds and The Stranglers entertained 3000 people holding about 1000 umbrellas. It was a really good night, even if raffle ticket sales were a bit disappointing. No one really wants to look for money when their jeans are soaked through.

Earlier that day, we had a lightning strike at the cottage. It didn't actually strike the cottage, but discharged close enough to blow the phone socket off the wall and fry one of our lamps. Paul and Hannah were indoors at the time and the bang made them both jump out of their skins. We lost our land line for 3 days, and broadband for a week. Luckily, our computer is connected to broadband by wireless, or we might have lost that too. Amazing how quiet it was without a phone line, especially as mobile phones seldom work around here.

Last weekend we went up to the coast and experienced the plague of ladybirds that has been in the news. There were millions of the insects covering every surface, including people, cars, pavements, windows. They crawled under clothes, were caught inside vehicles and crunched underfoot as you walked along. An incredible sight that makes me itch to think about it. Presumably they will eat all the aphids in the area, but whatever eats them must be in short supply.

Finally, pictures of a friendly and curious cow (they aren't all aggressive) we met while on a walk last weekend. She was disappointed she couldn't eat the camera.

Force Field Analysis

Anyone who has worked with me knows I quite like this simple model of change management by Kurt Lewin -- equilibrium in the middle with forces for change on one side and forces resisting change on the other. Right now, I am living this model. I am the Agent of Change.

When I was interviewed for the job, the panel focussed on my experience of change management. I could tell from the members' magazine and other documents I read that the Trust was going through considerable change, but I should have asked more questions about what that meant at property level. In this region, key roles are disappearing and key individuals are moving on. At Blickling, all sorts of changes are happening (including my appointment), but there is no overarching plan. This makes it difficult to justify any change, large or small.

You may recall the shock waves caused by my assumption that everyone would use the Outlook calendars. This continues to cause problems. People miss updates and come in for meetings that have been moved, or fail to note the correct time. Very frustrating. Does anyone remember SOTFOT (Start on Time, Finish on Time)? It isn't the way it works here.

The regional marketing group are keen to use social networks like Twitter and Flickr to encourage visitors to record their experiences at Trust properties. But the Handbook explicitly asks people not to use mobile phones to take photos. Goodness knows why -- no reason is given.

I found an entertaining blog about a journalist's visit to Blickling, and sent the link to a couple of colleagues. Astonishment all round that people write these things (!).

Best of all -- I don't actually have to say or do anything to discover the resistors to change. As I walked through the office on Friday, someone asked me about a rumour she had heard that I was planning to turf a group of people out of their space to make room for my management team. Not a bad idea, just not one of mine.

I know what I need to do -- help everyone engage with change, so they don't feel it is being done to them. Encourage more flexible thinking so that change becomes less frightening. Welcome discussion about possible outcomes, rather than definite solutions. But mainly, make it OK to be worried, but not OK to say no.

To achieve this, I need to call on all my reserves. There are useful allies to be found in unlikely places. Quick wins are the top priority -- but the wins need to be for the changers, not the resistors. I suspect I will end up with a Workflow-type project, within the property. That in itself would be such an innovation, it might meet huge resistance. But did that stop me before? Volunteers welcome.

Welcome to 'The Archers'

I've had this sneaking impression at work that many of the issues I come across are familiar. Today it dawned on me -- they are all storylines from 'The Archers'.

Some of my followers may not listen to Radio 4 and the everyday story of country folk (don't think they call it that anymore). But the trials and tribulations of the Archers, Aldridges, Grundys, etc, could easily be transposed to Blickling. Everyone is related, or married, or disliked, or befriended. I'm sure I have unwittingly offended various people by being rude about their second cousin. It will be easier for me if I can continue to be oblivious to all these relationships.

Then there are the agricultural story lines. French cattle are more highly strung than British ones (really!) and more likely to start messing around with our visitors walking across parkland. Last week I picked up the phone to a lady reporting an incident with a herd of 25 heifers when she was walking on a footpath across a field. They hurtled past her 4 times before she found a stick to shake at them, and then they ran off. It is a frightening experience and we have to report the incident to our health and safety department. The tenant farmer was informed -- not that there was much he could do as the cattle were all quietly chewing the cud when my colleague the agricultural surveyor (yes, I have one of those) went to have a look.

I get emails telling me about cows that are due for retirement -- anyone interested in taking on several older red poll cattle? I don't think we have to send retirement cards.

Trouble occurs when the conservation aims of the Trust conflict with the business aims of our tenant farmers. At Blickling, the park -- which was once a deer park -- has a number of fields let to farmers for generations. Farm tenancies can be protected by Acts of Parliament (something else I didn't know) for up to 3 generations. The farmers can use the fields largely in any way they desire -- arable, grazing for sheep or cattle, or left to meadow. A survey of the park was done by the Trust over 20 years ago, and certain areas were identified to return to grazing when the opportunity arose, so the historic deer park landscape could be restored. But this means that a tenant is going to lose 'his' arable land, which spoils the balance of his business. The estate has tried to make this transition as easy as possible for the farmer over a number of years, but when it comes to the point of the change happening, he is unhappy. We have to put the tenancy out to tender, to comply with Charity Commission rules. This makes the existing tenant furious as he feels he should get first refusal. It doesn't feel like a happy ending.

And then there is the Aylsham Show, which happens at Blickling over the August Bank Holiday weekend. Who is off to the Borsetshire Show? All together now -- da-de-da-de-da-de-da da-de-da-de-da-da...

Rude awakenings

Living in a cottage in the middle of nowhere is bliss. There is so little traffic that we look every time we hear a car engine. If we are expecting a delivery, we can usually hear the van turn into the lane and see it go whizzing past us, and then reverse slowly back. At night, there are no street lights so we can appreciate the stars on a clear night and sleep without the interruptions of town living -- car doors slamming, arguments in the street outside and the constant rumble of activity.

On the other hand, now we have long days and short nights, the wild life decide when it is time to wake up in the morning. Early one Sunday morning, we were woken by a thump on the roof, and a scrabbling on the tiles, followed by an even louder thump on the bedroom window. Paul leapt out of bed, pulled back the curtain to see a large, fat pheasant sitting on the very narrow window sill. The bird then flopped down into the garden (flight is not his forte), and sat there looking up at the window shouting as only a pheasant can. We think this was to let us know the bird feeders were empty. On balance, we decided not to go and fill them, or else we would be up every morning at 5am feeding the birds.

Some mornings we are woken by a sound similar to an electric saw, which ends with a series of glottal stops, then starts the sawing again. None of the bird song websites seem to have this particular rendition, so Paul had to get up one morning and sneak downstairs to catch the culprit. It was our friend the red legged partridge, sitting halfway up the apple tree, trying to work out how to get to the peanut feeder. He seems to have invented his own song, as he doesn't sound anything like the BBC version of a partridge.

You've noticed that the valiant identifier of early morning birdsong is Paul, not me. I'm not so keen to solve the riddles. Soon after we moved here, we were both awoken at about 4am by a high pitched alarm in our bedroom. In our befuddled state of mind, we convinced ourselves it was a carbon monoxide alarm, partly because that was the only instruction book we could find at that time of night. We opened all the windows, and spent the rest of the night counting the seconds between red and green lights flashing on the alarm on the ceiling. The following day, we realized it was actually a smoke alarm, and the unit can be triggered by dust and insects. Probably one of the cottage spiders had a rude awakening as well.

Looking Glass World

The National Trust is a large, distributed organisation with a clear mission: to look after special places for everyone, for ever. Its head office is Heelis -- named for Beatrix Potter's married name (she was one of the early benefactors). But Heelis is in Swindon, not known as one of the most beautiful parts of Britain.

This represents a clear contradiction in the organization -- having strong ideals that are inevitably compromised by the real world. Norfolk is a long way from Swindon, and maybe that is why it feels somewhat unreal here -- Looking Glass World. Almost as things are meant to be, but not quite.

In a recent meeting, I asked my management team to start to use the Outlook calendar, as I can no longer set up meetings any other way. This has caused quite a stir, with people dropping the issue into conversation at every opportunity. Yesterday, a charming lady who works in visitor reception said "if I wanted to be a secretary I would have gone to secretarial school". I think it was a joke, but she wanted me to hear. It won't stop me dragging them into the 21st century.

Earlier this week, I went to see how catering was getting on at lunchtime. It was busy in the main restaurant, and the courtyard cafe had a queue out the door. Then I saw the 'closed' sign was still up on the cafe door. I helpfully took down the sign and took it in to the girl at the counter. "I'm supposed to be closed now!" she said. There were no sandwiches, and dozens of hungry visitors were being turned away -- and we aren't exactly overrun with competition in the area. And yet the catering team will repeatedly tell me how well they are doing. Definitely could do better.

On the other hand, we have a great gift shop. The retail manager is leading the field to introduce more local goods into NT shops. He is very successful at selecting good quality items, and persuading the central retail team to allow us to stock them. We've also got a wonderful plant centre that is increasing revenue every week and a fantastic second hand bookshop staffed by volunteers. Definitely the best-run second hand bookshop I've ever been to -- and all the profits can be spent on projects at Blickling.

In 2010, we will be moving from 5-day to 7-day opening at Blickling. This move was made 10 years ago in the South West Region, but East of England has resisted as long as possible. I have six months to make sure all the implications are understood and addressed. I can hear the banshee of change screaming around the turrets.

Maybe some of this is NFN -- Normal for Norfolk. Cautious, calm, set in its ways. Like the shopkeeper who said, when I phoned to chase my overdue order, "Do you need it then?" And the farm shop with a huge sign declaring itself to be 'the best in Norfolk', but no cars in the car park and no customers inside. Stop fussing, woman, just go back to the garden and watch the birds.

Buildings and gardens

Today I started my seventh week as General Manager at Blickling Hall. You might think I should be feeling more confident by now. To be honest, in some ways I am, but I'm also learning the challenges and contradictions of working for the National Trust.

Blickling has a plethora of riches -- a beautiful hall, fantastic gardens, wonderful parkland and a complete country estate. When the house was bequeathed to the nation, it didn't have a financial endowment to pay for its care, but it had a working estate to generate rents and other forms of income. This continues to be the case. The downside is that it has a large number of vernacular buildings, many of which have been inhabited by the same tenants for donkeys' years. And many need urgent attention to keep them standing.

This leads me to a central conundrum of working for a conservation charity. I am a business manager, charged with developing the revenue from the estate as a whole. But I'm also answerable to conservators of various descriptions who are concerned about too much development, even if it is of the most sensitive type. It is easy to be tied up in knots: converting two ramshackle old barns into beautiful homes or workplaces in a wonderful location will change the original purpose of the buildings. But spending money on them in their current state, when they wouldn't pass muster to house cattle, really doesn't make much sense. And if no money is spent on them, they will soon fall down.

Another aspect is the speed of decision making -- or lack of it. It isn't unusual to find a particular project has been discussed, costed, planned and simply shelved for years. Finding my way through the maze will take a while. I'm only hoping I don't become part of the problem.

On a positive note, the gardens are magnificent. There is a big project being planned to recreate the walled fruit and vegetable garden. We are applying for heritage funding for this, so there are many hoops to jump through, but I'm sure it will be worth it. The picture at the top of the blog is of the east elevation of the Hall in June, taken with a bed of peonies in the foreground. The yew hedges and topiary are trimmed once a year, and all the cuttings are sent to a pharmaceutical company as they form a key ingredient for a cancer drug.

Finally, to remind myself what a fantastic place this is to work, I'm adding two pictures of the Great Wood in early May, resplendent with bluebells and wild garlic. All photos are by Paul, of course.

The Birds

I've never lived in the depths of the countryside before, and wondered whether I would like it. Admittedly, we have arrived at the best time of year, but the cottage is in a glorious location and even when the weather is poor, it is never depressing.

As cat lovers, we have never had an opportunity to study wild birds close at hand. And in Bognor, the fat stupid pigeons, noisy herring gulls and nasty magpies were all we could see. Since arriving here, we have become fascinated by the antics of the wild birds. In fact, our garden is known as a good source of food for all the local bird life.

Our first weekend, we went out and bought a couple of bird feeders and a bag or two of food. Very soon, we had greenfinches greedily pulling out beak-fulls of seed, dropping most of it on the ground. Then a pair of blackbirds appeared, eating what had been dropped. Then a male pheasant -- probably one that had survived last year's hunting season. He's a handsome bird (getting fat) but has lost his long tail feathers. Within two days, all the seed had gone and we had to buy some more.

By the end of the first week, we had seen four pairs of greenfinches, a pair of red-legged partridges, a pair of collared doves, chaffinches, blue tits and a great spotted woodpecker. The greenfinches are the most determined and can easily empty the bird feeder in a day. The pheasant sits underneath the feeder and the food rains down on his head. Another male pheasant has appeared -- slimmer and with a full set of tail feathers. Little do they know that the hunting season will start again soon. Today we saw a pair of woodpeckers with a youngster; they were showing him how to eat peanuts from the feeder.

Someone told me today that he knows people who spend £20 per week on food for their garden birds. Maybe that will be us soon. We can go hungry, but at least the birds will eat!

Needless to say, I take no credit for the photos. These are taken by Paul, right outside our kitchen window. On the left is a great spotted woodpecker, smiling for the camera and on the right a red legged partridge. At the top of the blog are two greenfinches on the feeder on the apple tree.



Sorry if you are bored by this talk about wildlife. It is a new experience for me. Next time I might write about work.

May 2009
New role, for me and the National Trust, as General Manager of Blickling Hall in Norfolk. We've moved up from Sussex, and are starting to understand just how different life is in this part of the world. Within our first week here, Paul discovered that local shops are much more friendly than we have been used to. For example, in the news agents, an elderly man asked for 2 second class stamps. The lady behind the counter got a pair of scissors and cut 2 out of a book of 6 and sold them to him! That definitely wouldn't have happened in Bognor.
Blickling Hall is a Jacobean mansion and estate, left by Lord Lothian to the Trust in the 1930s. It has nearly 5000 acres, a garden, park, over 100 cottages, farms and a pub. It supports numerous businesses and local families one way or another. It is a beautiful location and I've been told repeatedly that it gets under your skin. I can believe it.
My role is new, and they have been waiting for someone to take it on for around 9 months. As a result, a considerable backlog of ideas and issues are awaiting me. Within a couple of days I could tell that my approach was a new experience for my new colleagues (tell me your idea, cost it, find the funds, do it). Blickling has been described to me as a sleeping giant. I wonder if the Trust is ready to see what happens when it wakes up?
In my first month, no two days have been alike. I've been trying to get to grips with all the different aspects of the estate: restoration in the park; conservation in the house; merchandising in the shop; queue management in the restaurant; and driving the Gator (electric buggy) around the estate. It isn't boring!
What is my objective? To improve the Visitor Enjoyment scores on the visitor survey, and thereby the financial performance of the property. A nice clear objective, with a million ramifications. I can't wait to get on with it!