Retirement Day (from the day job, that is)!

Today is retirement day. This milestone, after 45 years in advertising and marketing, has been a goal for sometime but suddenly it feels like it’s galloped up on the far rail and overtaken me. 

I want to mark this day with some memories and some words of thanks. I didn’t take this journey alone after all. 

Wind back the clock 45 years to a nervous 20 year old, dressed, I clearly recall, in a lilac linen dress and matching heels - perfect for an interview in Leeds in December! I had been applying for jobs in advertising agencies, marketing departments of blue chip companies and similar businesses to no avail for some time. My carefully hand-written letters with cv had not a jot of relevant experience and in consequence this was only my second interview reaped from a lot of effort! 

Quite what the then managing director of this advertising agency saw in me, I have no idea, but I walked out with a job and a start date of January 2nd 1977. I had wrestled a job as the lowest form of human life in the agency - though I’m sure they called it something more prestigious - maybe even with a two word title! 

Despite the fact that I was, from day 1, the butt of everyone’s jokes in the creative department being a) posh (by their standards) and b) a southerner (the next most southern employee coming from Doncaster), by the end of the week, I absolutely knew that I was in the right place. I loved it. And I remain convinced that no one who works in advertising in this century has as much fun as we did back then. We worked hard, played harder and, in the words of Ronan Keating, life truly was “a rollercoaster”. I made friends for life, even in that first week. My dearest friend from that time died a while ago but he was a top godfather to child number 2. I learnt more from the legend that was Hank Howe, who seemed at 60 like the oldest person on the planet, than anyone else but lots of folks took time to teach me stuff, especially the tatty typographer from Doncaster with whom I shared an office for a while. He increased my vocabulary in all sorts of interesting ways. 

Back then, typesetting came from Manchester to Leeds in a van from a company called Gask and Hawley which apparently still exists but was more usually called Grasp and Crawley. Huge parcels of artwork were shipped every day to national newspapers and the air was perfumed with magic markers and cow gum spray. 

From lowest form of life to director in 8 years. I was definitely in the right place. I had wonderful colleagues who made even the hard stuff fun (mostly), met all sorts of great people who did other jobs in the industry from photographers and film producers to graphic designers, illustrators, media reps and everything in between. I had brave clients (sometimes) who would take a risk and buy into the creative dream, and conservative clients who wanted - and usually got - their pound of flesh. Best of all, I met a young man who worked in the family coach travel business who was also a client. “Reader, I married him.” 

Intending to retire once we started a family, it somehow never quite happened, though in the early years, I worked only on and off. Could I help with a pitch, work on an exhibition stand, do a really horrible cold calling campaign? Yes I did all those things and more. 

Then a few years on, with four under 11, I went back into the business properly, working first for a public relations consultancy and then setting up on my own. Looking back, it was quite brave/rash but it worked out ok. I started on day 1 with one client and by day 5, I had two and so it went on. As a one-man-band, I always said I could do stuff, even if I had no idea how I was going to achieve it. And fortunately it usually worked, though sleep was definitely lost on the way. 

I won an IPR Gold in 2002 (I’ve just looked - it needs dusting!) and got shortlisted for another award. Not bad for a sole trader. I’ve worked for some great clients, my mantra always being that I would only work for people that I could recommend in whatever field they worked in. I’ve had the pleasure of working for some businesses for in excess of 17 years and loved being accepted as part of the team, rather than an outside supplier. 

A few years ago, I had breast cancer and I was pretty poorly for nearly a year. I told each of my clients the awful news, saying I quite understood if they went elsewhere but that I intended to work as much as I could. Every single one assured me that I should do what I could when I could and that they would continue to pay me regardless. I cannot thank them enough to this day. 

I was lucky enough to work through the pandemic for businesses that continued to operate through very tough circumstances. I think in some ways they went above and beyond to keep me on, but I hope that I justified their support. I certainly tried. 

Finally, as one of my last hurrahs, last month I went to an awards ceremony in Leeds with my last remaining client. We had been shortlisted for an award and it would have been a fairytale ending for me if we had won. We didn’t but I got to meet David Flatman who is something of a hero of mine. I looked around the room at all the bright young things at the start of their careers and wished them all the fun, excitement, great friends and the buzz of it all that I have enjoyed over the years. Definitely time for me to go. 

Postscript: I saw a friend on Saturday night with whom I have worked quite a few times over the years. He confidently said that if I retired today, I’d be bored by Thursday and looking for work. I think I’ll last longer than that but I’ll keep you posted! 

The Crow House Barn Project: Back in the Saddle Again

So with apologies to Gene Autry aka The Singing Cowboy, we are "Back in the Saddle Again" Barn-wise! Actually, click on the link at the end, it's bonkers!

At the start of the year, I thought I'd write a journal about the Barn. A whole year of the thrills and spills of life as a bed and breakfast practitioner. It seemed like a good plan at the time. Folks have often kindly expressed an interest in the shenanigans of this unexpected change in our lifestyle and so I thought if I wrote it down I might be able to make something saleable out of my memoir. Think The Minack Chronicles by Derek Tangye or Peter Mayle's A Year in Provence. I did not, of course, expect the entire edifice to crumble so spectacularly when I embarked on this writing challenge. Coronavirus was a distant event in Wuhan and like everyone else, we didn't see this tsunami coming or how it would change everything.

We waved goodbye to our last visitor just before lockdown and hosted a couple of key workers at the start and then... nothing. We had, by this time, taken delivery of the intrepid granny who lived with us in the house, but the Barn, like theatres, was dark. We applied to host key workers because, with a Nightingale Hospital in nearby Harrogate, we thought we could be useful. But our booking agent deemed us unsuitable (though it took them from early April when we applied to late May to make their minds up). We refunded, cancelled and re-scheduled bookings through the whole period feeling very miffed that our new enterprise was apparently the ultimate perishable product.

In the meantime, although we were both doing our day jobs from home, we did all sorts of maintenance - painting, replacing electricals and generally gardening ourselves into the ground - literally! Then, as things eased and the R-rate started to dip significantly, Boris said we could open in a few days. And because we are isolated (we call it 'secluded' because isolated sounds a bit Wuthering Heights) enquiries rolled in. The early ones were mostly enquiries rather than bookings because obviously folks were cautious. Could they cancel if we went back into lockdown, what were our new cleaning protocols, etc etc. We answered with what felt like endless patience - if there was a local or national (God forbid) lockdown again, we would reschedule or refund as before. But some folks were looking for more wriggle room than that. No you can't just change your mind, and you definitely can't do it at 3 days' notice!

After a few days, the enquiries had turned into bookings and folks desperate to go somewhere beyond their own self-imposed prison yard, however lovely, were booking apace. Meanwhile we had got out of the rhythm of changeovers, biblical laundry and the need to be at home. So now days off are few and far between but this is our new life and we're happy to be back in the saddle again. Yes, everyone else can travel now but we'll be here as long as we have guests, which we hope is a long time.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5F-O_19lSI

We did a fabulous walk at the weekend from Osmotherley along part of the Cleveland Way. What a beautiful part of the country we are privileged to call home!

The One Hundred Days Lockdown Blues

If I were a song writer (I'm not, obviously) I'm sure I'd manage to write something witty and melodic under the title The One Hundred Days Lockdown Blues. I can imagine it performed by Little Feat along the lines of Long Distance Love. Rest assured, it'll never happen.

Each day since 20th March which was my beloved's birthday, I have been noting the number of days with my Scrabble fridge magnets and we have now got to One Hundred Days. Who knew that this forced isolation would go on for so long? The point at which I started measuring is entirely personal to me and other folks might have different start dates. Mine stems from the last time the pub was open and I was in it. Other people's start date might of course be more Boris-related.

I am conscious that my lockdown is probably a deal more pleasant than people who have been in city flats and I have ruthlessly made the most of that. Our home is in the middle of a garden and the whole is situated in the middle of nowhere. No neighbours (can't count sheep, cattle and sundry wildlife) so this has been an outdoorsy lockdown. I agree - I am fortunate. And we're all healthy too and I know some folks can't say that. We locked down and stayed safe - for now anyway.

We invited the intrepid granny to spend lockdown with us (five or six weeks, I originally thought - I'm saying no more as she reads this!). So we ate well, particularly when we decided she could go accompanied, masked and gloved to Marks & Spencers Food Hall. She left two weeks ago but we're still enjoying a few M&S treats from the freezer.

So without turning this into 'is this the new normal?', there is some stuff that I think is good - good for me anyway and has given me joy. And then there's the other stuff...

1  Walking - we've walked miles. And because we can do this without seeing anyone else (or hardly anyone, particularly early in the morning) we have really enjoyed this. Watching the seasons change. Loving the warm weather (it's now blowing a gale and raining sideways - don't you love 'flaming June'?) One particular day, when I had a sense of humour failure, Darcy (small dog of dubious parentage) and I walked seven miles waiting for my temper to cool. Nice walk, still angry.

2  Gardening. Cunning plan here. The intrepid granny who has gone from a very big garden to a very small garden in her new home relished getting her grippers on my garden. I gave her a free hand in return for a granny gardening grant. She bought, I planted. Smugly, we look pretty good now!

3  Quiet roads, no litter. Aah... looking back at the halcyon days of early lockdown when I could trundle along the middle of the road without thinking I was going to run down at any moment. Within a couple of weeks, lunatics were on the road, treating our lanes like a race track and chucking their Tesco sandwich boxes out of the window. We even had a couple of cars whizzing down our No Through Road and then deciding to turn their cars on our grass - well, really!

4  No sport. No playing, no watching. Lucky for me that tennis was one of the first sports deemed safe to play even if I had to endure some ritual humiliation at singles before we could play doubles - ritual humiliation there too. Otherwise I might have had to take up golf again to which I am not temperamentally suited - ball too small, stick too long. And no rugby to watch. My wonderful Newcastle Falcons, promoted back to the Premiership, may not play for months and Dean Richards is currently working as a policeman. I love the buzz of live sport, being there, the atmosphere, the crowds. That's a long time away, I fear. And don't even ask me how I feel about Wimbledon.

5  My children. Not being with them, not getting a real sense of how they are, how they're coping, how they feel about stuff - this is my nightmare. Technology is great but it's no substitute for seeing them in person. And a grandson who's growing up so fast. And hugs - missing this more than anything.

6  Crowds. I genuinely don't understand this. I get that I'm privileged to live where I do. We're not grand or palatial but we are isolated. But for everyone in the NHS to have done everything they can to keep us safe, risking their lives in the process, this must be the most monumental slap in the face. And for the police too. No matter where you stand politically - there is no excuse for risking the life of your fellow man by joining in a demonstration or celebration or parking your backside on a beach right next to other folks. I don't get it. So much for clapping for the NHS.

7  Working. Freelance for nearly twenty years, sometimes work feels precarious. I've spent a lot of time over the years worrying about work but I have been so relieved to sit down each day at my computer. No, the rewrite of the novel isn't finished yet (though it does have a new ending) but at least my mind hasn't atrophied and there's still money coming in.

8  Not working. Our great enterprise, as we thought it, to turn the Barn into a B&B was going swimmingly - until this. We have refunded and postponed and honestly bent over backwards to help our would-be guests. And whilst the Barn has been empty, we've deep-cleaned, painted, replaced electricals and much, much more. At last bookings are coming in again and we open at the end of the week. It won't solve the gaping hole of what we might have earned through the spring but at least we're back in the game - unless number 6 above causes another lockdown.

9  Twitching. Yes, we have turned into twitchers. During our regular conversations with our children, we have told them about sitting by the side of the stream in the evening watching the kingfisher adults darting in and out feeding their chicks. And the magnificent red kites that guard their nest, sitting on a branch like totem poles, stretching in the morning light. We have, as far as our children are concerned, truly lost the plot. Away with the birds, if not the fairies.

10.  Bladder control. Actually it's more a case of what my nana used to say: "Go when you can, not when you want to." So how much can I drink on my walk, playing tennis or running errands without needing a handy bush? And I am not a handy bush type of person. If anything was to induce me to have a sex change it might just be this!

Long Distance Love by Little Feat - definitely in my Desert Island Discs!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9uJfWJu7wE

The Crow House Barn Project: When Theatres Go Dark

In stage parlance, when a theatre goes dark, it means it is closed. During the World Wars, the IRA terrorist activity during the 1970s and other bad stuff, our West End theatres defiantly stayed open. But not now. In fact, according to The Spectator, the last time our London theatres went dark on this scale was in 1592 when the plague was rife and Shakespeare turned his hand to knocking out a few poems instead.

Closer to home, in fact just across the yard, our Barn is now dark. And very strange it feels too. We are so used to guests in the Barn that it is now 'status normal' for us. But we said goodbye to our last guests yesterday morning and, yes, before you tut, they were key workers. Delightful fellows working in construction who despite their obvious ability to do proper manual labour, couldn't work out how to light the log burner each night and took to giving me a call when they were on their way home to ask if we would light it for them. After a couple of evenings, we just lit it for them anyway and jolly grateful they were too. They were kind enough to ring me yesterday morning after they had left to say thank you and that, in the future, they would be back with their wives. "Nicest place we've ever stayed." A good way to end, I think.

The reality is that we have spent the last couple of weeks haemorrhaging bookings, agreeing cancellations, refunding and generally playing a tricky wicket with what we hope is a straight bat. Some folks have cancelled and immediately rebooked for later in the year and we love these guys. Some have, even better, said they are happy to leave their deposits with us and will move their booking to better times. Some have sent us kind messages and promised to be back. Some have just taken the money and - that's ok, I get that. Lots of people are significantly worse off than we are and at least we are well and living comfortably at home with the 91 year old Intrepid Granny now in residence for the duration.

Of course, the urge to gather my chicks around me is very great. But they are having none of it. All their bedrooms in the house and the Barn could now be restored to their original owners - our children have variously lived in the Barn over the years, apart from number 3 who said "It's too far from the kitchen!" but that's hungry boys for you! But they are locked down in various places apart from our nurse, number 4, who is on the frontline in a London hospital. They know I'm thinking of them and they are being very good about checking in daily. I'm sure there is some harrumphing about this that I am not aware of, but they're doing it and that gives me comfort.

Going back to the Barn, whilst it's hard to know how long this will continue, we need to generate some bookings so with my marketing head on, I will be devising some deals and offers which I will be posting on social media in due course. And after all, this time last year, there was no Crow House Barn.

This is the most beautiful time of year to come here. Every morning when I take Darcy (small black dog of dubious parentage much loved by guests) for a walk, Nature is raucously announcing her presence in the fields, hedgerows and woodlands. And, not least because we had a spring wedding here a few years ago and did a lot of planting, tulips and daffodils, hyacinths and primroses are bursting into bloom in the garden. We've had enough dry weather to get the mowing up to date and we look rather wonderful. Maybe next year, we'll have guests who can enjoy it all with us. Here's hoping.

So wishing you all a safe self-isolating spring and let's hope that we can all enjoy summer together rather than apart.

Special request: if you enjoy my ramblings and want to share with other folks, please do. Once this is over, we'd like to have a bed and breakfast business again so if you can help get the message out there, we'd be ever so grateful. www.crowhousebarn.co.uk

The Crow House Barn Project: The very good, the bad and the downright ugly!

Sometimes I wake up in the morning feeling like I have landed in a foreign land! How did we get here? What am I doing and where did my old life go?

A year ago, the idea of turning the Barn into a B and B was a sort of a pipe dream. A bit like my writing career which, though not for the want of trying, never seems to get off the starting blocks. One novel written and currently being revised, two further novels plotted out and partially written and numerous submissions to literary agents and competitions and the completed novel still only has a readership of 5! 

The Barn Project felt a bit like that a year ago and therefore light years away from the thriving business it is now. And the rewards of this enterprise run much deeper than the obvious financial ones - though they are essential in all of this. We have met extraordinary and interesting people who otherwise would not have crossed our paths. 

We were with friends at the weekend discussing PLUs (People Like Us) and how we, through our interaction with them and our more general reading and listening and watching, constantly re-enforce our prejudices. And at our age, it is all too easy to do just that as we meet perhaps fewer people through work - and a lot of our friends are retired now - and we tend generally not to explore the unknown with the gusto and enthusiasm we had twenty years ago. The point of this long preamble is to say that we are expanding our horizons - not because we’re going anywhere but because our horizons are coming to us. 

Take the parents who come and stay in the Barn because they are bringing their teenagers either to look at or to join the Army Foundation College in Harrogate. We’ve had a few of these and they have all been such kind and loving parents. First we had to discover that the AFC mentioned in the booking reservations was indeed the College and not a local football team (it was for many years called the Army Apprentice College - hence my confusion). These people are packing off their sixteen year old sons and daughters into an army life and I, as a mother of four, can’t even begin to imagine what a maelstrom of emotions that must release. We’ve seen smartly dressed, short-haired, shiny-shoe-ed young men leave here on a Sunday morning for their first taste of Army life away from the comforts of home. And then, when it was Remembrance Sunday at our local church, a group of young soldiers came to the village, presumably from the same year group. None of them had stayed with us before joining up but their smart uniforms and razor-sharp discipline made us realise how quickly they lick them into shape. 

And then there were our lovely Scottish engineers who lived with us Monday to Friday for several weeks during the autumn. We fed them huge breakfasts each morning before they went off to work outside all day. We had lots of jokes and laughter with them and each Thursday evening they would appear with a bouquet of flowers! And like the vast majority of our guests, they left everywhere spick and span so our changeover for our weekend guests was less arduous. 

Of course I would be fibbing if I said all our guests were as delightful. We do all our own laundry so, although I know this is not practical, it would be so helpful if folks who stain (sorry, horrid word) the bedlinen would stick a post-it note on identifying the stain. Sometimes I have worked through all the Stain Devil options as well as copious amounts of Vanish before I crack it. Other than all the obvious ones that have probably already sprung to mind at this point, fake tan and red hair dye are definitely at the top of my demon list! 

And then there are the folks who just leave a mess. One group of guests left a mess everywhere every day and then, because we are not a hotel and therefore do not make beds and clean up after people on a daily basis, marked us down on the booking site for cleanliness. One group came for two nights and only stayed for one, leaving the front door open and the lights and all the heating on. We checked by text that they hadn’t been unhappy with anything and they said they had just had to change their arrangements. Then one member of the group turned up on the second night quite late in the evening (when I am already in my pjs) in a t-shirt (in midwinter). We fed him our supper in the house and warmed him up with hot tea whilst his parents came to collect him from the other side of the Pennines, all his belongings having already gone with the others. And another group helped themselves to DVDs (which they took home presumably) and the front door key. Very annoying! I’d definitely like my copy of ’10 Things I Hate About You’ returned! 

Then we had the beautiful couple (you know, so attractive that if you passed them in the street you might think they were models…) who trampled make-up into the rug, managed to get through three sets of bedlinen in two nights (don’t ask!) and left a tap running. Handsome is as handsome does in my book. 

The Crow House Barn Project - Welcome Back!

In my day job (as in "Don't give up the day job!"), I work in marketing and have done for so many years that nearly all marketing people that I come across weren't even born when I started. But some things, even amongst the plethora of demographic targeting and digital media options, don't change. One being the old adage: Your own customers are your best customers. Loosely, this means that it is easier and cheaper to sell more stuff to people who already buy your stuff because THEY LIKE YOU!

So right from the off, one of my aims for the Crow House Barn Project was to get as much repeat business as possible. In the world of bean-selling or sock-selling or the multitude of other items that folks buy in large and regular numbers, this is a no-brainer. In the new and exciting world of bnb in which we find ourselves, this is a bit more of a challenge. We are probably not in the 'impulse purchase' category and we have positioned ourselves at the mid-to-upper end of the bnb price range so probably quite a lot of thought and planning goes on before we get the email from either Airbnb or Booking.Com which heralds the "We got one!" shout (as in Ghostbusters, as previously explained).

I spoke to my guru in the Lake District about repeat business because she could actually write the definitive book on how to run a bnb and she confirmed my view that without harassing our lovely guests too much, we should try to persuade guests to make a repeat purchase i.e. come and stay at Crow House Barn again. Added to that, recommending us to their friends is also a very excellent idea so far as we are concerned.

We have now been up and running since June and we have welcomed some really delightful guests and, hopefully without being painful about it, kept in touch. But getting that gold-star returning guest has proved illusive until a couple of weeks ago when... like buses... we got two!

We have our brace of delightful Scottish gentlemen who are working locally from Monday to Friday and enjoy a cooked breakfast with us every morning (this is not good for my waistline, never mind their's - too much left-over fried bread and bacon!) and they are on week two - hurray! And then we had a really lovely couple a few weeks ago whose son will be living near here for the foreseeable and they are coming back later this month. More hurray!

In the meantime, we've enjoyed the company of a family from our own village (we never expected guests from a mere mile away!) whilst their house was being extended and cycling enthusiasts from Wales who came to watch the UCI World Championships in Harrogate last weekend. On Friday evening they cycled down to our village pub where we happened to be (surprise, surprise!) and friends who are also keen on cycling gasped in awe at their bikes - posh ones, not that we knew. Our guests later commented to our son that 'everyone seemed to know his parents' which goes to prove that more know the old fool than the old fool knows. Or maybe we spend too much time in the pub!

So going back to the marketing, the other thing I've been doing between work and biblical laundry (strictly Old Testament) is working on the website and we are nearly... nearly there. I can't really take too much credit because the amazing Oli did all the design, coding and images. I just wrote the words. But I am rather proud of it and I will be making an unseemly song and dance about it in due course ... and creating some excellent winter offers. Now back to the day job!

Crow House Barn Project - Hosting Virgins!

The other day, it popped up on my Facebook feed - I am a member of the Airbnb Hosts group - that a television company was looking for Airbnb hosts to take part in a television series. Hmmm...

Now that I wash, dry and iron copious amounts of Egyptian cotton bedlinen at least a couple of times a week, I do occasionally stand in front of daytime television with an iron in my hand. So the other day when all tennis was on television at anti-social times, this being the American hard-court swing, I watched Four in A Bed for the first time. I have been urged by my chums who find my new venture quite entertaining (well, they ask so I am assuming they are not just being polite) to sign up for this show which everyone else appears to have been watching for some time. Like Come Dine with Me which my beloved was asked to be in, I am absolutely not up for having folks poking about in my drawers, running their fingers along my skirtings and make comments about the state of my loo brush! So you will not be surprised to hear that I am not signing up for the new Airbnb programme although, let me assure you, my drawers are immaculate, my skirtings spotless and my loo brush in very excellent and hygienic condition!

On to an update of the life of a B and B host. Well, it's definitely different. We have lived on our own down this long, potholey lane, the far side of two cattle grids for 31 years. So far off the beaten track that we have only had one visit from the Jehovah's Witnesses who mistakenly thought that the lane would take them to Copgrove Hall and pots of loot! And now we share all this peace and quiet with other folks - and without exception, they have all been jolly nice!

Early lessons included not hanging out the washing in pyjamas (or less/worse) and not bellowing at the dog early in the morning - one of my children does a fine impression of me sounding like Margot Leadbetter https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-5Lp8v2t5A hollering at the dog which is probably not conducive to having a lie in on your holiday!

Then, of course, there's the question of 'how chummy should you be?' Generally, I try to hold myself in check - not gushing, just very welcoming. These folks are here for a holiday and not to see us. However, both my beloved and the dog are enthusiastic meeters and greeters and we've had several offers to take the dog home after a stay. This became a very attractive option when she came into season a couple of weeks ago and turned into an absolute tart over night. The object of her lust is small, black and belongs to lovely Lisa and Wayne at the Post Office. Cue multiple phone calls from strangers who read my number on her dog tag and managed to trap her somewhere between us and the centre of the village. Happily, this has now passed and she is back to normal rather than waving her nether regions at every dog she meets and tormenting poor Milton who was with us for a weekend with her dance of the seven veils!

Interestingly, there is no standard Crow House Barn guest. We've had folks from far flung places - Brazil, Canada, Poland and Hong Kong. We've had folks here for romantic weekends, work, Yorkshire Show, horse racing, walking and, latterly, foraging. Strangely, no cyclists yet though when the World Road Championships hits our neck of the woods in September that may all change. Our youngest guest (who loved the rubber ducks in the bathroom!) was 2 and half and our oldest guests were in their seventies. My beloved has done some fabulous cooked breakfasts and we've directed plenty of folks to our local pub, The Royal Oak in Burton Leonard. Others have gone more upmarket with The Ivy in Harrogate but we've also provided Cook meals to microwave and there has been many a barbecue.

So it has changed our lives, and we think for the good. We learnt some surprising stuff about folks but overall, the best thing of all is how generally delightful people are. Of course, it hasn't all been plain sailing...

When we first set ourselves up online, we did as the hosting site suggested and offered 'flexible' cancellation. One of our first bookings was for a week in August - yay! a whole week! The guest in question rang just outside the 'if you cancel you have to pay part of the reservation' window and did just that. Cancelled. Apologetic but nevertheless a significant and substantial booking lost with no come back.

Of course, we were only on this 'flexible' cancellation policy for a couple of weeks before my guru in the Lake District put me right and now we are better protected, but the damage was done. However, we managed to rebook four of the seven nights and in the interim, i.e. now, we have installed a log burning stove. This involved dealing with five years of jackdaw nests in the chimney but our excellent installers did a great job and they were filthy when they'd finished but the Barn was not! So we will now be open through the winter with a gorgeous fire to snuggle round after a lovely long walk across the countryside - or back from the pub!

So we will be open right through the year and we hope that some of our lovely guests come back and see us again. Fountains Abbey, just four miles away, is stunning in autumn and winter.

Darcy keeping her beady eye on the Intrepid Granny! 

The new log burner in all its glory! 

Our beautiful climbing rose, Madame Alfred Carriere, blooming for the second time this summer

Neighbours! 

Every bathroom should have one ... or five!