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This week I have mostly been exploring the masturbatory possibilities of time lords. But when not creating awkward questions for his kids to ask the boyfriend I have been sweet like chocolate; Swiss chocolate to be exact. Smooth, of good standard and completely and utterly neutral as yours truly has entered the world of management.

As the new Marketing Manager of the Dean Heritage Centre (four days and counting) I’m faced with lots of exciting challenges from the social media strategy that’ll launch very soon to developing the museum shop which is already a centre for Forest of Dean artistic excellence (a description that today saw me both ordering chocolate sheep poo and then having a meeting with the lovely local photographer Matt Caldwell). There’s lots to learn but also lots of scope for where I can take the role.

An unusual task (beyond being told that when duty manager I’m responsible for the chickens – a good thing in my eyes which my line manager interprets as an aspiration to be in the good life) has been being an ambassador for the outside world. The locals at the museum have been lovely and while calling me old butt (friend) is no doubt tongue in cheek it’s nice that they’re willing to joke with me.

At one point I was having a conversation about bluebells and one of the people I was speaking to couldn’t recall a place and said “oh you know, up North.” I replied that “up North” was a pretty big place. I got the sigh* and so I retorted that it was bad enough that most Southerners considered everywhere North of Birmingham to be one and the same but they were giving me the distinct impression that they applied that rule to Tewkesbury. They laughed and acknowledged my point.

Ok so my sweet like chocolate is the sort with chilli oil...

It’s been a busy week in addition to the new job and on Tuesday we went to meet Darrel Kirby at the New Inn. The boyfriend and I are both fans of his book The Story of Gloucester and were keen to pick up a copy of his new book The Story of Gloucester’s Pubs. I’ll confess I’ve only read bits from The Story of Gloucester but I love the stories the boyfriend tells me as we walk through town. I suppose I needn’t say much about the second volume but am keen to add new places to my haunts: The New Inn where I drink “Tango” Cider**, The Fountain where my brother got me shamelessly drunk one Saturday afternoon in the charming lounge, The Old Bell where I never drink but gobble dim sum, The Robert Raikes where a rather mental barmaid once refused to serve me (ok so I’ve rather gone off that place) and Cafe Rene which somehow manages to always be the place I want to be.

Then on Wednesday was #GlosTweetDrinks at the Old Bell. Hosted by Andrew Burgess, it’s a really friendly and inclusive meet for anyone interested in social media. I got some great ideas for my new role and had more great conversations that related not at all to work but rather were fun in themselves.

It has all left me feeling a little empty. My blinking cursor has several times been abandoned this evening in a most out of character lack of things to say...

Look at my purple pepper!***

It came in my veg box this week. I’m rather excited but can’t think what to do with it yet. I’m a bit awed by its purpleness. It seems so... turgid.

Hmm, I think I may have to call it a night lest I descend into the truly random. But bear with me dear readers. On Monday I’m attending a very interesting course which will hopefully see a return to form as I cover social media, ROI and the real value of information.

Meanwhile I’ll get some sleep and go to a toga party on Saturday night.

Tata,

Kathryn

* The sigh is a trademark of anyone to whom everything North of where they live is pretty much one and the same and if I suggest that Whitby is at all distinct from Blackpool then I’m being pedantic.

** The Day-Glo orange one that’s right lush (did you see what I did there?)


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