Anyway, I finally made it up to the cottage for some R & R. The plan being to read and pretty much just chill away from the temptations of cable TV and the internet. I could just soak up that sunset for hours; if only it lasted that long...
When she read the back of Harriet Evans' A Hopeless Romantic, it was a no-brainer: "...With her life in tatters around her, Laura agrees to go on vacation with her parents. After a few days of visiting craft shops and touring the stately homes of England, Laura is ready to tear her hair out. And then, while visiting grand Chartley Hall, she crosses paths with Nick, the sexy, rugged estate manager..."
Rugged, sexy estate managers?! I'm in! I'd be lying if I claimed that I'd never had my share of the heritage professional's version of the Mr. Darcy fantasy. You know, where the young, handsome proprietor of the house you work at falls madly in love with you and your endless dedication to his family's history and you end up owning said house so you don't have to pretend to own it anymore because you would?
No? No one else? Alrighty then... moving on.
Anyway, I'm not usually a big fan of chicklit heroines. I find them whiny and selfish and always end up wanting to punch them in the face. This "Laura" wasn't too bad. But in classic chicklit fashion, she didn't think she was worthy of Nick, said sexy estate manager. <sigh> I'd like to inform her that rugged, sexy estate managers are rare and, frankly, if I knew of any, I'd be keeping him to myself, thankyouverymuch.
When I finally got over my hangups with the heroine (my friend had told me that it was worth it), I was pretty excited to read about Laura's experience at the historic homes she was visiting. As a heritage professional, I can't help but be a bit defensive at her apprehension to even visiting them, but I understand. Audience development certainly doesn't even bother to include chicklit heroines or their ilk (say, 20-somethings?). I was however, interested in a few snippets of her experience at said estate manager's fictional historic house. I even dog-eared the pages so I could share them with you.
The first is when Laura and her parents tour said house, a guided tour. I've taken a few painful guided tours in my life and now train people on how not to give them. The fictional (yet realistic) tour guide in the book is an older lady with "tight curls of an iron and tin hue" who says things like, "Do follow me. Thank you. No flash photography. Thank you." In the picture gallery, Laura asks;
"But- well, what's the point of keeping [some of the paintings] in storage? [...]"
"It's not as simple as that, dear," [the guide] said firmly. "And it's up to the trustees of the house. It's not really about putting every one out so the general public can enjoy it, is it?"
"Why?" said Laura, [...] suddenly so impatient with this sad middle-England, middle-aged debate, setting, scene - everything. [...] This wasn't a faily tale, it was extortion! "You've charged us fifteen pounds each to get in, yet most of the rooms are roped off, the car park's miles from the house, everyone here is about eighty [...], no one seems particularly pleased to see us here, we're treated like cattle ... I just wonder why you bother."
<sigh> All so true. Heck, sometimes I wonder why I bother. But to be honest, I'm sure that memories of similar, crappy tour guide experiences is why most visitors visibly cringe when you offer them a tour.
Laura even brings up the "broken window" theory. Well, not per say, but she tells Nick,
"Get the sign repainted."
"The what? What sign?"
"When you arrive, on the drive," said Laura. "The sign looks awful. It's the entrance to the house, and it's cracked and peeling, and it just looks like the place is falling apart. [...] Sorry, but I don't think that's what [the owner] would want people's first impression of the house to be. Especially when they're paying fifteen quid for the privilege."
There was a little fist pump on the front porch when I read that. Awesome. And I think that everyone knows it's true that first impressions are everything. Makes me all the happier that I'm getting new signage at my museum next year. :)
Later, Nick (hunky estate manager) brings up the topic of making people feel welcome when he talks about his visitors:
"All of them [come here] wanting a slice of heritage. They come, they have their cream teas, they see the tapestry and the Hogarths and the staircase, and they wander round and hopefully buy a tea towel, and then they go home."
"It's bizarre," said Laura.
"No," said Nick. His voice determined. "It's not. It's great that they want to come, and it's our job to make sure they have a good time. I feel... we need to make it somewhere people feel genuinely welcomed."
This passage struck me in particular because it's something that I feel very strongly about: making visitors feel welcomed and at home. I treat every visitor to the museum like a guest in my own home, and I think that's the way to help them get the most out of their experience. I'm pleased that I'm not the only person who takes this to heart, even if the other is only fictional.
Heck, maybe I'm a real-life sexy, rugged estate manager. <smirk>
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