Just for the craic.

We've had a request to make a little clearer the subject of our blog yesterday. Please see further below. The subject shall remain nameless.

To Meet at the Bottom of Devon....

We had a good crack at our monthly meeting on Tuesday. It's always productive, and it gives us a chance to really iron out any creases in the Gul game plan. This week, the meeting was moved from the boardroom at Hindquarters, down to the Plymouth store.

From the bottom up, Plymouth is a grand store, that's for sure.

There was a gap in the day where we were able to have a spot of lunch at the rear of the building. Here's a shot of some of the Gul crew enjoying their lunchtime buns.

A Jolly Weekend

I'm a bit tired today. The little festival I'm involved with (Leopallooza.com) went on over the weekend. But of course, being involved in such an event, it's not just the weekend - the days immediately prior to it consisted of very little (if any) sleep. And even after a great nights kip last night, I'm still in need of some pillow time. But it was also good fun, and I've got some good memories. Even better, some of these memories consist of Gul managers. Tee (Padstow) was having her very own party in front of the stage at one point and Amy (Newquay) barely made it out of the campsite and James (Truro) just looked downright merry. I'm pretty sure they all had a good time. I hope so.
Back to the shop now though and, luckily, my camera (which I couldn't find all weekend) had been left here all along. What was a little odd, and not a little disturbing in my vulnerable, tired state, was this picture which had appeared on my camera during the weekend...

Don't try and explain Tom. You'll just make it worse.

The Fear

It's still quite quiet here in Bude so I've decided it's a good day for a field trip to see Gul Newquay and Gul Padstow in action. Now, this would actually be quite fun were it not for my dread of driving in towns and cities. Being a proud yokel, used to trolling the quiet North Cornish byways, the idea of putting myself into the maelstrom of a busy town centre is the stuff of which, for me, terrifying nightmares are made of. All the signs! All the traffic lights! All the bikinis...

Luckily, though, I have some sympathy in a fellow manager based a little further South. She (who shall remain nameless) suffers the cold sweats of autophobia just like me. But she's had a breakthrough. She suggested I buy a satnav system, to make my life a lot easier: She swears it's revolutionised her ability to not break down and cry in large conurbations.

But as I am a product of the Blue Peter generation, quite prepared to make stuff out of what I already have lying around doing nothing (and, frankly, I'm tight) I came up with a much better idea that would cost far, far less.

A home-made TomTom.

Let's hit the road!