Yesterday proved to be one of the more challenging days of the year so far. It seemed to be going well for the first waking hour ,so dressed to impress ,I jumped into my four wheeled motor carriage and headed for the clinic of Dr. Jubilation C. Scroat. The motor carriage holding area was packed, so I had to coast around the surrounding streets to find a large enough space. I was parking my vehicle when I noticed an unusual icon on the icon board. The image seemed to suggest temperature.I was just registering this when I felt a strange warm smell coming thrugh the ventilator. Not a burning smell,just some small sign of overheating. I felt panic rising so I switched off the engine,and sat thinking for a moment or two. Something wrong or nothing ? In truth I did not know.
I switched on again,and the same thing happened. I took the calmest decision I could muster.
I would attend my appointment with Dr. Scroat,then take my vehicle to the nearby motor fixing shed for the goblin mechanics there to assess the risk. These merry boys are the best mechanics in the world,and would not be fazed by a little warm engine.
Jubliation C. was in fine form when I reached his inner sanctum. We always manage to have a jolly appointment,not completely bogged down by tales of woe and ineffective medications. We had one or two minor items to discuss,and I waved him cheerio with a smile. I always feel better when I have seen Dr. Scroat. Unlike many modern alchemists, he actually remembers your elven name. He altered a few health giving preparations for me and I felt renewed.
Once back at the motor vehicle I headed off for the Puffalito Fixing Shed to get the boys to give my little wagon the once over. They looked at me quizzically as I related my tale of dashboard woe,asked for my keys, and told me they would return soon with an answer. They did,some one half hour later,looking tenser than I remembered them. I knew the news was unlikely to be jolly.

Puffalito Head Boy looked me straight in the eye and said "It's the Under Gasket on the engine.You need a new one. We will fix it by THURSDAY."

I stared back,disbelieving. "Undergasket ? THURSDAY? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE JOKING !"

I thought of all the things I would have to do before then,without my motor vehicle.
Sadly he was not joking. He looked sympathetically at me,but I knew I would just have to accept his judgment.I took the tram back home to my litle toadstool,and I cried.
I was still crying on and off when Pendragon came home.
He hugged me tight and wiped away my tears.

"Don't worry ," he said. " You know,Amarantha,I think it is time the old motor carriage took a rest. You need a new jalopy for your travels and numerous exploits in your new life. "
I knew Pendragon was right. Three visits to the Puffalito Fixing Shed this year already were three visits too many. But I would miss my old scarlet jalopy. She has been friend and travel companion for the past six years. But a nice new shiny one................. it did sound appealing..................my tearful peepers dried up a little at this suggestion.
So we are already making plans to view some likely candidates for Amarantha's new carriage before the weekend.
Tomorrow I visit my old stomping ground of Dingley Dell Academy to present two awards in my name ,to the children there. I am already looking out my best outfits to choose something smart and bright with which to mesmerise the wee folk. I shall have to take the Puffalito Minicab Service there as I won't collect my motor carriage till later. In the evening I am attending a dinner for the two teachers retiring from work at Dingley Dell.
I have bought them each a leaving gift with which to start their new lives.
It should be a jolly evening although both elven ladies will be missed.
I have a little time to spare before Pendragon arrives home ,so I intend to tie the unruly hollyhocks back in the backyard. I did some weeding this morning,watched the Backyard Boys at their labours,and planned some selective planting to complete the emptier pots. Everything is blooming and looks wonderful front and back. Neighbours have been stopping to admire our handiwork,but I don't think we can take all the credit. The glorious plantlife and all our garden helpers must also be praised.
The dahlias stand tall and ruddy,begonias white and pink fill the pots profusely, geraniums red and petunias pink reach for the sun. The glory of summer abounds in our toadstool gardens,and our toadstool,fifth from the left ,is full of light and colour. Despite the upset of yesterday,and the poorly nature of my motor carriage,days here are happy ones,and full of promise.

May all your motor carriages be healthy ones,and your visits to the fixing shed be few.A fine July evening to you all,my fine friends, from Amarantha Willow,the Rainbow Faery.

Another week begins with Pendragon quietly slipping through the white front door,so not to disturb a sleeping Amarantha. We lay awake till Wally the cuckoo clunked out at midnight,to remind us that work beckoned next day for Him and parchment duties for Me,so we fell to slumber.
I rose but took my time,running myself a pampering bath,being careful with my dressing and perfuming,and preparing a fruity breakfast and some light spelt toast. I had some administration to do for my used parchment business,but that done,I settled down in our Sun Room to reflect on the weekend.
The big happening of the weekend was my first rehearsal with the Metropolis Elven Theatricals. Pendragon accompanied me for moral support,and a tasty muffin/coffee brunch,and then disappeared for a few hours to make his own entertainment while I entered the portals of the Workshop.

Remindur Toastyspur, the Assistant Director for this production,met me at the door and ushered me to the theatre studio. Other cast members began to arrive,and they were a motley,if merry assortment. Five elven ladies,and seven strong elven actors.Over yet another acorn decaff. we shared experiences and personal details until Remindur called us to warm up. We stretched and groaned,finding muscles we wished we had honed for a few weeks prior to this,if only to conceal our embarrassment at the creaking sounds we emanated.We laughed ,breaking the ice, and got the measure of our fellow protagonists.

Remindur has said we will spend the next three weeks honing skils, and so he began with Choral Technique.
We divided into two groups,to work on a short piece for performance one hour later.
It was fun. I have worked with this company several times before,in this venue. Group members often change but modus operandi rarely does and that gave me some reassurance as I found my composure,and my remembered skills.
At three we devoured some oaten biscuits and hot tea,before another short rehearsal and then to performance. Choral technique demands precision to detail,good teamwork, being a listener,and making a strong effort to bond with the rest of the group. We had one reluctant participant in our group. Not to perform,just to perform with us. She kept interrupting to tell us she didn't agree with anything we were doing. Luckily our combined elven good humour,and the newness of our acquaintance stopped a more aggressive burst of tension,or one of us quite simply telling her to "take herself to the gates of Hades".

We performed,and it went well. Not perfect, but strong enough to impress our director. He felt we had done more than he had asked for, and rewarded us with great compliments. I have to admit that I felt that I had been noticed,as when my voice rang out loud and precise across the stage,I felt Remindur turn to take in my delivery. I have a striking ,clear voice with precise articulation,and my voice carries well. We finished at four,and when I strode to the front door,light of heart and high in spirits,my dear Pendragon was awaiting me with smiles and hugs.
We headed for home ,taking the tram to Lobelia Drive, with me hooting and laughing with excitement ,and describing the minutest of details to Pendragon which had occurred that afternoon.
He was very patient with me,sensing how much this matters to me. I have not undertaken a personal project of this kind for a little while. Commitments at Dingley Dell Academy always took priority. I am now doing this for me.
I can remember my very first adult flurry into the dramatic arts. I had seventeen elven years and enrolled for some evening classes, not sure then if I had any talent of note.The class wasn't going well,as most follk would not let their elven hair down long enough to rid themselves of inhibitions.The educator was looking peeved and struggling to give the two hour instruction period any life. He issued a challenge in our improvisation section.

"Here is a chair" he said. "I want you to think of the most unusual way you can use it. On no account must you use it as a seat ".
The class shuddered with the fear of inexperience. Two or three elves and goblin folk attempted something half-hearted that didn't quite work.
It was my turn next. I'll never know where the idea came from,but before I knew it I had positioned the chair,positioned myself,started breathing heavily and declared my chair to be "an iron lung". The room erupted in laughter. Good,friendly laughter. The instructor said "well done",and some other classmates,spurred on by my lack of inhibition, came up with some more idiosyncratic ideas. The class improved greatly from there on in. We had fun,learned a lot,and my thirst for an audience and working on stage had truly begun.
Dramatic Arts have given me so much over the years,but I feel there is still much to derive from this kind of communication and challenge as I feel my way in my New Life.
The day started with rain,and looks like it will end with another plout. It's windy here too,with just an oocasional burst of Mr. Sun. The garden continues to show off its colours,but we have had no time dry enough to enjoy a seat there,in the past fortnight.
May July be less uncertain and our tans grow less rusty. Talking of rusty,we saw Mimsey and Jeraboa Dagwort from number 10, return last night with their silver,camping trolley and their long faces.Two days away from children and damaged hedgerows do not seem to have lit the fires of renewed devotion. Mimsey left the motor carriage,stomped up the path,seemingly carrying all their holiday paraphernalia, and audibly banged their old oaken door shut. Not too hard ,Mimsey, you don't want another repair !!

The Primpoles at number six have not been seen for a few days,but I did notice their elder son and his elven wife come to call this morning. They seemed reluctant to enter Primpole Holdings without an angry exchange first,and only when their fiery spat ended with Her slapping Him from shoulder to thigh,did they push open the gate and dawdle up the path. Clearly Severity's warm relationship with Weedy,has rubbed off on the younger generation,and the ladies in that family clearly wear the lederhosen.
Pendragon is working tonight in Metropolis,but he will call soon to know that I am safe and well. Tommorrow I have a visit early to Dr. Scroat,and will spend some time contemplating the details of my new gossip column for the Daily Scandal.More fun and more business. However did I have the time to work before ? The difference now is that everything I do ,I WANT TO DO.

Much love to you all,my dear hearted friends. You listen with good humour to my quaint meanderings,allowing me to vent my cosmic spleen about the injustices and transgressions in the world, and celebrate the rectitudes and virtues,although sometimes they may seem a little more thin on the ground.
Stay strong nad believe in the good,for happiness and fortune will be yours.From all at number five,the fifth toadstool on the left,but especially Amarantha Willow ,the Rainbow Faery.

I must be feeling a lot better from my elven poorliness as I seem to be acquiring my interest in the rantings and ghastly behaviours of my neighbours again. I saw Mimsey and Jeraboa Dagwort last night,leaping (may be some exaggeration) into their dog-eared (classic) four wheeled motor carriage with a little silver mobile trolley attached behind.They were heading for, well somewhere. I was doing a spot of tidying behind the curtains,as you do, at twilight time, and I saw them set off. They did not stop long enough for a wave or a cheerie goodbye. Jeraboa was his usual sartorially unelegant self,in terracotta blouson and baggy,beige,cut-off hose.The short hose either needed to be longer,or his legs could do with some pruning below the knee. Either way they didn't seem to fit his lumpy body. Mimsey was her traditionally bleak self,with lowered sad eyes,under a large straw hat with a pink rose balancing precipitously over the brim. That was all the colour she could muster as the rest of her was pale grey,both top and botttom - baggy grey tunic and baggy grey slouching pants. Mimsey should not be grey, nor should her ample curvature be seen in anything remotely resembling slouching. In an outfit matching her pink rose she would have been a revelation.She seems to hide in her coverings,as though to be brighter would make more demand of her than she could bear. I often wonder if she is happy living with a warlock as incident prone as Jeraboa. Maybe she was once destined for greater things in her private circle. Living with the fatuous Jeraboa will have surely put paid to that........
There they were heading off into the blue beyond and a fence still reeling from Jeraboa's earlier conflagration. The slats unevenly nailed across the hedge are now hanging loose. The hedge has made no indication of its intention to grow back, and I have seen Oggie the Hood and Rikki Tikki the Red recently poking their light sabres into the gaping branch holes . It can only be a matter of time before some dastardly deed is done. Oggie has no conscience and Rikki Tikki has no sense,so between the two of them, that garden space will be open season for some vandalistic merrymaking.I must remain vigilant.
From the size of their silver mobile trolley,not much was being taken with the Dagworts. Pendragon says it is a holder for a tent,common to regular campers, who lack a purpose built storage vehicle.

Poor Mimsey.
I hope she is not nurturing thoughts of a romantic weekend under the stars,or rather ,under four poles and an old striped blanket,as I fear her dreams are about to be crushed. My good friend, Hazey Dillfoot, spent her first night with an ardent lover,in a shelter such as this, and four hours of constant precipitation,soon knocked the blistering heat out of that blossoming relationship.Sadly it never recovered. Mimsey may never recover,as wandering beasts in the night are oft times attracted to such structures,and take a predilection to storming the poles,or running amok with the covering material.

Poor Mimsey.
I must watch for their return,as she may need the comforting only a good neighbour can give.

I am going to be busy tomorrow,however. At last I am beginning my work with the Elven Theatricals in Metropolis. I am to meet with the company on Sunday afternoon,and begin some workshops devising scenes for the final production.It promises to be an enthralling piece, full of love,and duty, of revolution,and power, stealth and argument, contrition and devastation. A piece set in times of the Ancients,when they did not seem to have too much else to do apart from rampage and storm. Not too many laughs then, I would think,unless the rest of the cast are particularly entertaining. Pendragon will join me after my workshop,so we can take in a favourite coffee house and share the afternoon's tales.

My life is certainly busying up. There are lots of activities now in the offing. My theatrical piece, a week of art work in July, my new role with the Daily Scandal,starting in a few weeks, preparing for our betrothal,and visiting Dingley Dell Academy to present some awards next week.

However will I manage to find the time to do all of this, and keep a weather eye on the errant natures of all my neighbours, sweet talk my beautiful Backyard Boys, trim the lively wisteria,keep the home fires tastefully burning for Pendragon,and cock a snook at street corner toerags and other folks' red-necked husbands. What a woman I am ! No doubt I will only have the steely jaw and stout heart of my forefathers to fall back upon,but it should suffice.

A beautiful Saturday to you all, my dear and true friends. May all YOUR fences be fixed,and there be no slouch in YOUR palazzo pants. Life is for living, fun for the taking, let no minute be wasted in unnecessary assessment of the minutes passed. From Amarantha Willow,the Rainbow Faery.

Since we returned from our weekend trip, I have been suffering from a bit of elven poorliness. Granitonda had been somewhat cold over our two day stay,and our trip a little tiring,but on Monday my temperature seemed to be high,my zest for life strangely low, and most of my waking hours seemingly found me performing with alarming frequency in the lavatorium. Flying germs ? Possibly. An upset stomach ? Possibly. A war torn bladder ? Very definitely.
Yesterday I rested for the greater part of the day ,only wrapping up to make my appointment with the Faery Physio. He could see that I was unwell, so kept the interview short,and bade me make a visit to the Alchemist,Dr. Scroat, as soon as an appointment was possible. I returned to my bed, sleeping right through until Pendragon's return in the evening.
He found me in the kitchen,struggling to organise myself and the evening dinner. He questioned me for a couple of minutes to try to identify what it was I was supposed to be putting together,but I was fevered and not making myself very clear. Pendragon put me back in our soft-pillowed bed,and left me to sleep for an hour or two. When Wally the toadstool cuckoo clattered out to the sound of seven, Pendragon appeared at the foot of our oaken couchette and uttered the magic words "Hot Soup".
Tomato and carrot,to be precise. Hot,sweet, and full of woodland goodness. He had also warmed a couple of warm oatmeal baps and layered two kinds of honey beneath the lids,hoping their royal jelly components would restore my joie de vivre. Nothing so miraculous did take place, but the warm liquid warmed my body
and stilled my fever,and allowed me to sleep right through the night.
i woke this morning feeling better. Not completely back to my ususal chirpiness,but well enough to call on Old Scroat, for some recuperation advice.
Wrapped up as though it were midwinter,,with two woolly scarves,and my woollen cape tightly wrapped around, I found myself in the surgery for thirty minutes past the eleventh hour.
Dr. Scroat was having a liquid break, so I sat chatting to the elderly elven lady, in the next wooden seat. She had a glossy magazine in hand,but was making much to me of the fact that it was full of dismal articles. I spared no time in recommending the new look Daily Scandal to her, emphasising its problem page and entertainment sections,as being very good reading value. She was just assuring me of her intention to follow my recommendation, when Jubilicious T. Scroat called for Amarantha Willow in Room number 4.
Jubilicious is a Dingley Dell alchemist of very long standing,who has the trust of all his patients in the village. Sometimes his remedies can seem a bit outlandish and involve the gathering of rare/unpalatable ingredients, but he has considerable knowledge of the potions of the Ancients,and is known to be sure-footed in his diagnostic and prescriptive solutions.
He could see that his favourite Amarantha was in poor spirits from the moment I opened his gnarled ebony door. He is always welcoming,but it was not long before his question and answer session had produced a lightning leap to his prescription pad.

"For the next five days,Amarantha, you must bathe in the oils of the evergreen eucalyptus, while wrapped in a hot mustard seed salve. Take these hawthorn and rosehip pastilles three times per day, and drink two cupfuls of sparkling water ,drawn from the Dingley Dell Spring,every four hours. I am sure you will be better in no time. How's the agony column going ?"

I can't say my conversation was scintillating, but we did share a few bon mots, before I carried my weary bones to the door. I smiled a wan goodbye, before heading to the dispensary to collect my ingredients.
They made a huge bagful,,especially the eucalyptus leaves, which I stuffed into the front seat of the car.

Pendragon telephoned on the woodland phone to find out how his lovely patient was doing.He got a few grateful grunts in reply,then he offered to make the mustard seed salve. It is a smelly,messy job and my darling is welcome to it,I am afraid, but I know he will do it well. He has even offered to rub it in, so selfless an elven creature is he.
I am sitting now in my most comfy of nightgowns,pink slipperettes tied with gossamer bows,and my most favourite cranberry scarf wrapped round my scrawny aching neck. I will sleep soon. And when I wake my dear Pendragon will be home,ready and willing to find some comestible which I feel ready to swallow,and to tuck my tiny tootsies back up again in our cosy four poster.
He is such a fine fellow.He loves me to read my diary to him every night,so that he can be kept posted about my worries,and troubles, and share the adventures of the day.
He said to me on Sunday,that he had written an entry for my diary,which he hoped I would like.

So today,this is the Addendum of Pendragon,Mystic,Philosopher,and Healer of Souls.(and maker of mustard seed salve.)
I have not altered it in any way,so will have to accept compliments and brickbats with equal good humour.
.........................................................................................................

My dear Amarantha is such a sweet elf,I just have to intervene in her daily communications from Dingley Dell. I have asked her to take the betrothal ceremony with my elven self,and she has graciously consented. I am so very happy because she has said "yes". Our betrothal will be one of the happiest events in our joint lives together. I know that Amarantha's readers might think I'm taking on quite a bounteous and bountiful handful, though in that they would be WRONG.
She is the most delightful elf in our green ecosphere.Now some of you may feel she is a little too curious about our nearby neighbours and their shenanigans in their little toadstool homes. But there is another way to look at this. My view is that this is one way of showing how much she cares about other elven entities. Amarantha wants to know what makes them tick, in case some day she might be called upon to help them to alleviate their laughter-free existences and to further them on their journeys to Elf-Nirvanah !!
Such are the words of the elven Pendragon Willow.

.............................................................................................

Goodnight for now ,all my dear friends,as I enjoy the sleep of the just, and the aroma of the cranberry and rosehip pastillles. May you have avoided the plagues and boils of working life this day,and rise tomorrow to feast on renewed glories. From the slightly queazy Amarantha, the Rainbow Faery.

Our weekend in Granitonda was quite magnificent,if also a little whirlwind. We drove up on Saturday some 78 elven miles, and arrived at the first stroke of noon. We arrived just in time to have the first spoils from the roasting,and be first in line to present our gifts to the birthday sprite. Lucantus looked so grown up,and smiled so politely to every one of his guests,while grabbing gleefully at our beautiful wrapping paper. He was well pleased,with his sky glasses,astronomy book and explorer's outfit. He waded through dozens of wonderful items from family and friends, each geared to different aspects of his personality and interests.
We had a grand feast and enjoyed the company of all,catching up with each other's ploys and successes over the past few months. The sprites never ceased to fascinate us all with their merry laughter,and comical quips. Tiny Marcellino grinned when I gave him his bubble machine. He blew and he blew,and millions of miniscule bubbles with a rainbow of colours,streamed out on everyone sitting in the garden. Everyone, including the more mature elven folk had to try it out. I wished on reflection that I had brought more bubble contraptions with me,to allow us all to explore our inner child for longer .

Pendragon and I had booked a room at the local hostelry,The Water Wheel, and briefly returned there to change clothes before returning to our friends for an evening repast in a local inn.We had a happy evening,although I did find the food very strange and the service folk quite slow. Some of us were awaiting the dessert,when others were just beginning their starter.
Twenty past the eleventh hour found Pendragon and I walking back to our overnight dwelling,taking in the moonlight glow,and watching rabbits emerging from their warrens to make a midnight forage. The rain began five minutes into our walk,and sad to say, we arrived back at the Water Wheel with soaking feet and damp vestments.
Strangely there were no electric motor carriages parked outside,when we strolled up to the door. At this time of year we would have expected this hostelry to be quite full. We thought little more about it as we were shattered from our travelling and carousing, and soon our curly elven heads were laid upon a pair of pure white pillows.We slept well.
On Sunday morning we rose at eight,dressed quickly,and found the breakfast room. It was laid out perfectly for a stream of visitors,but it seemed we were on our own. Nothing else had been used. We chose a table near the breakfast foods, and enjoyed a serene sunday repast of fruit,cereals ,and oatmeal breads. We felt somewhat odd having the whole place to ourselves. And then the thought struck us that if we were the only two for breakfast,we were the only two in the whole hotel. Imagine the joy of a whole hotel to yourself. A dainty dark-eyed elven maiden served our smokey fish and eggs,and she told us the Water Wheel was being renovated. It was under new management,and travellers might be few till it was completed. What fun !
We should always insist on having a choice of two hundred rooms!
We travelled back to Dingley Dell after saying our goodbyes to family and friends. Much hugging,much kissing,and many "we'll see you soons".
Rain was falling heavily on our return,but our toadstool home was safe and sound.
So back to work today,with a good all round show at Dingley Dell Community Radio Network. No special visitor today ,so I devoted my attentions to good presentation ,and great music.My artist of the week was Edanna Roodbin,a starring songstress in the old Millennium. I had researched her career,and collected samples of her recordings to intersperse with my wild words and fierce imaginings.Edanna had a smooth soprano voice and was very popular with our elven grandparents.
Her lilting tones wafted round the studio,reaching the heights and plumbing the depths of vocal pulchritude. My favourite tune is definitely "The Last Briar of Winter, and if I had not had lots of Dingley Dell ears listening, I would have played it twice.
Back home I found two important messages on my electronic box. One was from Remindur Toastyspur,assistant director of The Elven Theatricals in Metropolis.I am to begin rehearsals with them this coming Sunday,and am short of details as to what exactly I shall be doing.But he sounded eager to see me,and I am sure once he has seen the full extent of my elven dramatic abilities ,a starring role will surely be mine.
The production does sound interesting,as it will involve actors from many different corners of the Metropolitan arts.
The other was from my Physio,altering my appointment from Friday to tomorrow at eleven. So more travelling on the morrow,with some hunting for used parchments in the afternoon, and a cosy lunch at the Buttercup Bistro . This promises to be a busy week. Pendragon and I are looking to organise our betrothal transport,flowers and picture -taker. On Thursday we go to discuss our requirements for our bonding rings with a specialist worker in white metals. Organising all these things seems to bring my betrothal to Pendragon even closer .He is working tonight in the Metropolis, and won't be home till tomorrow. I miss him.

Much hoping that you, my dear friends, are not alone tonight,and have ample supplies of family and friends on which to test your evening culinary successes.Much feasting,and much hugging,from Amarantha, stage star -to- be,the Rainbow Faery.

I set off early this morning,hoping to walk all the way to the Daily Scandal in the sunshine,giving me time to gather my thoughts and my emotions before facing any decisions which Portamus Cumberpatch wanted to throw at me. I had dressed in my finest summer vestments, a pale blue floaty skirt, a matching pale blue top with tiny straps and a long fine pale blue overcape,in case the breeze from the water should cause me a chill. Dingley Dell High Street looked glorious as I strolled along.The sun was beaming on everything in the first moments of the working day. Mercantiles were opening,workers were on their way to take up their trade or their skill,and all seemed to hurry with renewed enthusiasm for the frey.
I stopped to take in a view of the Big Water from the promenade. There is a wooden bench there,where those who wish to muse upon the waves,take stock of their lives or just absorb the landscape for miles ahead, can rest their weary elven bones to do so.
The Daily Scandal is only five minutes from there ,in a huge stone building,with imperious facade,and a myriad of stairways inside. When you first go there,you feel like a rabbit in a maze,but after several visits you know to avoid most of the warren and head for the second floor.
The wide marbled glass door says in bold black letters : The Daily Scandal:ed.Portamus Cumberpatch.
and in red highlighted print :WE APPLAUD THE POWER OF THE PEN .
I always want to add there ; - As long as it is only one hundred words.

I took a deep breath,and turned the handle. Everyone inside the wood and leather office looked up as I timidly stepped inside. Some of the better known faces to me ,received a coy smile from me as I moved towards the reception desk. I knew who would be there,because she is always there, throwing fear and trepidation into any who are brave enough to call.
Faladinka,Cumberpatch's secretary was reading through a pile of papers when I reached the desk. She looked up, rather scathingly I thought, and raised her eyebrows towards me in some kind of invitation to speak. My stomach was turning and my heart was beating faster,but I was determined not to let her destroy my confidence.
In a slightly higher voice than I normally use, I squeaked out " I have an appointment with Mr. Cumberpatch - at nine".
She stared back , her eyes delivering condescending mode.
"I know," she drawled. "You will have to wait. You are not the only one he needs to see. Sit there".
I felt like a recalcitrant sprite as my eye followed her pointy finger to a small sofa near Cumberpatch's door. "There's no tea. I haven't got time."
I felt everyone was looking at me as I took my place beside two other elven appointees,already waiting.
Faladinka was such a witch,with her dark red mouth threatening to engulf anyone who came too close to it. Her eyes were black as coal,with falsely formed black eyebrow furniture. Her face always carried a scowl,and an air of discontent. She was impossible to befriend as she terminated any sociable overture immediately with a vocal slap of aggression.
The two other waiting folk looked sombre,and uneasy under her constant look of censure. I dared not interact with them ,fearing the wrath of Faladinka coming down on all of us. So we each sat in silence ,praying that Portamus's door would open soon,and we would be invited in.

One half hour passed, and still no Cumberpatch. It was difficult not to shuffle. Faladinka's loud tut-tutting whenever one of us coughed or jiggled,was almost an incentive to annoy.
But the door did open. Portamus Cumberpatch's white curly head popped round the door, and alighted on ME.
He smiled,a wide toothless smile,and signalled with his arm for me to join him.
As I picked up my gossamer coat,I spied Faladinka's disapproval at my being taken in first.
But she didn't venture further,so I gallously smiled my very best smile in reply to her disgust.

Portamus Cumberpatch settled back in his dark oak editor's chair,and smiled at me benevolently. It was almost as unnerving as Faladinka's scorn,so I just smiled sweetly back and hoped he would put me out of my misery quickly.
"Amarantha" - he began - You have done very well with your column. Ask Amarantha has been very popular. Your readership has grown every week. Now that it has settled in,I am going to give it to one of the junior elf reporters and see what she makes of it."

My heart sank. I felt that I must try to be professional and accept his clearly erroneous judgment.
"Of course,Portamus,-"I began,but there was no point. He was on a roll and there was no room or time for any desperate manoeuvering from me.

"So " - he went on again - " What am I going to do with you, Amarantha ?"
He leaned forward in rather too conspiratorial a tone,and I inwardly hoped his next suggestion was going to be both wholesome and journalistic.

He rambled on. "You see ,you move in high places, Amarantha . I believe you have the ear of Queen Brighid the Bright. She speaks very highly of you. And your successful interview with Dudley Forepiece a few weeks ago,well, that suggests to me that maybe there is a place for you here,as our newest gossip/entertainment columnist".
I was stunned. Me ,a future in gossip ? From where had Portamus gleaned that unlikely idea ?
But it was already growing on me. "Amarantha's Place" - that could be the title,or maybe "Around Town with Amarantha" - or possibly, "Amarantha's Dingley Dell".
Portamus was watching me now to gauge my reaction.It could only be positive. I knew I had to do it.
I had to play it cool though. There were details to be worked out..................

I am home now and have just given my good news to Pendragon. He smiled one of his inscrutable smiles when I told him.

"Well done, my honey", he said, and do tell me .Exactly how many words ?"

A jolly weekend to you all ,my friends, and may there be adventures galore in the midsummer sun. Remember to laugh, to be kind to those you meet and book your copy of the Daily Scandal in good time.
From Amarantha, teller of tales and keeper of the fifth toadstool from the left. She is the Rainbow Faery.

At exactly fifteen good minutes past five of the clock last evening,Piccallilli Peasegood tapped on our toadstool door. When I opened our shiny white door,there she stood,smile akimbo,with a bunch of pale pink freesias in hand. I welcomed her in,and placed the kettle on the stove to boil.The whole world lights up when Piccallilli is around. We grabbed our cups of steaming hot vanilla pod tea and buttered our currant tea cakes,and took everything into the sun room. Dribbles of rain were falling on the windows,but she could still get a good view of the back garden. She whooped and called with delight as she noticed everything new. She marvelled at the flowers,and the bright terracotta pots. She waved to Mandolini and the Backyard boys,as they laboured in the wetness. She seemed happy even at the end of a long working day. Piccallilli has a new job in a school she loves,and her former troubles in her previous appointment now seem behind her. She asked me about the show at Dingley Dell which I had attended in the morning,and we then set to talking about the present state of Dingley Dell under its new leadership. Piccallilli and I had worked together there over about seven years, and she very much shared my fears about the new management there. I left in October past,and things appear to have deteriorated further since then. The Academy has no visible funds despite having received new funding in April. The rate at which finance disappears suggests spending on unnecessary items,while the ordering of necessary books and pencils is not addressed. With a new session still to come,how will the tools of education be found ?

Bozzo the Clown blunders on,moaning to all who will listen that he does not know why these disasters keep happening.His hapless Management Team blunder on with him. Serendipity Weasel is functioning no better,her disciplinary tactics being virtually non existent,while one and all concur that she is ineffective with a capital EF. In every quarter. Standards in her area of the Academy are at an all time low,with new and struggling members of Staff failing to receive any appropriate advice,or meaningful discussion. The new Depute in my old department,of whom the Staff hoped so much, is proving to be tainted with the same lazy qualities of his erstwhile mentor,Bozzo. So now they have to suffer a Bozzo,backed up by The Blimp, while Serendipity floats along on a semi-conscious wing and an elven prayer.
It was very sad to listen to the anxieties of my former colleagues when I visited this week. Some are tense and tired,others are disillusioned, some at the end of their educational tether, some just waiting for the retirement bell to release them from this nightmare. All are worried about where this disintegrating situation will lead. How do they define what is wrong ?

"He just can't manage",they say.
"He just cannot organise" they say,as though this were some physical ailment for which he requires medication.
"He has no idea what he is doing" they add. And they soldier on.
But from my outsider perspective now,I can dispassionatley say, they really should not have to put up with this. He is collecting copious amounts of geld for leading the educational ship there,and he is a completely unmitigated disaster. Something does need to be done.
Piccallilli and I rumanated over all the unrest before moving on to more congenial topics - her daughter's betrothal,my betrothal in the Faery Ring, the recent machinations of Queen Brighid the Bright, Piccallilli's Summer Solstice holiday plans, my up and coming weekend in Granitonda,and life and times with the Daily Scandal. We laughed aloud at my dealings with Chief Editor,Portamus Cumberpatch,and his dotty secretary, the Mighty Faladinka.
I am due to visit Portamus tomorrow to discuss the future of my writing career with the Daily Scandal. My Agony Elf column was only awarded a few experimental weeks,so no doubt he will wish to tell me whether he wants it to continue,whether he has other plans for me,or whether he wants to give me the elven equivalent of the "Daily Scandal Bum's Rush". I will just have to take a philosophical view until I know my journalistic fate.
Pendragon appeared home at the hour of seven,to find Piccallilli and I still laughing,and the twilight coming down. She would not stay for tea despite our coaxing, but left with a hug,another large smile and a promise to join me for coffee at the Jolly Woodman in early July.
Pendragon and I waved her off in her four wheeled motor carriage , noting that she was waving with both hands when she really should have had both hands on the wheel. How does she do that ?I must ask her next time I see her.

A great good evening to you all my friends,and may the loud rushing wind which currently whistles round your toadstool ,die down to the whisper of a balmy breeze.
Much love from all at number five Lobelia Drive, the fifth toadstool from the left, and in particular Amarantha,the Rainbow Faery.

Over the last two days I have had two invitations from my former place of work -Dingley Dell Academy.The first was to join the older sprites at their leaving celebration. The second was to join the whole school for their school end of term show this morning. Both were enjoyable and energising,and full of reminders of everything I loved about my work at Dingley Dell. On Monday night I found myself dancing alongside sprites I have known since they had three elven years. They are on the brink of growing up now,and show all the good manners and confidence which we always want our young folk to have. They were a pleasure to be with,asked me all sorts of questions about my new life,and generally took care of me throughout the evening. I signed their autograph parchments and wished them all the best for their future.
Today I watched their show,and marvelled at their enthusiasm for entertaining. Young singers,dancers,violinists and recorder players went through their paces,in perfect time and tune. It was good to be remembered by them all. I was treated to much waving and clapping,and smiling and bits of news being flung at me as I made my way to my seat. After the show,I visited every class to wish them well,and listen to all their little stories.
The truth is, it was also nice to walk away when I wanted to at noon.I spent 27 wonderful years there,but my thirst for dealing with the daily anxieties and vagaries of staff and parents,has waned completely. It is nice to return to celebrate all the achievements, but I don't want to be there any more as a career.
I've served my time,paid my penance,fulfilled my duty,and freedom is mine now for the taking.
But their childish smiles will always touch my heart,and I do get a warm glow knowing that the small ones of Dingley Dell Academy will always hold me dear, and I them. I have said that I would be willing to return to do some fantastic drama work with them in the New Year,some all- singing ,all- dancing affair which will make our cheeks glow and our hearts race. This joy is still mine to give.

Pendragon has organised some art tuition for me in July. I am really looking forward to this as it involves painting in the open,and sometimes in the "mean streets" of the Metropolis. I learned so much last year,and I am hoping to improve once again.

It's raining again outside. I am awaiting the arrival of my good friend ,Piccallilli Peasegood.She is coming straight from work,so I will have something hot for her to eat and drink. Toasted currant cakes and vanilla pod tea are her favourites. We will sit in the sun room(there is no sun today,whatsoever.)and talk of times new and old. She also has wadges of gossip to impart,so the walls of our little toadstool will be ringing with the shock factor of it all.

Time to tidy up and set out the tea things, my dear friends. A bracing cup of something for you all at this twilight time, and may you also enjoy the tales of the day with someone close.

Till the morrow,from Amarantha Willow of Dingley Dell,the Rainbow Faery.

No sooner had I said my electronic box was working,than it decided it wasn't too happy and I had to call "the electronic goblin " back in again. I have to say I am not too comfortable in the presence of electronic goblins ",due to my being reasonably electronic box illiterate, and it takes these maestros precisely one or two technical questions to determine this. Something in their eyes tells me they have sussed this, and I then continue dejected for the rest or our interview together.
However needs must,and I made the call on the woodland phone. A rather delicious transatlantic voice replied,and offered to pay me a call,to help identify this seemingly on-going problem. I love the voices of Transatlantia,as my dear Pendragon hails from those shores. It is a soft entrancing voice,luring in the listener closer ,it is a delight to listen to.
Anyway,yesterday, as Wally my industrious cuckoo sauntered out at the chime of one,I saw a rather tall figure,somewhat eccentrically dressed for these climes ,stroll up the front garden path and rap twice on our little toadstool door.
He smiled instantly, as I opened the door, and bade him enter. I showed him the way to the Blue Room and my offending electronic box. The offending article was just lying there on the desk,looking meek and mild,as though butter would not melt in its tiny electronic mouth. But the beast of ineptitude was definitely lurking within,and my erstwhile "electronic goblin" was not to be fooled.
He sat down in my tiny desk chair,his long goblin legs stretching out as far as the window,and began his work. From here I could observe him more closely, and the detail of him was not unpleasing. He had long shoulder length locks, as soft and grey as his eyes, and he wore a pale grey doublet,blouson and dark grey hose. Nothing so unusual there, but there was something about him which just seemed to spell out DIFFERENT.
He was a strange looking character, carrying the allure of an era long past, but with the softest grey eyes I have ever seen. Soft yet sad. I had a feeling that his life had somehow not been easy in the past. Those eyes hid previous troubles and unsolved angst.And yet when he smiled,the Blue Room seemed to light up in the glow of those peepers. He worked and talked as he worked,explaining to me what he was doing and why he was doing it. I only understood bits and pieces,but I understood enough to sound reasonably aware when I replied. But I felt I could be honest with those soft grey eyes,as he did not make me feel like an incompetent nincompoop when I had to admit that I did not understand a term which he used.
He completed his repair,and was just shutting down his electronic windows,when he came to some pictures on his memory stick. He said these were pictures of his true home in Transatlantia -in a place callled
Wen Moxxen - pictures of forests,wide and dark,miles of open desert land and small farm lands .
I asked him how he had come to Dingley Dell. He said he had been at sea,searching for the dark oil,for many years. That job came to an end and he had decided to work for himself with the skills he had.
He liked Dingley Dell, but his home would always be in those forests,wide and dark,in the open desert lands with his five brothers and their families. Those soft,grey eyes seemed to drift away at that point,as though memories were stirred,and sadnesses returned. I did not want to ask any more..
Those dark places were his to occupy and deal with.He did not need me to intrude. He suddenly smiled again and I thanked him for his great work. My electronic box was back up and running,not daring to play any more nasty tricks or stop working just when I need it most. It had submitted to the mastery of the Tall Grey Stranger, my electronic goblin, from lands far away.
I said goodbye,and he strolled back down the front path,leaving me feeling that I had met someone quite unusual this day, and there are not too many of them to the pound in Dingley Dell .

Much good fortune to you all, my dearest of dear friends, and may warmer climes than Dingley Dell be yours. Watch out for tall grey strangers, and remember to make all such travellers feel at home in our land. From Amarantha Willow( and her errant electronic box), The Rainbow Faery.

My electronic box decided not to work on Thursday morning,so I have had to have it in diagnostic care for the last 24 hours. The problem is fixed ,thank goodness, as I missed being able to communicate with all my dear friends. I have kept very busy though, in the meantime. The toadstool is shining from top to bottom,as I spent all of Thursday morning spinning round its interiors with dusters,polish,soap and water,and maximum elbow grease. In the afternoon, I went to the Jolly Woodman to amass some more gardening supplies. I had a most enjoyable afternoon,fishing through the dwarf shrubs,the border plants and the hardy perennials. I bought some new brightly coloured pots for my house plants too,and fresh soil and feed. I came home with two patio roses, - one for the front yard,and one for the back - in slightly differing shades of peach. I have been carefully watering and feeding them for the last two days,before transferring them into larger,prettier pots. The garden is awash with flowers generally at the moment.Everything has decided to put on its finest weeds,and dress gaily for the summer days. Watering is my most difficult chore to be honest,as much preparation was already done in the garden,before we planted the summer beds. Pendragon and I share the garden jobs,with him seeming to get the muckiest, sad to say. I swan around telling everything how wonderful it is looking, while he mans secateurs,shears , garden scythe and spade.
Downstairs at the moment,Pendragon is preparing our Saturday repast. He wants me to have a little time off from cooking chores at weekends.I am not sure if this is a mark of kindness,or just a reprieve for his stomach from my simple helpings. I am a good plain cook,with fair knowledge of healthy elven recipes, but Pendragon's father worked in some of the best kitchens of Transatlantia, and passed down to him many tricks of the seasoning trade.
At the end of next week,Pendragon and I are going to visit some of my elven relatives in Granitonda.My niece's little boy, Lucantus, will be celebrating his birthing day. He now has seven elven years, and presents as quite the well-mannered young sprite. He wants to become an astronomer,and spends much of his leisure time,pouring over books about the stars. We have bought him some special binocular glasses with which to stare at the heavens in his thirst for astral knowledge. His elven parents are holding a barbecued lunch party for him,and all the family who can come. It will be a great opportunity to see members of our clan whom we have not seen for a while. Lucantus has a little brother sprite who had two elven years when we saw him last. His name is Marcollino ,and we are told he has grown a lot taller. We are going to stay overnight in a watermill in Granitonda,and will be taking lots of photographs of our stay.
My used parchment selling business has really taken off,and I am dealing with purchases every day at the moment.The Blue Room is so full of merchandise that I think I am going to organise them rather better this weekend. I need more shelving,and am going to look into that this coming week.
On Monday next week I have been invited to attend a special evening back at my former place of work,Dingley Dell Academy. The eldest sprites there are leaving to go on to their next stage of education,so a celebration is in order. I am their special guest,and it will be really fun to see them all again, and join in the fun. Lots of dancing,lots of eating,and maybe a bit of singing,will be the order of the evening. Elven sprites learn from a very early age how to celebrate in fine style,and will all attend in their finest, most fashionable garments. I hope to also see some of my former colleagues who will be in attendance at this occasion.
The rain has decided to fall..I can hear it tap,tapping on the window. The dozens of birds we have had visiting all day ,have fled for shelter to treetops or hedges elsewhere. We were watching them at lunchtime today, scrambling for their share of the goodies hung up for them .Jumping ,leaping around ,pecking each other, crash-banging into the coconut shells from above to knock another bird off.Many of the visitors today have been young birds,looking for fodder to fatten themselves up,and
turn their downy plumage into sleek feathers. From starlings to thrushes,dunnocks to finches, coal tits and robins,we have seen them all this week at some point. They seem to be getting used to my presence pottering in the front garden. At first they would fly off if I appeared. Now they keep feeding if I am around, as long as I am at a safe distance from them. Sometimes they just sit on top of the garden fence till I have gone,and then return to the feeders.
The last few days in Lobelia Drive have been relatively quiet,neighbour wise. The Forlorn Faery has been out a lot,walking her new beast,Daisy.She very kindly offered me a bag of green nuts for my birds this morning,which she had brought back from her holiday away. Mimsey and Jeraboa Dagwort have been on vacation in the Sunny Isles, and the Primpoles have been away visiting one of their sons.Nobby Shilpit and his brood have been seen from time to time, but only a glimpse of one or other of them,disappearing into their toadstool.
Son Oggie the Hood is still keeping a low profile,maybe he is a changed sprite. Any distinctive change of personality would have to be more than skin deep though to alter the neighbourhood perception of young Oggie. Let us hope this peace will last for a while. Although judging by the intrigues of the past few months,nothing ever stays quiet in Lobelia Drive for long.

Peace and Tranquillity to all of you, my fine feathered friends, this mid month weekend. May you all be engaged in health giving pursuits, surrounded by those you love. From Amarantha Willow, Dingley Dell's own Bird of Paradise, the Rainbow Faery.