Today is May Day Feastday, and a National Holiday for most of Dingley Dell .Everyone it seems but my poor Pendragon. Because he works in a Metropolis Care Centre, he has to follow the rota lists as set down. As we have no sprites of our own, Pendragon often finds himself detailed for work on public holidays.It is deemed more appropriate to award such leisure times to families to spend together. I hope they are enjoying quality time in each other's company and not wasting it doing humdrum activities like washing or shopping. I waved goodbye to him wistfully this morning,knowing that he won't be home again until tomorrow evening. He has urged me to enjoy the day,but I have let much of it drift by a little aimlessly,catching up with household chores ,dealing with some overdue correspondence and some gardening chores. The weather is beautiful outside,so I ate lunch in the backyard,while Mandolini and the boys caught up with their tasks of the day. Mandolini stood in a position of authority at the door of the Sun Room,watching while the other three scattered themselves around the borders. Basso Profundo and Verde sought shelter under the rhododendron bush, to avoid the hottest rays of the day.The bush is laden with burgeoning deep pink blossom ,casting a long and heavy shadow on the pale grey bricks of the patio.Settled there for the afternoon,Verde gazed intently at his gardening manual,while Basso Profundo peered over his shoulder,no doubt looking for inspiration from the unfolded pages. Pianolo lay under the wooden birdhouse,watching the starlings gather their noontime repast, and keeping count of the vast number of sunflower seeds and peanuts they were guzzling into their empty beaks. The still of the garden afforded me some personal thinking time,the perfect opportunity to compose letters to friends and relatives not contacted for a while. I was enjoying the laziness of the passing day, but knew this restful interlude would be over by the hour of three, as I had a late afternoon appointment with the editor of Dingley Dell's news rag,"THe Daily Scandal." I must on no account be tardy, as Portamus Cumberpatch is renowned for reducing the confidence of erstwhile elfen journos with two shakes of his milk white locks and a look that would curdle a newly laid egg. Wearing a light blue linen tunic and matching trews,with my 'Ideas' folder tucked under my arm, I was welcomed at the tiny newspaper office by Cumberpatch's secretary, who introduced herself as "just call me Faladinka". A rather weak and sickly cup of thistle tea followed,and I was just trying to decide into which plant pot I could safely despatch it , when Faladinka reappeared and said "Mr. Cumberpatch will see you now."
I discreetly abandoned my china goblet out of Faladinka's eyeline, and floated a little tremulously through the open door of the Editor's office. Portamus Cumberpatch was not as I had imagined him.He was rather less the captain of journalistic industry, and more the ageing retrobate,with time on his hands and mischief to make. He looked at me over a pair of spectacles,which had also seen better days,judging by their attachment to his face with only one working leg ,and a bridge held together with white packing tape. I smiled hesitantly in his direction."Welcome,Ms. Willow", he boomed at me ,and stretched out his left hand to draw me forward. Well,not so much a draw as a sharp pull. So hard, I almost fell on top of his broad mahogany desk. Steadying my balance,I stumbled into the waiting seat. I listened while he fed me the policy of the "Scandal",in the droning tones I suspect he regularly adopts for his shareholders. I remember none of it now,but it did give me time to assimilate his two small sparkly black eyes, his gat-toothed expressive mouth and his nose,broad enough and flat enough to be the landing strip for an aircraft carrier.He finished and I smiled weakly again. Taking this as some sign that I was in full agreement with all I had just heard, he chundered on with, "You start on Monday,here are some letters,thanks for coming.And remember, no more than one hundred words each,tea and sympathy,that's all they want." And with that ,before my "Ideas" folder had time to reveal its treasure within, his broad right arm had swept me to the door.
"Thank you " I squeaked,finding myself face to face with the incomparable Faladinka,who,wasting no time,with her broad right arm steered me to the outer door. I was outside before I knew it,and marvelling at their impressive teamwork. I was clearly going to be working for a formidable organisation.
My first deadline would be Tuesday's edition and there is much to read and write. Dear Pendragon will not believe that I went to an interview and only uttered two words. Inconceivable as it is to him,that his dear Amarantha would ever be at a loss for pertinent conversation. Tomorrow I have organised a special trip to give me the time to clear my thoughts before I begin writing my column. Piccallilli Peasegood and I are going to take the ferry from Dingley Dell Pier to the Isle of Mikkelbark ,famous for its rolling hills and wildlife inhabitants.I have always loved its untamed qualities and unspoiled beauty. Piccallilli has not seen it before and is excited to know its charms. Her unfolding of the next chapter of unlikely liaisons and rampant skullduggery at Dingley Dell Academy,as we cross the mighty Big Water, will be the icing on the cake.
Much pleasure in the warmth of the day, my friends, and a magnificent May Day Feast to one and all. From Amarantha Willow,the Rainbow Faery.