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.
