I looked at myself long and hard this morning in the mirror,checking for those signs of professionalism that I used to see when I was working at school. Yes, I was well pleased. My hair was beautifully washed and set, my clothes were smart and pressed, and my small- heeled slippers were perfect for a business suit. I had a briefcase full of pens and parchment,with which to take notes, and a clear head with which to deliver important questions. I looked the very measure of a high class elven journalist. Refusing to allow any negative thoughts to creep into my mind, I had a healthy breakfast of fruit and cereals,and sat down to do some admin. work before I had to leave.
Twelve noon came around sooner than I wanted,but Wally our toadstool cuckoo never gets it wrong,and the sight of him stumbling out of our pretty Swiss clock ,to the tune of tinkling bells,did cause my heart and stomach to flutter a little.
I was determined to walk to the Dingley Dell Town House where I was sure to find Gravelpounce Whimperstrand, waiting with baited rasping breath no doubt ,to swallow my reservoir of confidence in two shakes of a peacock's feather. Keeping up this sham of unassailability was proving difficult. But the warm wet air surrounding me on my walk, restored my spirits, and rejuvenated my taste for the fray ahead. I had time for an acorn decaff at the Buttercup Bistro, and to read a chapter of the latest Mallicia Goldstammer romantic novelette,before climbing the pathway towards the Dingley Dell Town House.

I arrived at the glass -doored building,and pressed the entry button. It was exactly 1.45 pm and I was early enough to be considered punctual. A cultured feminine elven voice answered "Your name,please ?"

"Amarantha Willow,to see Mr. Whimperstrand. I'm from the Daily Scandal.I have an appointment."

"That's fine, just come in."
I pushed open the glass door,and saw the receptionist, Hetty Dimpelwing, smiling at me from the front desk. I know Hetty rather well,as she was one of my hardest working parents from Dingley Dell Academy. I smiled a little limply back ,and asked for instructions to the Great Man's Office.

"First floor, second on the left, and don't let him phase you. Be yourself ,and keep smiling. He hates that." said Hetty cheerfully. "I know you'll cope,you had much worse to deal with at Dingley Dell."

I thanked her with a slightly wider smile and hit the button for the lift. Two minutes later,I was in Whimperstrand's outer office,and his secretary,a thin slip of a teenage sprite,was letting him know that I had arrived.
She re-emerged and bade me go in.
I tightened everything above and below my pearl buttoned belt and with confidence in my step turned the handle on the Director's door.
I spoke immediately, hoping to set the mood before he did.
"I'm Amarantha Willow" I said,offering my hand as I turned towards the carved ebony chair behind his desk. He offered me his in return,and we both stopped,slightly open- mouthed.

You see ,we had met before, and at that moment, I am sure, we both remembered when and where. So this was Gravelpounce Whimperstrand, Director of Dingley Dell Festival. A tall man, sturdy in frame,with a bouffant of grey hair piled up over his ears. Bright eyed,the elven siver blue, a rather beaky nose, and a mouth that seemed to naturally curve into a sarcastic smile. Yes, I remember him.
Two summers ago, I had taken a similar walk down to Dingley Dell Community Radio, for an interview with the Management Committee, to apply for a presenter's position and a daytime show.
I never knew the name of the man on the committee who gave me a hard time,was rude,asked me insulting questions, and made me feel like a jibbering upstart, until now. Gravelpounce Whimperstrand,that was his name. I got my show and became a presenter, but it was no thanks to him. Luckily others on the committee knew my previous work and spoke in my favour. I carried the vote and was welcomed aboard,but no congratulations came my way from Him.
We stared at each other for a few minutes,both I suspected unsure of how to proceed. I seized the moment and smiled a sunny hello. He would not reduce me to a tearful shadow of myself ,not ever again.
I sat down and began.
I made my play with a stunning appreciation of the Festival,its shows, its galleries, its theatre,its musical artistes,and concluded with a fine appreciation of the work of its Director. His mouth seemed to have opened even wider.
"How did you begin this year ? I asked. I was still smiling, harder than ever.
He started to speak in slightly surprised tones,but speak he did,and I took abbreviated notes.
Whenever he stopped I rushed in again,giving him no time to think of some malicious remark or overpowering rebuff.
My questions were studded with compliments,and implied the direction of a Master at work in devising the Festival Programme.I explained how much space the Daily Scandal intended to give to this article,photos to be included , especially one half page of himself, and added how important his work had been to the future artistic standing of the Dingley Dell Community. He was glowing. I was lying. But it did not matter. He rambled on about his philosophy and philanthropy, and I kept writing.
Three quarters of an hout later I wound things up. He was about to have a further rant about his vision for the Community, when I politely thanked him and mentioned that I had lots of information and needed some time to write it up for my deadline. He smiled and rose to see me to the door.
Just as I stepped out into the corridor,he looked at me quizzically and said, "Have we met somewhere before ? I seem to remember..........................."
"No," I said crisply."I am sure I would have remembered someone so charming". And I left, smiling all the way down the stairway,past Hetty ,and all the way back to my toadstool home.
I laughed and danced around the house,and flung my notes around our leather settee. Later I would write,but now a cup of acorn decaff was much needed to celebrate my calming of the deadly Whimperstrand. Putty in my pretty elven hand,maybe not. But he didn't get the better of me either. I couldn't wait to report to Portamus that my mission had been successful.
He was out when I called,but I left him a message ; Director duly interviewed, and column ready for editing.
Tomorrow, I am going to have a lovely day out,treat myself to lunch and buy myself some new vestments. After all,you never know when I may have to interview Him again.
Till the morrow,my trusted friends, may all this rain be replaced by a stunning rainbow, and may its colours light up all your lives.
From Amarantha Willow, writer and raconteur, the Rainbow Faery.