My dear niece Manderlay has sent me some beautiful photos of her two children today. Such angels,at least in print. The youngest sprite is called Celandine. She has two and a half elven years, has blonde trailing curls,and has the sweetest smile I have ever seen.She is so beautiful,and growing up with Manderlay's sunny personality. Young Ossiemandius, her nearly four -year old brother,is just as handsome,with his stunning dark eyes,hair and looks. Cheeky imps,but of the nicest kind. They look so full of fun. I will write back and pass on all my news to them.
The rain has suddenly started down in sheets.It is pressing hard down on the window,and rattling the pane. The light has gone down and the day feels as though it is slipping early into night. Winter is chasing Autumn hard on its heels. Tonight it wil be much colder,the weather man has said,and we must learn to bear it as we do the changing seasons at this time of year.Time to search through my Autumn weeds and find something more suitable to wear than dull-coloured t-shirts with cover up cardies.
It is time for big jumpers with cable patterns and warm woolly sleeves.
I can still see the Fearless Faery out in her garden,rampaging across the lawn and hacking at the corner weeds. She is a game old broiler,and knows how to put in the effort when needed. She works hard in her garden ,but stopping to put on a mackintosh and sou'wester might have been sensible if she is to continue out there. Her companion beast ,little Daisy ,is careering round in circles,enjoying the wet feeling on her coat and paws. She's going to make a right mess on the Fearless Faery's carpet when she finally goes back indoors.
I needed lots of consoling yesterday when I found out that the Ladies of Mercy Charity Shop has been sold. The hotel next door has bought the lease,and someday soon,my little used parchment haven will be no more. I am paying a visit there tomorrow,so I will find out exactly when the shop will meet its demise.
It has been in Dingley Dell for twenty years ,and will be much missed.
Pendragon's campaign against marauding slugs continues apace.He has built a new trap out of an old milk carton, and assures me it will be impossible to beat as a catcher of the Slime Brethren. I am sure he is correct ,but feel a little note on the gate, warning slugs and snails not to enter here, might have been kinder. I don't care for their greenery consuming ways,but feel that all living things deserve something of a life. Retraining for slugs ,however, would not seem to be an option.
Tomorrow I am making a visit to The Jolly Woodman,to get some autumn gardening supplies. Piccallilli Peasegood has an afternoon off,and has promised to join me. We will have a delightful time,choosing gardening products,and plants, and eating our lunch in the Tearooms. Piccallilli is bringing her daughter's betrothal photographs,so we will be making an afternoon of it. I have lots of news to tell her ,and she will be ever so pleased to hear about my betrothal dress. So the afternoon will pass, in fits of laughter and squeals.
My work with the Theatricals continues at pace as well. Our rehearsals are finishing later,and I am almost sleeping on my return to the toadstool each day.I returned at eleven last night, on the Metropolis tram,clutching my script and flushed with the successes of the day. Pendragon was propped up in our four-posterbed with four soft pillows,but still managed a smile as I popped my head around the bedroom door.
This weekend we will have a quiet time at home when I am not at rehearsals. Pendragon cooks up a storm on our return from metropolis and we get time to enjoy the dubious charms of our high definition picture box.
Snatch a quiet moment,yourselves, now and then, my merry mobile chums, and remember to wear two pairs of thermolactyl socks whenever possible. We of the elven breed particularly suffer from sensitive feet and even the slightest of leaks into our leather slipperettes,will see us shuffling and sniffling for days.
With Love and Spiced Apple turnovers,from dear Amarantha Willow,the Rainbow Faery.
