toadstooltales

Finding time to write to all of you, my dear friends , has been difficult in the last few weeks. Partly due to having lots of betrothal tasks to do, to having social engagements in the afternoons on more days than I think is really good for me, to a rapidly expanding used parchment business, and to having a small resurgence of my problem with my favourite writing hand due to repetitive strain injury.
I have tried to leave time everyday to achieve some epistolary work,but there have been too many outstanding tasks and too little time left to complete them. So I do have lots to tell you and I will have to take a few sessions to catch up with you as the Faery Physio is only allowing me a very short time each day to prattle on my electronic box, as she says I need to rest my left writing paw.

Pendragon and I are in the midst of our final preparations for our May Betrothal Ceremony. The Faery Seamstress has almost completed my dress. I see the final version on Tuesday 7th. My headdress is being made by Gribbgea the Embroidress. I should see that too on the 7th. She is designing it from scratch,and I have no idea what form it will take. It will be red, and sumptuous, though.
I have visited the place where our ceremony and feast will take place, and returned overwhelmed by the beauty and aura of the setting. Set in acres of countryside, wildlife come and go as you wander through, and inside each room ,the palatial nature of each strives to outdo the one next door.
We are going to have such a lovely time, and a wonderful day, I know we are. Surrounded by friends and family, we will take our vows in the Garden Orangerie, and feast afterwards in the Rennaissance Atrium.

I have ordered our invitations, special favours, some pretty cupcakes and have only the floral decorations to decide upon. Lots of white and red, I feel, will enhance our dining experience. I have booked my appointments with the Faery Beautician, who will be perfecting my hair ,face, eyebrows and nails on the day. So exciting, and only nine weeks to wait.

All is well within the neighbourhood,although we have not seen lots of our neighbours recently. They are only now beginning to reappear from within their toadstools, after a long cold winter in Dingley Dell. The coldest for many a year.

The Fearless Faery is still giving us cause for concern. I emerged from my four wheeled motor carriage yesterday to find her outside in her garden with her wildebeest, Daisy. I spoke cheerily to her as I teetered up the path,laden with supermercantile bags.
As I got nearer to her though I realised that she was not going to look me in the eye. She spoke to me with her head down,and seemed to be hanging on to Daisy to hold her up. She had been imbibing the fruits of the alcoholic beverage it appeared, and was distinctly the worse for wear at four oclock in the afternoon. She had just emerged from her own four wheeled motor carriage, and had been driving three sheets to the wind.

I could not bring myself to taint our friendship by mentioning my concerns . I don't think my opinion would stop her, and maybe I can help at some point, when she wants help. Pendragon just shakes his tawny head when I tell him. It is very difficult to know what to do or what to offer. I just hope she stops sometime soon.

The Shilpits at number three have been very elusive for the last few weeks. Bu they are back. Wally spoke to me earlier today as he passed our garden. He is always very polite(quite unusual for a Shilpit) and willing to offer help at every available opportunity.

His brother Oggie only offers a scowl. Dad Shilpit has been almost invisible during February and March. No doubt when he sees us breaking sweat in our little toadstool garden ,weeding and planting, he will emerge to give us his untimely and unrequested advice. A goblin with only slabs wall to wall can hardly be expected to offer pearls of wisdom on the subject of rhododendrons and wisteria.

I spent the morning in Brigantia today,tracking down parchments,and sharing coffee time with friends. I came back with my motor carriage loaded just as the rain began to patter on the daffodil heads lining our front pathway.
I love watching the vagaries of the weather,-from inside only , looking out.It is raining again, and the blue has long since left the sky. Grey clouds promise we will be wet throughout the weekend.
Pendragon is hving a roast dinner tonight. Roast salmon, roast vegetables and small roast potatoes. I will welcome him home,feed him, then cuddle up to watch my favourite Faery Soaps with him on our leather settee.
We are a happy pairing, my dearest chums.Remember that now Spring has come, you must remember to push your time pieces forward one whole hour this weekend. On Saturday night, so they say. Wally our house cuckoo is already looking very smug at the thought that he will have to stumble out and mark the passage of time once less than is customary.
March fever is now about to give way to some April tomfoolery and we can only hope that we can carry this out in temperatures of at least double figures.

Tomorrow I'll tell my tale of garden groupies, postal petulance and Daily Scandal "scandal".

Till then,take care, and much love to you and yours.
Fom Amarantha Willow, the Rainbow Faery.

Pendragon was up at seven of the clock today. and I hid warm and cosy under the covers until he appeared with a steaming cup of acorn tea and a bright good morning. I got up quickly,as I had promised myself a day off today. Free from work, I was going to travel and take in some of the sights of two of the neighbouring villages,stopping for lunch at one and parchment hunting at the second. I intended to set out after Dilly Gumm had been to clean the toadstool floors. She always does the floors first on Thursdays and completes her weekly cleaning schedule with a massive toadstool dust around ,and a cleaning flourish to the bath and toilet.
She always arrives at exactly one minute to nine, but at quarter past her stout brown brogues had not touched down on our path and I began to worry. I was just about to rummage through my busy diary for her woodland phone number when my own lounge telephone almost rang itself off its cordless base.
It was Dilly,strangely quiet and staunchly resolute.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Willow, but I can't come this morning. I'm really sorry,I know you are expecting me, but I can't come. It's my oldest girl, a bit of a crisis, I'm afraid. I need to go. I'll see you on Monday. "

"Nothing too bad, I hope," I said cheerily."Is she ill, Dilly ?"
I had just let the Dilly escape from my lips when the line purred and went dead. I don't know whether she heard my enquiry or not, or she didn't want to elaborate further, but she was gone as quickly as she had dialled, leaving me barely any the wiser.
Wally the house cuckoo reminded me it was half past nine with the dainty tapping of his boots as he popped in and out of his little chalet home.

Still reeling from the call from Dilly, and still trying to work out whatever was the matter, I collected my waterproof longcoat and tied on my lacing slipperettes. The view from our front window caught my eye.

It was snowing and snowing hard. Not tiny light flakes of decorative fluff, but large conjoined pieces of battle-trained ice,intent on reaching earth as quickly as possible and covering ground thick and fast.
I could tell it was not going to stop any minute soon,so I took off my coat and settled down on our beige leather settee to ponder the trials and tribulations of Dilly.

Whatever was wrong, she clearly had not decided to confide it yet. Maybe she wouldn't,I would have to wait and see how the story unfolded. If she called in sick on Monday, I would have to be strong and ask her outright what was on her mind.
Pendragon had had nothing to report when I had asked him last night if the Gumm household was ok. He looked surprised, said he had seen Dilly's husband that day, and he had been full of bonhomie and witty remarks about the state of the clematis in the hospital front gardens. He promised to keep his elven pointy ones close to the ground as he is fond of the Gumms too.

At two the snow storm had started to abate. I dressed for the cold weather and set off to walk down to the village.The day had started to thaw a little and the walk was pleasant and unhampered by the slush lying in pools on the roadway to Dingley Dell.
I walked all the faster to reach the Buttercup Bistro to get a warm cuppa and a bowl of pea and mint potage before I shopped for supplies at the supermercantile. The bistro was quiet and I got the full attention of the waitress Reggatta when making my order. I was just paying for my gastronomic delights and smiling to Reggatta when I noticed a figure observing my every move from the back of the kitchen .

It was the boggart boy who had been working there over the summer time.
I had not seen him for a few weeks and thought he had left, thankfully, as it appeared he had developed an unwanted crush on my compact little person. I could not move without his attentios in June and July, and it
had left me feeling that I didn't want to lunch at my favourite bistro while he was there.

He was back. Ginger hair, bottle top glasses and his neat black apron tied tightly around his waist. And smiling ,yes smiling, at me from afar.

It was too late to scurry out of the door. I had paid for my lunch, and Reggatta was about to plate up my soup and butter my bread. I turned politely away, and looked around for the furthest away seat. I had just reached my seat and placed myself carefully with my back to the counter,when a large black shape descended merely two feet away. I looked up to find Aristotle the boggart boy wiping down my table and leering at me all the while. I smiled helplessly back and remembering the parchment in my bag,reached down and pulled it out. It would provide some cover as I pretended to read intently from somewhere in the middle of the text.
He was still wiping, wiping and looking, and smiling, yes smiling at me.
"That's fine ,thank you," I said,trying not to be too harsh,but praying he would desist and go.

"It's a terrible day,isn't it ? " he mumbled awkwardly,shoving his dirty cloth in his clean and tidy pocket, and still smiling. "Is that a good story you are reading ?"

I could see he was trying to develop something called a conversation,and it had to stop.I saw Reggatta approaching with my hot soup and bran roll and called out gaily "Over here,that's right,and I am so looking forward to it".

As she laid out my lunch on the table I engaged her in avid discussion about everything I could think of, children, working, weather, holidays, plants, springtime, deckchairs - did I really get desperate enough to talk about deckchairs ? She must have thought I was like a chinchilla on heat, so quickly did I race from one topic to the next.
But it did have the desired effect. I saw in the corner of my eye,as Reggatta and I talked rhododendrons ,the boggart boy slink away to the back of the counter to turn his attentions to making salad sandwiches rather than making hay with me.

I have to confess to not knowing whence this attraction developed. The only words we have ever exchanged have concerned baked potatoes and tuna mayonnaise. And whether the scones are mnade from wholemeal flour .
Not exactly poetry to turn heads.

I ate my meal, ensuring my head stayed low, allowing no opportunity for our eyes to meet across a crowded bistro .I waited for him to be sent to the stockroom at the back ,giving me a small window to rise and pay for my meal, and leave.

I'll have to find a new lunch spot. I can't digest properly with two small black eyes trained on my every spoonful. Pendragon thinks its funny and has urged me to remember when I was young. Did I never have a crush on anyone ?
I suppose I did. But I never tried to do anything about it. I never let the object of my affections know they were held in such loving esteem.And I never fell for someone old enough to be my father's best friend. Aristotle the boggart boy needs a new interest, preferably one whose age has barely reached double figures and a half.

Tomorrow I journey to Brigantia to check my toadstool property there, do a parchment run and meet with the faery beautician to have my face exfoliated and my eyebrows waxed into regimental condition.
A chance to lie down in a darkened room and contemplate the events of the nest few months ahead. A marriage, a birthing day and a splendidly exciting two weeks painting by the sea.

More of these later, my dear stoic companions. Wrap yourselves up in your warmest woollies,pull on your knitted long socks to reach to the knees, and check that your underpinnings are made of thermolactyl lace (ladies only)and equal to the torrents outside.

I will speak to you all again tomorrow. From Amarantha Willow, near femme fatale, and counsellor to the worried and perennially beleaguered.
Have a frisky, fanciful Friday, from all at number five toadstool - Flowerpot Cottage, Lobelia Drive, Dingley Dell.

I have had quite a slow day today really. Under threat from precipitation, snow falls and occasional thunder, I have had a working day,organising my catalogues and boxing up my parchments properly,so they can be found at the drop of an order into my electronic box. Occasionally staring out of the window , to understand better where the rest of my small world is today, and seeing no one, led me to believe that everyone had decided to stay indoors,just like me. It has gone back to being cold again and I resent that - deeply.

I received a call quite early from the Faery Milliner to tell me that she wants to meet with me to discuss how my hair will be on my Betrothal Day, and to make a start on designing my headware, a stunning attifet,in burgundy and white, with sumptuous trimmings. I have been quite excited since. We are to meet next Thursday to begin the creative process.

Someone who wasn't looking very excited yesterday was my cleaning operative, Dilly Gumm. For two weeks now she has presented a picture of abject despair and careworn demeanour that I am beside myself knowing what to do to help. I plied her with tea and buns half way through her cleaning schedule,but even my witty repartee on the subjects of errant children and the vagaries of village life raised ne'er a smile or even a look of passing interest. At one point there was just a silence between us,me not knowing whether to break it,or what to break it with, and she just looking into my gaily spotted china teacup as though her heart might break at any moment. I sipped my tea as quietly as I could, praying for inspiration,or that one tiny word that would allow me behind the mask and into Dilly's inner world. Only to help. I value Dilly, I care about her , and her little family. She was so helpful when I had my accident before the Winter Solstice, went several extra miles to give a hand, just because in Dilly's world - that is the thing to do.
And now ,when I feel she has some terrible worry preying on her mind, I don't know how to reach her,and make it better.
"More tea" was all I could come out with,and in a squeak at that.
"I'd better get on," was all she mumbled back,laying down her half empty cup and heading for the kitchen.
I heard the pots clatter,and the sound of bustle in the kitchen,putting up the barriers for the moment to our having that all important exchange of information.

When Wally our house cuckoo came out for a prance at twelve, she collected her old woollen coat from the hall ,popped her head round the living room door ,carefully avoiding my gaze, and said in a strained but bright voice,"That's me done, Ms. Willow. I'll see you Thursday".

The voice was brighter, but the tell tale red marks above her cheekbones told me that she had shed a few solitary tears over the bedmaking upstairs. I could hold back no longer.

"Dilly, what's the matter ? Maybe I can help ? "

She looked at me with surprise,like a frightened rabbit caught foraging in the cabbage patch.
"Not today, Ms. Willow. I can't talk about it today. I'll see you on Thursday".
And with that ,she scurried down the path,not looking back,incase I chose to follow, or by lingering,she should give more away.

Poor Dilly. Not just suffering but keeping it to herself,like the tidy little brownie she is .

Dear Dilly. She must be helped. On Thursday I will speak with her, and I will open that door so that she can share her woes with someone else.

I must ask Pendragon if he knows of any grief occurring in Dilly's family network. Her husband works on the caretaking staff at Metropolis Hospital - Pendragon sees him regularly as he goes through the day .Pendi has such a feel for healing the unquiet spirit that I am sure he will have noticed if anything is afoot.

Tomorrow I visit the Faery Physio for more exercises,chosen to bring my muscle strength up to speed. I am almost one hundred per cent better,but occasionally my right leg decides to be difficult and tires easily.
I am also going to fit in an extra radio show in the afternoon, as Brinkus Hottenscotch is away on a one day break ,and he stipulated that my dulcet tones and knowledge of his kind of music were the only suitable replacements he could recommend.
I am truly flattered.

Take care, my rosey-cheeked comrades, to step lightly where the muddy paths wander. Slipping on an icy,mucky roadway now will leave you bruised to the bone and wet as a kipper.

From Amarantha Willow, the toadstool sylph, and all who abide in Flowerpot Cottage, 5 Lobelia Drive .

The first of March has arrived. We welcomed it in this morning with a happy smile and a nod of expectation but sadly it came accompanied by a hail of rain and a sharp wind.I stood with my tiny graceful elven nose pressed to the kitchen window, a large pile of wet vestments under my arm,waiting for the dampness to change into an aura of blue sky and white fluffy cumulo nimbi, but the rain,it just kept lashing,undaunted and unhindered by the hopes and wishes of we Dingley Dell opportunists. So I have busied myself with other ploys,most of them catching up on some much needed ordering of our toadstool home. Pendragon doesn't know why I bother on a Sunday.
"Dilly Gumm is here tomorrow" was all he would say as I bustled round tidying our lounge and rearranging the clutter in our kitchen. "I know, I said", hearing him but still determined to go my own sweet way.

Dilly,my weekly cleaning operative, does come tomorrow, but I don't want her to think that the toadstool she turns into a small and neat palace twice per week, is left to go to rack and ruin on the other days. Just a small matter of elven pride, I am afraid, and you'll not change it by insisting on practicality and sound reasoning.
If Dilly does the big things, I owe it to her magnificent stewardship to do the small.
Pendragon and I have spent a quiet weekend, walking yesterday by the shoreline of Dingley, eating one of Pendragon's fine meals in the evening and watching some choice programming on the picture box until late.My red curls hit the pillow at eleven and I listened to Grisander
Ellikor's Hearthclub show before sleeping a deep sleep and resting well.

Today,home tasks done, I've been working in our Blue Room, cataloguing used parchments, wrapping a couple of orders, and planning for my Community Radio Show tomorrow. My favourite part of planning is listening to prospective fine tunes,and writing out possible intros and links. It is a creative chore,and hopefully pays off in terms of continuity as my programme themes unfold.
I am now doing my broadcasting in the mornings. It suits me better,as I seem to be livelier and more inventive in the mornings, and it leaves me free to do my writing or business work in the afternoons.

Everyone here in Lobelia Drive seems to be thriving as far as I can tell. I frequently bump into the Fearless Faery either in Dingley High Street or the Supermercantile on the Hill. We exchange greetings,even a bit of gossip or two, before moving on to complete our shopping elsewhere. She seems to have settled in well, enjoys walking her new dog Daisy, and chats to everyone she encounters as though she has known them a lifetime. She is the source of some juicy local tales,too, as I have discovered. How she finds things out I do not know, but she always seems to have some titbit to exchange about someone you know, which leaves you gobsmacked and baying for more. When I meet her next I must study her conversational techniques. Who knows? Maybe she takes my little snippets ,seriously embellishes them and passes them on to other folk in all their glory. I may be The Femme Fatale of Dingley Dell by now, for all I know.
In my quilted blouson and gardening snugpants(which I am wearing at this very moment,I may add) it would be very hard to convince anyone of my
sensual ways and invincible allure. I am cosy, though.

Pendragon only has eyes for me, whatever I wear. He tells me so, but maybe he just needs his spectacle prescription renewed. He is a very alluring individual himself , especially so in a freshly laundered shirt and his favourite beige moleskin pants.He makes me laugh, he dries up my tears when I am feeling low, and he knows just when to boost my self-esteem when it is in tatters or hanging asunder. That's what all great men do and we love them dearly for it.
When Dilly Gumm comes tomorrow I must ask her for an update on how the family are doing. She seemed a little low herself last Monday afternoon.But she was busy ,and in a hurry to finish her duties to keep an appointment on time, so I said nothing. I'll wait till she has finished mopping the kitchen floor tomorrow before broaching the subject.
She always has a short sit-down after mopping the floor,to catch her breath before moving on to polishing the taps. And I am sure a hot cup of meadowmarsh tea with one of my renowned apple doughnuts will set her up for a good chinwag.

Tomorrow will be busy,that's for sure. Business, radio, laundry, cooking, several chatty calls on the woodland phone - all in all ,a whirlwind of a day .
Take care, my trusty friends ,and don't let the Mad March winds bite you to the bone. A teaspoon or two of Auntie Govina's Myrtle Jelly is all you need to keep you safe from the raging swirls and the ice-cold whips.
I'll speak to you soon.

From Amarantha Willow, devil-may-care and downtown roustabout, the talk of Lobelia Drive, the Rainbow Faery.