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.