This week Fandango has chosen a charming picture of a blue doorway surrounded by a circular wood frame in a dwelling that is nestled within underbrush.
Bobo’s front door wasn’t usually visible for undergrowth, but today was a special day.
He’d polished his horseshoe threshold until it gleamed, washed down the blue paintwork, and rubbed the coal door knob until he could see his reflection in it.
The tiny thimble lantern hung from an established vine and the welcoming honey cup sat in readiness for Her Royalness to sample on arrival.
This was the first time he had met a member of the Royal Household, so he wanted everything to be perfect.
His home was very modest, furniture made by himself from twigs and woven bull rushes, his carpets from the softest down feathers, curtains at the door from the finest spider silk.
Few people knew of his existence so to have such a special guest was an honour.
The bluebell coach was drawn by two butterflies, which blended perfectly with his hiding place in the meadow. From a distance, no-one would think twice of the peacocks flitting around a flower.
Her Royalness was beautiful, with sheer filigree wings of spun silver thread. She sat on a single rose petal cushion that seemed to float on air and her smile radiated like sunshine throughout his tiny rooms.
‘Mr Bobo,’ she said, her voice like velvet as she put her cup down.
‘Your nectar is some of the best I’ve tasted. Thank you.’
Bobo would have blushed to the roots of his hair if he’d had some. Instead, he looked at his feet and shuffled a bit.
She reached out a pale hand and lifted his chin.
‘Today is a special day, your birthday I believe.’
‘Yes ‘M,’ he mumbled.
‘And you are responsible for keeping this meadow in its natural state, where everything is pure and allowed to thrive?’
‘Yes ‘M,’ he repeated.
‘Perfect. I am lucky to have you. I grant you some fairy magic to keep yourself and your charges from harm.’
She passed him a small ingot and told him to hang it on the inside of his door.
‘It will protect you and make your home invisible to the naked eye so that you can continue in your task.’
Bobo watched as the butterflies with their precious load fluttered upwards, then disappeared in a sunbeam.
He hung his ingot as instructed then went to make himself a cup of dandelion tea pondering over the magic of his 100th birthday.