JOURNAL August 2013 of my life with Wilson
es entur v d a ’s ilson W w o Foll k at: .co.u t daily o p s log rs2.b a w t n //a http:
Original photographs of Wilson used by kind permission of TamanduaGirl: www.livingwithanteaters.com
thursday
Wilson has had a word with the earwigs. It turns out they’re a very nice family, but their teenage children spend all their
time in their rooms playing Heavy Metal instead of doing what earwigs do. Whatever that is.
Unwilling to evict a young family, W offered to install soundproofing - as long as the earwigs start paying him rent.
The Mother earwig
was enthusiastic, but
the Father pointed out that he’d have to start working extra shifts
earwigging to pay for it. Halfway through
negotiations, Wilson
suddenly exclaimed ‘Oh!’ and ran off towards
the house shouting, ‘It’s alright, I’m coming!’
Seems he’d forgotten that he’d put Antony and Tiny Toy in the
fridge during the height of the heatwave.
friday
Antony and Tiny Toy are both okay after Wilson gave them a
couple of hours in the ICU. This turned out to mean ‘Intensive
Cuddling Unit’ - ie W sat in the tumble dryer cuddling them until they warmed up.
In the meantime, a prototype Oddsies! bag has arrived from the design agency. W is very excited, saying that he loves it ‘when a plan comes together!’
saturday
While reading through his Apiary for Beginners books, Wilson came across a tricky conundrum: Polly may in fact be a boy bee.
He says he will give Polly a formal interview this afternoon, but will start addressing her as Jonny B immediately.
Well, that shouldn’t cause this little bee too much confusion!
sunday
When Wilson spoke to Jonny B (or Polly, as she still may be) it
turned out that the bee had no idea whether s/he was a male
or a female, having been too busy working to have given it any thought. However, s/he said s/he was very in touch with her feminine side.
He told her it all came down to whether s/he felt more like a Worker or a Drone; a Polly or a Jonny B.
Wilson’s only paradigm for questioning people is crime drama
he’s seen on tv, and I felt at one stage the interview was going a bit like a scene from The Bill, with W trying to play Good Cop and Bad Cop at the same time. Then it turned more Dragnet
when he actually used the words, ‘We just wanna get the facts, ma’am!’
Throughout the interview, W has stared the little bee in the eyes while s/he buzzes nervously.
monday
The bee, whatever his or her name is, has finally said she
doesn’t care whether she’s a Worker or a Drone, she just wants to get back to the flowers.
Wilson protested, ‘But what can I call you if we don’t know your sex? Should you have a boy’s name or a girl’s name?’
The bee thought for a moment, and replied, ‘Chandler. I should like to be known as Chandler the Bee!’
I think Wilson is a bit peeved by this as he thinks it’s such a
cool name he wishes he’d thought of it before he started calling himself Wilson.
Nevertheless, he has agreed to this.
And to re-paint the little name board outside the Bee
House.
Also, when he gets
a chance, Chandler
would like her flowers changed, as they’re looking a bit tired.
tuesday
Last night Wilson watched a Horizon documentary about
bees, and it seemed to suggest that if a bee is out and about
among the flowers it’s a lady bee. The way W explained it to me is that all the boy bees are inside the hive doing something unmentionable to the queen.
‘D’oh!’ he exclaimed after the programme, ‘I could have carried on calling my bee Polly after all!’
This morning, though, an exciting package arrived for Wilson
which quite distracted him from his bee problems: a big box of business cards with his new logo on them!
He’s outside at the moment, handing them out to anyone he comes across...
wednesday
While Wilson was in the village handing out his new business
cards to anyone who would take one (and one or two who
wouldn’t), he noticed the logo on the front of a Volkswagen in the Waitrose car park.
He examined it closely before declaring, ‘WV. Hmmm. That’s a very good logo. I could have saved a lot of money if I’d noticed that before I commissioned my own design…’
I explained that it was not WV but VW, and the logo had belonged to Volkswagen since the 1930s.
‘Intellectual Property Law is a complex area fraught with
difficulties,’ he replied. ‘Given the right lawyer, I think I could have successfully sued them for infringement of my design; at the very least they’d have given me a free car to keep me quiet. Probably.’
thursday
This morning Wilson told Chandler that she is definitely a girl bee.
‘In that case,’ she said. ‘I should like to be known as Tracey. “Tracey the Bee.”’
Warming to her subject, she elaborated, ‘”Princess Tracey the Bee the 1st”… or should that be “Princess Tracey the 1st the Bee”?’
After a moments thought, she reached a decision: ‘Her Majesty Princess Tracey Bee the First!’
Wilson said that was too long for the sign.
friday
They’re here! A pre-production sample of Wilson’s New
ODDSIES! wrapper has arrived, together with a dummy of a
special Mystery Edition pack, where you can’t see the colour of the socks you’re about to buy.
Two things worry me about this whole enterprise:
1) whether people will pay hard-earned money for odd socks in fancy packaging, and
2) how much all this design work is costing. But Wilson is confident - he says this is EXACTLY how the
fashion industry works… although he’s started calling it the ‘Fash Biz’ and sometimes ‘Rag Trade.’
Anyway, he’s signed off the samples and we can expect boxes and boxes of them to arrive any day soon.
I’ll bet he stores them in the kitchen, along with all the boxes of unused paper coffee cups… and the empty Ant Juice cartons…
saturday
This morning Wilson prepared a fabulous breakfast of freshlybaked croissants, freshly brewed coffee and freshly opened orange juice, with not an ant in sight… but sadly I couldn’t enjoy it.
Long experience has taught me that an extravagantly delicious meal like this is W’s way of breaking bad news to me. And my intuition didn’t let me down.
Since Wilson is in charge of all the shopping and household expenses, he has free use of my VISA card. The bill arrived this morning.
The card is maxed out!
sunday
Wilson blamed our current precarious financial state on the
unexpectedly high costs of the Oddsies! launch - the logo design, the packaging, the advertising and so on - and admitted that there was now no money for food.
‘That’s not the real problem though,’ he explained. ‘We can live on the food we’ve already got in the freezer, as long as you don’t mind eating more ants than you’re used to, New Dad. The real problem is, I can’t afford to buy any socks!
‘If I can’t buy any socks,’ he continued, ‘I can’t sell any
Oddsies! and we can’t get our money back! Instead of being rich, we’ll be poor… That’s exactly what I didn’t want.’
monday
Wilson has gone into the village to do the rounds of the Charity Shops. He hopes to buy up their entire stock of pre-owned socks to re-package and sell as Oddsies!
I have warned him that he’ll have to be very selective in what he buys, and also that he’ll need to wash and iron the socks to make them look brand new, if he is to have any hope of selling them.
The Perseid Meteor Shower is due to peak this evening,
and Wilson has warned me that he’ll be spending tonight in his
Asteroid Shelter. I shall have to prepare my own meals, and
he’s asked me to feed Antony and Tiny Toy too, as there’s no room for them in the Shelter.
Or me, obviously.
tuesday
Wilson went round to the Folly this morning to change
Tracey’s flowers and see whether she survived last night’s
Meteor Shower, but he couldn’t find her. Apparently she left a note with the mother earwig, explaining her absence.
The note allegedly reads: ‘Princess Tracey Bee the 1st has
left to become a queen and found her own colony. It is her destiny. She wishes all her subjects well, especially Wilson
Vermilingua OBE for his kindness and provision of flowers; but
not the earwigs, who crassly invaded her majesty’s palace and
kept her up all night with their raucous and cacophonous music.’ I should point out that I haven’t seen the note myself, I’m
just going on what Wilson has told me. I didn’t even know that bees could write, let alone spell words like ‘cacophonous’!
W gave the flowers he’d brought for Tracey to the mother
earwig. She was very grateful, saying that they would feed her family for days. The earwigs have
now taken over the whole house and
sub-let rooms to
their friends and relatives.
There was no honey in the jar.
wednesday
Wilson found disappointingly few pre-owned socks at the
charity shops yesterday — all he came home with was a bee
fridge magnet (‘To remind me of Polly’ he told me, morosely) and a pack of cable ties.
This morning I discovered that all the lamp posts near our
house have had warning signs cable-tied to them. Naturally, I asked Wilson whether he know anything about it.
‘Oh yes!’ he admitted,
breezily, ‘They’re part of my Road Safety
Campaign. I found it
quite difficult crossing
the main road in the village yesterday, so I thought
some Anteater Awareness posters would be beneficial to everyone.’
thursday
The Oddsies! packaging arrived this morning, so now we have crates of wrappers and boxes for Wilson to sell his Oddsies! socks in... and a load of advertising in place‌ but but no Oddsies! and no means of buying any.
Also, we’ll be spending the rest of this month eating mostly ants.
After stacking all the boxes in the kitchen, Wilson made another foray into the village in search of socks from the local charity shops.
friday
There is no shortage of Charity Shops in Uckfield, but Wilson
said I would be surprised how few socks they have in stock even odd ones!
I didn’t tell him this, but actually I’m not at all surprised - I
wouldn’t have expected second-hand socks to be a big seller at any price, even for charity.
On his return from the village (once again sock-less) Wilson
mentioned that he’d noticed a lot of empty commercial premises - ‘Yet another symptom’ he said, ‘of our financial decline.’
Statements like this are uncharacteristic of W - I hope he’s
not considering a career in financial forecasting. Not with his track record of failed business enterprises...
saturday
Wilson has raided my underwear drawer and is ironing my
socks to package and sell as Oddsies! He has graciously allowed me to retain one (odd) pair for wearing, which I shall have to wash and dry overnight.
Out of the blue, he asked me whether sTony reminds me of
Rock SuperGod Bryan Ferry. I told him that they both have good teeth and a nice (if a little predatory) smile, but there the similarity ended.
I think if W is contemplating getting sTony work as a Bryan Ferry look-alike he might be hampered by his lack of a body. Among other things.
sunday
Wilson is now wondering whether to try funding his Oddsies! project at Kickstarter.com.
I honestly can’t see investors rushing to put money into a
second-hand odd-sock business, but what do I know about the Rag Trade? Or, for that matter, about the Second Hand trade?
In other news, woodlice have moved into the bee house. The earwigs are not happy.
monday
Today Wilson returned from his regular round of the charity shops with a bulging carrier bag and a big smile. ‘Did you get any socks?’ I asked him.
‘Well. I thought I’d struck gold,’ he replied. ‘There was this
charity shop with a big “One Day Only” sock event — but they’d sold out by the time I got there.
‘However…’ He opened the carrier bag and withdrew a big
fluffy bee, ‘I did get this! I shall call her Polly, and she will be all the things that the real Polly was not!’
I imagine he means cuddly, affectionate and uncomplaining.
tuesday
Wilson has taken a day off from sock-shopping so he can play with his new toy, Polly.
Antony, it must be said, is a bit wary of Polly. He probably
feels threatened by her presence, having been effectively an
‘only child’ for so long then suddenly being faced with a rival for Wilson’s affection... but I’m sure it will all work out in the end.
I’m pleased to see that my guitar has been brought in from the Wilson Vermilingua OBE Museum of Old Stuff and a Robot -
I’d like Wilson to have a proper hobby, to distract his mind from constant thoughts of financial acquisition…
wednesday
Wilson has really been working the guitar today — he’s writing his own material too!
While he plays and makes up the lyrics, Antony, Tiny Toy and Polly B are suggesting rhymes and writing down the songs.
So far he’s written three new songs: ‘Slave to Ants’, ‘Do the Ant’ and ‘Virginia Ant.’
Seems like he’s channelling Bryan Ferry!
thursday
No sock shopping again today, as Wilson didn’t want to be too
far from the telephone. I asked him about this and he said, ‘I’m
half expecting a call from Channel 5. Celebrity Big Brother starts this evening and they may need me if one of their lesser celebs pulls out at the last moment.’
He went on to explain that while he had no wish to appear on
CBB he wanted to decline politely and in person. ‘When you’re a celebrity, such as myself, it doesn’t do to burn your bridges with the Media, you know - you should remember that if you ever get famous, New Dad!’
While waiting for the phone to ring he found time to write some more songs. Today’s crop includes ‘More than Ants’, ‘In Every Dream Home an Ant’ and ‘Ants Are the Drug.’
I have to say that the tunes all sound strangely familiar. As do a lot of the words...
friday
Wilson is totally on a roll today, having written four more
songs: ‘Mother of Ant’, ‘Street Ant’, ‘Both Ants Burning’ and ‘Jealous Ant.’
Right now he’s in the conservatory trying to teach them to sTony and sToneye.
Without, it must be said, a great deal of success.
saturday
At last I’ve found out what’s going on. Wilson sat me down today to summarise the problem and disclose his solution.
‘Look, New Dad,’ he started, ‘we’ve got a brilliant idea that’s almost ready to make me, um well US obviously, a million:
Oddsies! We’ve got the packaging and the publicity, but we can’t afford to buy the stock. We need to raise money, and raise it fast!’
I nodded, encouragingly. ‘So we’re going to run a Benefit Concert! We’re going to turn
the old “Trading4U” warehouse into a pop-up nightclub. Pop-ups are very popular right now!’
‘So who’s going to perform in this nightclub that people will pay to see, but won’t require any fees?’ I asked, fearing that I already knew the answer.
‘ROCKSY MUSIC!’ he exclaimed, triumphantly. ‘They are
the new Art-Rock Sensation! And as it happens, I am their promoter, manager and songwriter.’
With a flourish he produced a flyer for the band, proclaiming,
‘Ta-Dah! What do you think? You can help me fly-post them all over Uckfield! Brilliant or what?’
Sunday
Wilson elaborated on his plan to open a pop-up nightclub:
‘The nightclub will be called Au Courant. That’s such a cool
name - it’s French, and it means “with currants”’ he explained confidently, ‘so I’ll give every clubber a bag of raisins as they go in!
‘Also, there will be a guest appearance by The Stones!’ I was shocked. My jaw dropped. My little Wilson had
persuaded The Rolling Stones, the biggest rock band in the world, to appear in his pop-up nightclub?
This was incredible news - this would make the national media! I was impressed!
monday
‘The Rolling Stones are appearing at your nightclub?’ I asked, stunned.
‘No, no, no! Well, yes. Um, well, no. Not exactly. Not The
Rolling Stones, more just “The Stones” - I’ve been writing some more songs: “Little Red Ant”, “Hey, You, Get Off of My Ant”, “I’m a King Ant”,’
He paused to gauge my reaction before continuing. ‘”As Ants Go By”, “Street Fighting
Ant”, “Walking the Ant”, “Under My
Ant.” Because I’ve
written all the songs myself The Rolling Stones won’t get a penny and the
Performing Rights
Society can’t touch
us - we’ll get to keep ALL the money! Sweet, no?’
tuesday
I probed Wilson about these so-called bands of his, “Rocksy
Music” and “The Stones,” and he confirmed that both bands
would be comprised, just as I feared, of the sTone Brothers with a few soft-toys in support.
‘But there will be a costume change, so nobody will notice that they’re the same people in both bands, probably!’ he added, as though that would make everything alright.
Then I pressed him about the premises and how much hiring the empty warehouse would cost. He winked and tapped the side
of his nose with one claw before whispering, ‘There’s a broken window round the back!’
We are doomed. Doomed.
wednesday
First thing today Wilson popped round to the Bee Hotel to
check on the woodlouse family. Their self-effacing calmness and humility is very appealing to W. However, these same qualities are annoying the earwigs and their (illegally sub-let) lodgers, who all want Wilson, as their landlord, to ‘do something about them stand-offish party-poopers downstairs.’
W again tried, unsuccessfully, to get some rent from the
earwigs, but they said they ‘aren’t paying nuffin until them hoity-toity woodlice is history.’
He then made a proposition to the woodlice, offering to evict the earwigs if they, the woodlice, would pay him rent. The father woodlouse said they would
willingly pay except they didn’t have any money -
although he kindly
offered W glass of water and a snack of rotten wood,
which is apparently a great woodlouse delicacy.
In an interesting conversation, the father
woodlouse
explained to Wilson
that they are not in fact insects but arthropods, like crabs, and directed him to a very interesting website on woodlice: http://www.earthlife.net/insects/woodcare.html
In the end, however, everyone has stayed put, and no-one has paid rent any rent.
Who’d have thought that woodlice had access to the internet, eh?
thursday
Following his meeting with the woodlouse family yesterday,
Wilson has visited the website they recommended and learned a lot of interesting stuff about woodlice.
He also came across some very disturbing information about their drinking habits, which is apparently SO rude that he refuses to tell me what it is.
He has vowed NEVER to share a cup with a woodlouse ever again, and strongly advised me to do the same.
friday
Much against my better judgement, Wilson persuaded me
to join him in reconnoitring the club premises. He climbed in
through the broken window then unlocked the rear doors to let me into the dark and deserted warehouse.
When he turned on the lights there was an alarming fizzing and crackling noise from the main switch panel, followed by a smell of burning. Eventually, though, the lights came on, flashing and flickering alarmingly.
I asked W if he was sure the lights were safe. He looked up at them for a moment before declaring, ‘Don’t worry - that’s the
light show. I’ll hand out candles to the patrons, just in case. And I’ll see if I can borrow a fire extinguisher.’
saturday
A relative of one of Wilson’s friends recently appeared
on Dragons’ Den, and received £100,000 funding for a 30% interest in his company. As soon as he heard about this W
started making plans to apply to Dragons’ Den himself — he’d
even got as far as downloading an application form from the
BBC. He told me he’d offer the Dragons a 100% share in Oddsies! for £1M, as long as he could have the money before his next birthday.
Before this got completely out of control, I suggested to W
that he download a couple of episodes of Dragons’ Den on the iPlayer to see what actually happens on the programme, as I
feared that getting money out of investors probably wasn’t as easy as it sounds.
Once he’d seen grown businessmen and women insulted
and reduced to tears by the Dragons, he said that he was reluctantly withdrawing his application.
I think that is probably for the best.