JOURNAL March 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
Now that I’m using these beautiful new Journals that Wilson gave me for Xmas, I’m trying really hard to write more neatly…
saturday
Wilson is still waiting to hear from the Vatican about his job
application, and now he’s realised that not only is Red Nose Day only a couple of weeks away, National Ant Day is next Monday!
He’s training for both events simultaneously… by sleeping a lot and wearing his red nose. He’s given me strict instructions that if the Vatican should Skype him I’m to wake him and
ensure that he removes his red nose before speaking to the
Cardinals. He thinks that even though it’s for charity, talking to a prospective employer while wearing what he describes as a comedic prosthetic hooter might seem disrespectful.
He’s probably right. I’ve never seen any Pope wearing a red nose.
sunday
This morning I found Wilson in the kitchen preparing for
National Ant Day tomorrow. He has assembled the necessities
- a jam jar and a gold crown - ready for our expedition to the woods in search of the first ants of the year.
I hope it’s warmer than last years National Ant Day, when W didn’t find a single ant and we were both chilled to the bone. To be on the safe side, I plan to take a live ant with us and
release it while W’s not looking, but somewhere he can’t fail to see it.
monday
We are now in the woods hunting for ants. Actually, a single ant would do - it’s cold but sunny, so Wilson has high hopes of finding at least one.
He explained to me that the ‘National’ in National Ant Day refers to Costa Rica, where it’s much warmer by now.
W thinks his nose has been upset by wearing his plastic Red Nose, so he can’t properly detect the ants’ characteristic aroma of formalin.
If all else fails, I have an ant in my pocket which I will secretly release later.
tuesday
Wilson searched diligently all day yesterday, hoping to find at least one ant… and eventually he did!
He must NEVER find out that it was the emergency ant I took with me. As darkness began to fall I released it near
to where W was searching. After several minutes of him not noticing it, I eventually pointed to it and said, ‘Hey, what’s that?’
At first he couldn’t see it, but at long last his vigilance was rewarded.
‘Ant! Ant!’ he cried, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice after so much fruitless searching. ‘I am the Ant King!’
Accordingly, this morning he paraded through Uckfield Town
Centre wearing his Ant King’s crown and triumphantly displaying the ant in a jam jar, before a frankly disappointing turn-out
of admirers. Actually, there was just me and a school crossing patrol lady. ‘In Costa Rica, the
streets would have thronged with cheering crowds,’
he told me. ‘There,
National Ant Day is bigger than Easter, but here…
no-one cares. However I am not
downhearted,
for I am Ant King 2013! A righteous victory is mine!’
wednesday
Still no news about the new Pope. I know Wilson is hoping to
use the popemobile for coffee deliveries around Vatican City - Italy being, after all, the home of fine coffee, and a Papal endorsement would surely increase sales.
He’s also mentioned that, once elected, he hopes to start
a coffee export business, franchising his proposed Pope Joe coffee brand throughout the Roman Catholic empire.
He’s so confident that he’s already designed the new coffee
cups… but I think getting elected might be more difficult than W imagines.
thursday
‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ is one of Wilson’s all-time
favourite songs - I often hear him belting it out in the bathroom while he’s pretending to take a shower - so you can imagine how stoked he is to learn that Bonnie Tyler has been confirmed to sing our entry in the Eurovision Song Contest!
‘We’ll be a shoe-in, New Dad!’ he exclaimed, brandishing one of
his notorious forged autographed photos. ‘La Grande-Bretagne, vingt points!’
I hope he’s right. My only concern is that our entry doesn’t
have a key change. Well, that and the rest of Europe hating us!
friday
Wilson, in spite of several reminders from me, had forgotten
that it’s Mothers’ Day this Sunday! He’s been in a frenzy of
creativity since first thing this morning, so he can catch the last mail collection this afternoon.
Unfailingly addressing her as ‘Mrs Vermilingua’ Wilson has a strangely formal relationship with his mum.
saturday
Wilson is still pumped
about winning the Ant King title for the second year
running, but he’s also being quite thoughtful about something.
He has brought me out
for a drink as he wants
to tell me something… and if he has to soften me up
with alcohol it can only be
something I’m not going to like…
sunday
Wilson took me to our local, bought me a drink then sat opposite me looking awkward. He asked me several times whether
my beer was alright, before finally taking a deep breath and blurting out his news.
‘New Dad, I don’t want to go to Worthing for our holiday!’ I raised my eyebrows quizzically, and he continued.
‘I know you’re heart is set on a Worthing holiday, but I’ve found somewhere even better! I hope you’re not too disappointed.’
I can’t say I’m anything other than relieved, but I tried to arrange my face into an appropriate expression of despondency.
It now remains only to see where W thinks is better than Worthing. It’s a pretty long list, I would imagine!
monday
Wilson reached nervously under the table and produced a holiday brochure for… Jersey!
‘Look, New Dad, I know it’s not Worthing,’ he gushed, ‘but
it does look quite nice. It hasn’t got a pier, but it does have
beaches and car parks and nearly everything else that Worthing has, and we can arrive in style by boat or plane!’ ‘What changed
your mind then?’ I asked.
A smile broke
over his face as
he told me, ‘It’s got tunnels! I
LOVE tunnels!’
tuesday
Today is mild with a blue, cloudless sky… but Wilson’s mood is far from sunny.
He’d been watching ChimneyCam on Sky News last night when suddenly the screen filled with white smoke. From then on his
eyes were glued to images of the Vatican balcony, waiting for the the red curtains to be rent asunder and the name of the new Pope announced. After much delay a cardinal appeared and proclaimed the name… and it was not Wilson’s.
W stormed up and down, saying ‘This is nepotism gone mad!
Every Catholic male in the world was eligible, and they choose one of their own! Even Bono’s name was shortlisted. BONO!’ I tried to sooth him with a glass of Ant Wine (or Communion
Ant Wine, as he’s been calling it lately) but he was not to be
placated, complaining ‘They say this is the first Latin American Pope - is my own country, Costa Rica, not Latin American enough for them?’
As he finally climbed into the tumble dryer for the night, he
was still moaning. ‘I would have been rich, what with the Papal Coffee concession and selling Indulgences!’
Perhaps, I reflected to myself, that is why Wilson was not elected: the fact that he saw the Papacy
ONLY as a business opportunity.
Not that I would
condemn him for that - he’s ambitious and
young, too young to be concerned with superstition and
religion. Also, the
skull-cap would have interfered with his ears.
wednesday
Cathy, one of Wilson’s friends, has been in touch to say that
Jersey is fabulous, and frankly a lot nicer than Worthing, so W is now sure that he’s made the right decision. I just hope he doesn’t change his mind again, as I’m quite excited.
He’s getting over the disappointing result of the Papal race.
My own opinion, fwiw, is that he’s well out of it, and I think he’s beginning to see that there would have been a downside to his election.
This morning’s post brought a photo of Wilson’s baby
sister, Laura, from his mum. Hasn’t she grown?!
W was a bit miffed that
she’s not wearing the scarf
he knitted for her, but as I pointed out, she is indoors.
thursday
Leafing through the Jersey holiday brochures, I noticed how very near The Channel Islands are to France, so I asked
Wilson whether he fancied a day trip to Granville or St Malo. Since, as he has repeatedly pointed out, I don’t speak French, I thought he might like to be my official translator.
W’s face fell, and his eyes darted around shiftily. ‘I, er, don’t
think we’ll be in Jersey long enough to visit France!’ he blurted out. ‘There’s so much to do in English-speaking Jersey that I don’t think we’ll need to go further afield…’
friday
Over coffee this morning, Wilson casually asked, ‘New Dad, what made you think I could speak French?’
‘Well, it probably because you told me you could. When you
first came to live here, you were constantly reminding me that, unlike you, I could read Beaudelaire only in English translation.’ ‘Did I actually say I could speak French?’
I considered for a few moments, and had to concede that he had probably not said so in as many words.
‘When I first arrived here, your life seemed impossibly
sophisticated,’ he said. ‘You had a water cooler and a computer, while I was a simple anteater from the country. You made
me nervous. I may have inflated my abilities a little. I can’t
even speak Spanish, the language of my home country, since I was in fact born at the zoo in Sussex, and my mum,
Mrs Vermilingua,
preferred all her children to speak English.’
I nodded, and he continued, ‘I can
swear in Spanish,
a little. One of my
stepfathers taught me!’
‘If it ever proves
necessary to swear in Spanish, I shall know where to
come!’ I told him.
saturday
Yesterday was Red Nose Day, and Wilson insisted on keeping his Red Nose on all day, in spite of it pinching and being quite uncomfortable.
He even wore it to bed last night. What a trooper! He says that his friends should text ‘YES’ to
70010 to give £10. Antony said that his Red Nose
hurt too, but W just told him he
was being a baby…
sunday
Having hurt his nose by wearing an ill-fitting (or ‘dangerously ill-designed’, as he describes it) Red Nose during Red Nose
Day, Wilson has spent the morning soaking his poorly sniffer in a pot of Clarke’s Miraculous Salve, a foul-smelling unguent which his mother, Mrs Vermilingua, used to use on all her children’s nasal injuries.
I have my own theory, which is that the cream smells so bad that one’s mind will be distracted from the original injury, but I’ll be keeping that opinion to myself.
W looks very sorry for himself, but keeps muttering, ‘It was all for a worthwhile charity!’
Monday
Google has a lot to answer for: while researching our Jersey
holiday, Wilson has come across some disturbing news — another asteroid is due to strike (ie miss) Earth on Friday April 13th 2029. It’s called 99942 Apophis.
W has calculated that he will be 21 years old by then, so he doesn’t intend to rush into digging a bunker in the garden like last time. Instead, he envisions a large underground
structure consisting of several rooms, topped by a stone folly. Unlike his previous shelter, he assures me that the new underground asteroid refuge will be large enough to
accommodate himself plus Antony and Antony’s small toy anteater.
‘And you, New Dad!’ he added as an afterthought. Well, that’s nice to know.
Right now he’s in the garden, surveying.
tuesday
Never being one to waste time, Wilson ordered his Garden
Folly on-line last night, and took delivery of it this morning. He declined to tell me how much extra overnight delivery cost.
W intends that the Folly will attractively conceal the entrance to his underground bunker.
Here you see him trying to persuade the driver to unload the folly for him.
wednesday
Wilson has confided in me that the task he has taken on is a lot more challenging than he had anticipated:
‘The advert said “some assembly required” - I thought that meant I’d need to borrow a screwdriver…’
We both regarded the massive pile of stone blocks stacked before us… and the completely incomprehensible assembly instructions.
thursday
With the overnight news of a major Asteroid strike (ie very
near miss) in the US, Wilson has been driven into a frenzy of activity constructing his asteroid shelter.
I would have thought the most important part of a shelter was the underground, protective part, but W is starting with the Folly which is to adorn the entrance.
I have to admit, he’s making good progress.
friday
Construction of the Folly/Bunker continues apace. Wilson is very anxious to stay on schedule, so last night he advanced all the clocks in the house by one hour. When I
protested at the unexpectedly early start, he pointed out
that British Summer Time would begin in a week anyway, and that now I had a week to get used to it.
D’oh, he’s always got a reasonable answer for everything!
saturday
Work has come to a standstill today after Antony realised he’d lost his miniature toy anteater. Wilson’s friend Jan noticed that the tiny toy appeared to be missing, and when Wilson
questioned Antony he said that it was safe under his little hard hat - before realising that his hat was missing too!
Everyone is crawling round the garden performing what
Wilson calls a Fingertip Search. I asked him if we couldn’t just have a ‘good look,’ but he replied, ‘You know my methods, New Dad!’ adding, ‘The Game’s Afoot! Did you bring your service revolver? I fear we may have need of it!’
sunday
Several hours of intense searching eventually revealed both Antony’s helmet and his minuscule toy anteater concealed under W’s hard hat.
‘This just goes to show how important Health and Safety is on a busy building site!’ Wilson announced. ‘From now on, wearing of hard hats at all times is compulsory on-site.’
monday
Work on the folly/asteroid shelter has stopped! Antony says that his helmet is too hot and also that it hurts his head, so is
refusing to wear it. Wilson says that it’s too dangerous NOT to wear a helmet, and they have reached an impasse.
tuesday
Still no work is getting done! Wilson has stopped wearing his
builder’s helmet, saying that it hurts his head, and also it keeps falling off.
At present it’s just a lot of arguing, but I fear it could escalate into industrial action! wednesday
I heard Wilson in the garden this morning shouting ‘¡Ay, caramba!’
I went out to see what was the matter and found he and Antony arguing because Antony was refusing to wear his helmet.
Wilson had also decided that his helmet was uncomfy (and also
kept falling off his head) so had decided not to wear it, while still insisting that Antony must wear his.
Antony said that this was unfair, while W insisted it SO was fair because HE was in charge.
thursday
Wilson and Antony had clearly reached an impasse, so I
suggested that Antony and his toy should move off the building
site and watch from a safe distance. All parties have grudgingly agreed to this compromise, since when work has continued apace.
Antony, meanwhile, has popped his helmet on his toy anteater’s head, and they are now arguing between themselves, while Wilson ignores them both.
friday
What Wilson describes as Phase One of the Folly is completed,
and in time for Easter! It’s quite a bit larger than I’d imagined - in fact, it completely overpowers the garden - but he has made a very nice job of it.
He rather spoiled it, though when he turned up carrying the
dreadful and scary sTony, who he intends incorporating into
the wall; Antony started crying when sTony appeared, but W is very attached to him.
I’m also a bit concerned that W won’t tell me what Phase Two is, or whether there are even more phases to follow...
saturday
Wilson has popped in to the village to buy himself an Easter
Bonnet, while I hide the eggs for tomorrow’s Easter Egg Hunt.
W’s excitement about the Egg Hunt is equalled only by his anticipation of tonight’s Dr Who! This being the 50th
Anniversary series he thinks it might be extra scary, so he’s
built himself a little nest behind the sofa to enable him to watch it from a safe distance…
Sunday
British Summer Time started this morning! Unfortunately
Wilson forgot that he’d put all the clocks forward by an hour last weekend, and did so again last night... with the result that it was barely light when he started his Easter Egg Hunt this morning.
I’m not certain about his Easter Bonnet, but he chose it himself.
Now he’s settling down in front of the tv in preparation for the University Boat Race this afternoon. It’s a busy day for him!