JOURNAL June 2012
tures
adven son’s
w Wil o l l o F at: com daily spot. g o l b 2. twars n a / / http:
Original photographs of Wilson used by kind permission of TamanduaGirl: www.livingwithanteaters.com
Friday Before I had a chance to object, Wilson retired to his bed in the tumble drier to think about his new plan. About an hour later I found him sitting at the iMac designing a poster. Now the garden is filled with minute placards on cocktail sticks, proclaiming: BRITAIN’S GOT ANTS! Can you dance? Sing? Juggle? Come to the stage in front of the Museum of Old Stuff on Monday and audition for a Wonderful Prize! I asked W what the prize would be, and he told me there would be a jar of flavoured sugar and the chance to appear on Simon Cowell’s Britain’s Got Ants tv show. ‘So Simon Cowell has agreed to this?’ I asked, incredulously. ‘I’m just waiting for him to return my call’ W replied, confidently. saturday Just returned from Casualty at Uckfield Hospital, where I was treated for a number of injuries caused by accidentally treading on cocktail sticks in the garden. Honestly, they’re as sharp as punji sticks! Wilson was very apologetic and, although initially telling me I should have looked where I was putting my feet, is now busily putting a tiny protective cork on the top of each spike. On the plus side, though, he says that there is a real buzz in the ant community about the Britain’s Got Ants auditions and almost wherever he looks he sees little groups of ants practicing line dancing or acrobatic tricks.
sunday Wilson and I spent the entire day in front of the tv watching the Diamond Jubilee Celebrations in London and eating red, white and blue ant-based snacks. W popped outside briefly to have his photo taken amidst the bunting he’d put up at the front of the house, then back in to the tv and the warmth of the living room. W’s only disappointment was that it was too cold and wet for the Street Party he’d planned to hold on the front garden. I have to admit, we got through quite a lot of Ant Wine, and W fell asleep during the more boring bits of the river pageant, but overall it was a great day.
monday Judgement Day! Oh, that should read Judging day! Wilson set out his tiny stage early yesterday and prepared his winners enclosure (a tiny OXO tin to be sent to Simon Cowell) and runners-up enclosure (a gigantic biscuit tin for the ants he’d eat later) and prepared to judge the acts. The ants turned up in huge numbers, and the first act was a weightlifter. His performance went on for ages (much flexing of muscles, very little actual lifting). When it finally finished Wilson shouted ‘Next!’ But nothing happened. Looking around he saw that all the hordes of ants had broken into the jar of flavoured sugar, the Grand Prize, and eaten it all! ‘That is so typical of ants’ W grumbled. ‘Untrustworthy… cheating… stealing… That so-called weightlifter was just a decoy! And he was rubbish!’ ‘Perhaps they’d heard you were going to eat the runnersup?’ I mused, but he remained very, very cross.
tuesday Big Brother started last night, and together we watched a sorry procession of no-hope nonentities attempt to outdo each other in shallowness before trooping into the cauldron that is the BB House. Wilson watched with growing dismay before eventually covering his eyes with his paw and asking, ‘Is there a Critical Mass for egos? There is clearly an excess of self-esteem in there, and in that confined space I fear there may be a exponential reaction.’ I found it difficult to disagree with him. ‘Also,’ he continued, ‘Mr Brian Dowling is starting to look a bit puffy in the face. I shall send him a jar of my ant face-pack. I’m certain he will find it beneficial.’ wednesday Calamity! Wilson has lost his stuffed toy anteater Antony! He is distraught and has looked everywhere. I’ve been looking too and I have to admit, I don’t know what could have happened to him. I’ve emailed all his friends asking if they have any ideas to please get in touch immediately.
thursday Wilson could not sleep last night for worrying about Antony. He’s out now tacking ‘Missing’ posters on all the trees in the neighbourhood. I’ve told W that I’m certain Antony is okay, and that he will come home eventually, but honestly that’s not much consolation when your favourite toy and cuddle companion is lost. W suspects that what he calls ‘Dark Forces’ may be responsible... friday Another sleepless night for Wilson, still overwrought about his missing toy Antony. Over coffee this morning he told me that he had been thinking about it all night and decided that the ants had kidnapped Antony in revenge for his cancelling the Britain’s Got Ants auditions. Now he won’t move away from the telephone in case he receives a ransom call. I don’t know about this - do ants use the telephone? I’d have thought a very tiny ransom note slipped under the door would be more likely.
saturday Antony is still not back, and without him poor Wilson remains traumatised by day and unable to sleep at night. Today W has made hundreds of tiny posters offering a ‘substantial’ reward for the safe return of Antony. He’s stuck them on cocktail sticks and put them all over the garden, as he is still convinced that the ants are behind Antony’s disappearance. This time I’d better take more care where I tread in the garden, as my feet still hurt from the last cocktailstick injuries I sustained. On the plus side, though, the lawn will not need its annual aeration treatment!
sunday Wilson has decided to try locating Antony by use of his ‘psychic powers’. One of W’s friends, Cathy, got in touch recently suggesting that I test W’s ‘gift’ to see whether it’s genuine, but I’m really not certain that encouraging him in this is the responsible thing to do. What if his ‘gift’ did turn out to be real – next thing I’d know he’d be marketing his own range of Ouija Boards and getting possessed by evil spirits. I’ve seen Most Haunted! I’ve seen Exorcism – Is It Real? on Nat Geo, and I’ve no wish to subject W to that! So, while not wanting W dabbling in the dark arts, almost anything would be preferable to his constant moping and occasional bouts of sobbing... and as Cathy suggested – what if he could do Lotto numbers...
monday First thing this morning Wilson drew a map of the entire house and grounds, so he could try to locate Antony using a Psychic Pendulum, which is apparently a ring or something tied onto a bit of cotton. Then he hurried off to the Wilson Vermilingua OBE Museum Of Old Stuff to look for the ring he thought he’d seen there. Just minutes later he called me to come to the Museum, where I found him excitedly brandishing Antony in his paws! He explained breathlessly that while looking for a ring he found Antony under some old stuff and now he thinks he might remember having left him there. To celebrate Antony’s safe return, W has claimed the ‘substantial reward’ himself. I did enquire whether he would be removing the dozens of cocktail sticks in the garden, and he said he’d try to get round to it, if he had time, after he’d finished eating the ‘substantial reward’.
Tuesday Although the rain has stopped and the sun is shining brightly – for the first time in what feels like months – Wilson has spent the day in bed with Antony. He’s had so little sleep over the last few days (W that is, not A) that I thought it would be best to let him have a day resting and cuddling his little mate. wednesday Now that Antony is safely back with Wilson, I thought things would quieten down for a little while. Not so. I’ve just found W close to tears, even though Antony was right there with him. I asked him what was wrong, and he told me he’d just learned about the plight of the Pygmy Sloth in Isla Escudo de Veraguas. Apparently, there are only about 100 of these lovely animals left and, although they are not vulnerable to natural predators, poaching and destruction of mangroves has already almost halved their numbers. The support and care of sloths in trouble is close to Wilson’s heart, and he has asked me to appeal to all his friends to sign the petition: http://tinyurl.com/cnb8mv3
THURSDAY Something very strange has happened. While Antony was missing, one of Wilson’s friends, Bob, sent him this photograph. At first W thought it was just a picture of an electricity pylon, but yesterday he looked at it under a magnifying glass… and it seems to show Antony halfway up it! Does Antony have a twin? A doppelgänger? Has he been away on a secret adventure? W has vowed to get to the bottom of this mystery. I do hope it’s not a doppelgänger – they sound well creepy... FRIDAY Wilson was up at the crack of eight o’clock to check the Queen’s Birthday Honours List to see whether Her Majesty has ‘formalised’ (as he put it) his OBE. She hasn’t. ‘Gary Barlow?!’ he ranted, ‘What has he ever done? Sing a few songs and organise a party! I can sing! I could organise a party, probably! How hard can it be?’ On the other hand, he does have a soft spot for the lovely Jenny ‘It’s my Daddy!’ Agutter. He loved her in The Railway Children. ‘Is she old enough to get an OBE though?’ he pondered. ‘She can’t be a day over twelve! But then, I myself am only five...’
SATURDAY Wilson is determined to discover the truth about what happened when Antony disappeared. To this end he has drawn the curtains to plunge the spare room into darkness and positioned an Anglepoise lamp to shine into the suspect’s eyes. He told me that he plans to use the tried-and-tested Good Cop/Bad Cop technique, and as Antony is his best friend I will have to be the Bad Cop. Then he brings little Antony into the room and places him on the ‘interrogation’ chair. ‘Have you Mirandized him?’ W asks me. ‘We don’t have the Miranda Act in this country, we just Caution suspects,’ I replied ‘Whatever,’ he replies, turning back to Antony and banging his paw on the table. ‘Okay, little guy, just tell us the truth and you won’t get hurt. Hold back, and there’ll be a lot of kapok on the floor! A lot of kapok!’ Ooh-er! If this is W being the Good Cop, what shall I have to do as the Bad Cop?
sunday I’d forgotten that today was Fathers’ Day until Wilson woke me with the traditional Fathers’ Day gift: breakfast in bed. My breakfast consisted of a bowl of W’s ‘best free-range ants’ and a cup of freshly-roasted ant coffee. Some of the ants did escape into my bed, but W has promised he’ll have cleared them out by the time I retire tonight. He also gave me a very nice manicure set. The gift card with it said, ‘Happy Father’s Day, New Dad. If you don’t like this I could use it as my claws could do with a bit of a groom. From your loving New Son, Wilson Vermilingua OBE. XXX.’ monday I didn’t sleep very well last night, as I was attacked by the remains of yesterday’s Father’s Day breakfast of free-range ants. Tuesday Today Wilson continued questioning Antony. This is pretty fruitless as Antony is exercising his right to remain silent - which is probably the best, if not the only, option for a stuffed toy. Suddenly W put his nose right in Antony’s face and snarled, ‘Are there any ants involved?’ Antony slumped and fell off the chair onto the floor, where he lay motionless. I think this is because W nudged him with his nose, but Wilson is adamant: ‘He’s fainted! That is a certain sign of guilt!’ I tried to point out that Antony was in fact the victim, not a suspect, but W has been reading too many US Police Procedurals, and there’s no stopping him now. It’s as though he’s channeling Joseph Wambaugh!
wednesday This morning I found Wilson working in the garden, preparing for his Charity Garden Open Day. ‘Hi Wilson!’ I called, ‘No more interrogation today?’ ‘No, that’s all sorted out,’ he replied casually. ‘Antony told me what happened while we were having a midnight feast in bed last night.’ ‘And?’ I asked, intrigued. ‘Oh, it was a complicated adventure involving a shortsighted owl, a crow and a family of hedge hogs who wanted to adopt him. I’m thinking of filming it. I shall call it “Antony’s Web” or “Free Antony”. Or perhaps “Anteaters on a Train”. Although there is only one anteater and he didn’t actually go on a train... but it is a good title!’ thursday Remember the two Robot kits Wilson had for his birthday? He unpacked them both this morning and spent a long time reading through the assembly instructions. He concluded that, while neither of them alone was powerful or sophisticated enough to make toy teddy bears for the Sloth Orphanage, if he combined the two kits into a single robot it might just be possible… He is envisioning a cross between Sonny in I Robot and Bender from Futurama, but says he will need to order some Lego Technics before he can really get started.
friday Antony has received a letter! I gave the letter to Wilson to pass on to Antony, but W announced that, as Antony’s guardian he had a duty of care which included vetting his mail. He slit the envelope with a claw, extracted the letter and read through it, a frown spreading across his brow. ‘It’s from the hedgehog family that wanted to adopt him, asking whether he’d reconsider,’ W announced. ‘The handwriting is appalling, and the grammar… Most unsuitable!’ W has decided not to show the letter to Antony. saturday Wilson enjoyed Oliver! so much that yesterday I took him to see Bugsy Malone. He loved it, but I had the same problem with him slipping out of his seat and climbing on to the stage to join in! After the show he met ‘Miss Julia’ the choreographer outside the theatre, and got her autograph. This makes a pleasant change: an autograph he didn’t forge to sell on-line! During the drive home he confided in me that for Christmas he might like a pair of Tap Shoes. And a striped Zoot Suit. And a gangster’s Fedora with a white band. He says his aim is to look ‘Cuddly, but Dangerous!’
sunday Building the robot is proving more difficult than Wilson anticipated. (ANT-icipated - ha ha! Did you see what I did there?!) This morning I found loads of cereal and some frozen tray meals emptied over the kitchen floor. W explained that he needed more cardboard boxes and some thin sheet aluminium for the robot. I asked whether he was intending to clear up the mess and he said he was ‘quite busy’ at the moment, but if I left everything where it was he expected the ants would take care of it. monday As a member of the Sloth family, Wilson is not especially athletic. However, he spent most of yesterday afternoon watching (ie dozing in front of) Wimbledon on the tv. He’s not greatly interested in the tennis, but he does like to see how many ‘Wilson’ baseball caps and tennis racquets he can spot! tuesday Yesterday afternoon, Wilson had a revelation, a satori insight, a light-bulb moment: the Wimbledon singles winner receives £1,000,000. He immediately ran off to the Museum of Old Stuff to look for a tennis racquet. An hour later he returned, empty-pawed and wearing a disappointed expression. ‘I couldn’t stay awake for the length of even a three-set singles match,’ he admitted. ‘I couldn’t even stay awake long enough to find a tennis racquet in the Museum. I am doomed by my genes never to win a million at Wimbledon.’ I seem to recall we went through exactly the same thing this time a year ago, so I don’t think he’ll stay downhearted for too long.
wednesday Yesterday Wilson noticed Wimbledon’s Henman Hill for the first time. He asked me why crowds of people were sitting there just watching the tennis on a big TV, when the real matches were being played only a few feet away. I explained what it was about, and he got the sort of ‘thoughtful’ look which never bodes well. This morning he announced that he was going to build a big hill in the garden and nail our plasma screen to a nearby tree. I told W that I didn’t think people would pay to sit on a hill in our garden when they could sit in the comfort of their own homes and watch the tennis. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘The beauty of the plan is that we let them in for nothing, then sell them delicious ant-based snacks and cocktails. If it rains, we sell them souvenir umbrellas. And if the tennis gets boring, we change the channel and show re-runs of Frasier or The Jeremy Kyle Show or…’ he beamed, ‘Titanic: The Film: The DVD! It will be like a drive-in. I shall call the hill Vermilingua’s Volcano!’
thursday I’ve persuaded Wilson not to build his tennis-viewing hill until next year at the earliest because it would disrupt his Charity Garden Open Day: instead of a gorgeous spectacle of flowers the garden would look like a building site. W agreed that this was a sensible idea, but hurried off to get the National Geographic magazine which arrived yesterday. There’s something in it he wants to show me. Already I fear the worst… friday Wilson has shown me an article in National Geographic about the giant Easter Island heads… and his ‘brilliant idea’ is to construct some full-size replica heads in the garden. In time for his Charity Open Day. Full size -- they’re enormous! He says he’s certain they would draw visitors from all over the country. When W first came to live with me, his brief was clear: to rid my garden of ants. No more, no less. Funny how things turn out…
saturday There have been a few complaints that my handwriting is difficult to read! I’m going to try to write more neatly, starting TOMORROW! Please let me kow what you think...
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