This morning Wilson had briefly popped round to Harlands Farm Pond to visit the ducks, when he came across some worrying new signs erected by the Council.
They say that Anteaters are to be 'Kept on a lead if requested' and exhort people to be 'Responsible anteater owners.'
I can't help thinking this is directed at me! Wilson is – as far as I know – the only anteater in the village; ergo, I am the only anteater owner.
Wilson was quite upset by the signs, but as I tried to comfort him it gradually emerged that what was troubling him was not the idea of being put on a lead so much as the concept that anteaters could be OWNED.
'Am I not a Free Anteater?' he asked, 'In the Immortal Words of Lieutenant Commander Data of the USS Enterprise, 'If you tickle me, do I not laugh? If you prick me, do I not... leak?'
In a desperate effort to lighten the moment, I tickled him.
He did, indeed, laugh, but there was a sadness in his eyes...
I thought it best, for the time being at least, not to prick him!
Uckfield Bees have played their first match!
They challenged a bunch of woodlice they found living in Wilson's Asteroid Shelter — and WON! Wilson refereed, but insists that was not the reason for the Bees' victory.
This is probably true, because (a) he doesn't understand any of the rules of football, and (b) he spent the entire match constantly blowing his Referee's Whistle — and after a few minutes everyone just ignored him.
Moreover, the woodlice had even less understanding of the game and its rules than Wilson, and couldn't kick very well*.
Immediately following the Final Whistle a celebration Victory Party ensued, in which much Waggle Dance Beer was consumed.
They're all sleeping it off now, but I predict a lot of headaches tomorrow.
Even while sleeping, Wilson won't relinquish his Referee's Whistle — it's still in his mouth, making a gentle wheezing sound as he breathes in and out...
___________
* they couldn't kick at all, actually, due to their very tiny legs
The Bees have somehow obtained a tiny little White Lining Machine to mark out their football pitch.
They're busy putting down lines in what they hope are the right places, while Mole calls out the measurements they're working to.
Against all my expectations, they're making a pretty good job of it.
I had no idea such minute implements were even a thing, but I guess it just goes to show that you can get almost anything you want from eBay – if you look hard enough!
When I tried to mow the lawn so the bees could mark out their footy field, I found that the lawn mower wouldn't start.
Closer examination revealed Antony sitting in the battery compartment, pretending he was driving a Formula 1 racing car, while Dave the Pig attempted to carry out a wheel change...
Wilson asked me to save some of the grass cuttings, telling me that I was overlooking a 'valuable cash crop.' He's going to try making Grass Jam and Grass Marmalade.
I hope he puts enough ants in it to take away the taste of grass.
And weedkiller.
In spite of Wilson's recent exhortations against football, today he is mowing the lawn at the request of The Bees.
This is because they have a 'Big Match' soon, and they need to mark out their football pitch in good time.
W is making quite heavy weather of the mowing — and I can sort of see his point of view: he's not tall enough to reach the handle of the mower.
I expect that means I shall be doing it myself, as soon as I've had my morning coffee...
