He went to see The Bees to ask whether he could borrow their Honey Pot, then rooted around in his tumble dryer until he located a (rather faded and torn) purple tissue-paper crown from a Xmas Cracker, grabbed his UltraBrite Military Grade Torch [flashlight] and we trudged out into the garden.
'The ants are probably all asleep by now!' he complained, 'And to be quite fair, it probably doesn't help that there's no grass. Ants like grass…'
It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I like grass too, but this didn't seem like the right time.
After an hour or so of unsuccessful hunting, I took a small toy ant out of my pocket and flicked it into the torch beam.
'Ah! There's one!' Wilson exclaimed, running over to pick it up.
As he examined it in the torchlight, he said, 'Oh, hang on – this ant doesn't look rea…'
He shrugged in a resigned sort of way, and declared philosophically, 'Well, never mind. Needs must, I suppose…'
Popping the 'ant' into his borrowed honey pot he picked up his paper crown without bothering to put it on, and we walked slowly back into the house.
Once he was seated with a mug of Hot Chocolate with Marshmallows and Extra Ants, Wilson told me, 'This was the Worst Ant Hunt EVER!'
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