Kidnapped!

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.

MISSING!

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...

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.

If you have any ideas, please get in touch!

Big Brother 2012

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.'

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 runners-up?' I mused, but he remained very, very cross.

Jubilee Day!

Wilson and I spent the entire day in front of the tv watching the 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. 

Ant-related injuries...

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.

Advance publicity

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.

_______________________________________________________

What was Wilson Vermilingua OBE doing last month? Have you missed anything? I've just uploaded the fifth monthly volume of Ant Wars II: MAY 2012. 

This edition contains all the news about his Birthday!

Please tell all your friends, as it is Wilson's stated ambition for his life story to, as he puts it, "Spread like a Very Infectious Thing!". 

I think he means 'Go Viral'.

You can download it or read it online at:

http://issuu.com/friendlydragon/docs/ant_wars_may_2012

Ambitious new plan

I mentioned the Ant Problem to Wilson last night. He apologised for the 45 minute delay in rescuing me from the ants and offered to rub on some of the antihistamine cream I got from my doctor following the attack. He did giggle over the word ant-ihistamine, though, which I thought rather devalued his apology.

This morning, though, he outlined his ambitious new plan to rid the garden of ants: Britain's Got Ants - a talent show for ants. 

He proposes to put up tiny posters all over the garden advertising the event, then hold auditions on a miniature stage he'll set up near the Museum of Old Stuff. 'The most talented ants' he explained, 'will be put in a box and sent off to Simon Cowell.' 

I asked whether Simon Cowell knew about this, or whether receiving a box of live ants through the post would come as a surprise to him. 'I'll give him a call in a minute to arrange a contract and royalties,' W replied. 

So much for the talented ants, but what about the inept, dumb ants? 

'Oh I'll eat those, naturally!' W assured me. 

I am attacked...

Wilson is very busy in the shed preparing the Wilson Vermilingua OBE Museum Of Old Stuff, so it has been left to me to work in the garden removing the weeds that have sprung up while we were away in Devon.

I was getting on with this when I was cruelly subjected to an almost unprovoked attack by thousands of ants, crawling all over me and stinging quite painfully. I called out to W to come immediately to my aid. He called back, 'I'm a bit busy at the moment - try to save some for me'. 

I shall have to try to find a tactful way of reminding him why he came to live with me in the first place.

Cream Tea is served

As promised, Wilson has just served up a Traditional Devonshire Clotted Cream Tea With Ant Jam, made to his mum Mrs Vermilingua's secret recipe. He said that it was her 'signature dish'.

However, I've just seen how the Ant Jam is made: W stands an open pot of strawberry jam in the middle of the lawn and waits until some ants discover it. Once thousands of ants have crowded into the jar, he screws the lid on and shakes it vigorously until it stops moving about on its own. 

W was so proud of his jam that I felt I had to eat a little of it… but I think he might suspect I didn't enjoy it quite as much as I said I did. Maybe my body language gave me away.

Home again...

We've just arrived back home from Devon. Wilson was very sad to leave, though I have to admit I'll be happy to sleep in my own bed tonight. 

We brought a lot of clotted cream and scones home with us, and W has promised to make his speciality Devonshire Clotted Cream Tea With Ant Jam tomorrow. 

Eurovision Song Contest

Last night we watched Eurovision on the communal tv in the hotel lounge. Surprisingly, we were the only people watching it.

Wilson held his head in his paws through most of Englebert's performance, then came out strongly for Romania, declaring it a shoe-in… though he did think the Russian Grannies were quite funny.

By the time the voting started he was fuming about Eastern Bloc countries voting for each other... but I suppose that's the thing about a bloc. 

He was truly shocked when Sweden won, as he was still sure Romania could pull back almost until the last minute. Also, he wants a hat like the Danish singer wore. 

Whatever, we've had a lovely time in Devon, but tomorrow we must head for home.

W's endurance diet

Wow - Wilson certainly knows how to holiday! We've packed a fortnight's activities into just a few days and I'm exhausted; W, on the other hand, fortified by frequent naps and a diet consisting almost exclusively of ants and ice cream, is as fresh as a daisy.

Tonight we'll be watching the Eurovision Song Contest (W has drawn up his complex score-card and brought it with him) then it will be time to return home…

He's got the moves like Gulliver...

We've just got back to the hotel after visiting Kent's Cavern, then on to the Model Village in nearby Babbacombe. 

Wilson was a bit apprehensive in the dark caves, keeping very close to me throughout the tour, but he really loved the model village. He went round pretending to be a giant, and I had quite a hard time keeping him off the grass.

Trains and boats...

Yesterday we journeyed from Paignton to Kingswear by steam train. In the photo you can see that W bagged pole position in the Observation Car, hoping to pretend to drive the train. The train pulled out backwards, so he just pretended to reverse it all the way to Kingswear!

Then on to Dartmouth via passenger ferry. Wilson is a nervous sailor (his New Year Resolution about learning to swim still being unfulfilled) and insisted on donning a life jacket before he'd even set foot on the gangplank. 

Mixed fortunes...

Inevitably, we ended up in an amusement arcade. 

As well as the modern video games and penny-pushers, there were some vintage machines, and I had a reading by a mechanical fortune-teller. A little card popped out telling me that I was well balanced, happy-go-lucky and popular wherever I go. 

I was very pleased with this but Wilson, being a bit of an expert on the psychic readings game, was sceptical of the result, telling me that there were basic errors in the Cold Reading algorithms of the machine, and that one only had to look at me to see that I was a born worrier and I'd never be popular wherever I went. 'I'm sorry, New Dad, but sometimes I have to be cruel to be kind!'

W had a go himself, and his card said that he was cute, cuddly and loveable, enthusiastic and shrewd, a born leader and businessman. He told me that this was a fair and unbiased assessment of his character, and maybe the machine had started working properly by the time he put his 20p in. 

On the way out, W complained to the lady in the Change Kiosk that the instructions on the Automatic Palmistry machine should be changed to read "Hold hand or paw firmly down…" She narrowed her eyes and told W, 'Dogs aren't allowed in the arcade.'

That one, please!

As soon as he had woken and recovered from his nap, Wilson and I headed into Torquay for some Fine Dining. After the long journey I thought a light meal would be best, but W insisted that ice cream was the preeminent antidote for travel fatigue. 

At the first ice cream parlour we came to, W showed me which one he'd like.

Arrival

Here you see us arriving at our hotel. We have a lovely room, and there is a large garden where guests can sit in the evening with a drink. Wilson assures me that this has great ant potential. 

After W has had a brief nap we're heading off to paint Torquay red!

Devon, Glorious Devon

The next morning we set off early for phase two of Wilson's Birthday Treat - a holiday in Devon! 

The weather wasn't great, and it was a long drive. W slept for much of the journey, but I did hear quite a lot of the phrase every parent dreads: 'Are We There Yet?'