Daylight Saving

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 start in seven days anyway, and that now I had a week to get used to it. 

D'oh, he's always got a reasonable answer for everything!

Progress is made...

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.

Some Assembly Required...

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.

Wilson's delivery arrives!

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. 

Wilson's disturbing discovery

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. 

Wilson can swear in Spanish!

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.

An unexpected reaction

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…'

Wilson is injured

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 saying, 'It was all for a worthwhile charity!'

Red Nose Day

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…

Wilson is reassured he's made the right decision

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.

NEPOTISM!

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.

Wilson reveals our new destination!

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's got beaches and car parks and nearly everything else that Worthing has, and we can arrive in style by air or sea!'

'What changed your mind then?' I asked.

A smile broke over his face as he told me, 'It's got tunnels! I love tunnels!'

Wilson gives it to me straight!

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!

Bad news?

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…

Mothers' Day

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.

Total Eclipse...

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!

Pope Joe's

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.

The Ant King is Crowned!

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!'

The Big Day dawns...

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. 

Preparing for the Big Day!

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 year's 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.