Theatreland — realm of tinsel and magic!

Here we are in what Wilson insists on calling 'Theatreland.'

While it's not actually Drury Lane or The Strand — it's Dartford, opposite a closed-down Waitrose supermarket — to him and little Antony it might as well be The West End, or even Broadway, so magical and glittering does it seem!

The show doesn't start for several hours yet, but Wilson wanted to arrive early in order to get a good seat. 

Our tickets are numbered and reserved, so I assume 'getting a good seat' is a euphemism for 'Going to the Bar…'

Fumigation for fun and profit...

The Vet gave the entire bee family a clean bill of health yesterday, but just to be on the safe side handed Polly and Billi a disinfectant fumigator for the hive. Apparently there's a lot of Colony Collapse Disease going round, and this should take care of it. 

The instructions said to place the fumigator inside the hive, light the fuse, close all the doors and windows and avoid breathing the fumigant smoke. 

They enlisted Wilson's help with this, as technically he is the only one old enough to use matches.

Polly moaned about the smoke, saying the entire hive would need redecorating, not just Uncle Zoltan's rooms, but Billi comforted her, saying that a bit of smoke damage was better than catching Colony Collapse Disease.

Wilson is brave at the Vet's...

The bees have an appointment at the vet's in the village, and Wilson has accompanied them to lend moral support.

Polly has explained to him that there are any number of bee diseases about and she and Billi need their annual shots for Deformed Wing Virus and Kaguo Virus, plus Johnson Ma and Johnson Mi need their first vaccinations.

The vet was unhappy giving the children injections for bee diseases since, as he pointed out, 'They're not actually bees.'

Billi fixed him with a stern glare and said, 'They are bees by adoption.' 

Polly defused what could have been an awkward moment by suggesting that perhaps they could have their ladybird inoculations as well, to which the vet, knowing when he was defeated, agreed.

Wilson, having no love of needles, observed from a distance, closing his eyes when the syringes were brought out.

Wilson starts packing...

Wilson has tickets to see Thumbelina in London at the weekend — he knows the choreographer, Miss Julia — so we can't go to Bournemouth until next week. However, he has started his holiday packing in very good time.

Antony thinks it is an encouraging sign that he's been allocated his own suitcase too, though I think he's overestimating how much packing he'll need for a few days away. 

Polly gives Wilson some mum-like advice!

Now that Wilson is aware that the highlight of a holiday in a quarry is incessant noise, explosions, rain and a view of rocks, he has agreed to stay in Bournemouth instead. 

He's asked the Bee family whether they'd like to accompany us, pointing out how much Johnson and Johnson would enjoy playing on the beaches, but Polly said they were redecorating their hive next week so couldn't spare the time. 

She says that, 'After long deliberation, and in view of the lack of bookings for the Bee Wedding Venue, we've decided to redecorate one of the bedrooms and invite Differently-Abled Uncle Zoltan to come and live with us. Now dry your paws off, dear, before you get a chill!'

A nice, long soak...

Wilson is now soaking his sore feet after the Children's Parade. (I begged him not to wear those rubber boots on such a hot day…)

He is using this time profitably, though, by questioning the sTone Bros about their childhood holidays in the quarry. 

It appears that what they used to enjoy most was the constant noise of the excavating machines and intermittent blasting, and the beautiful views of the rocks through the incessant rain.

Bournemouth it is, then — which is lucky as I've already booked the hotel.

Children's Parade!

In spite of the heat, Wilson insisted on wearing his wellingtons with the Go-Faster Flames on them when he took part in the Uckfield Arts Festival Children's Parade. 

As a result of much pleading, he also took Antony with him. 

Antony was almost beside himself with excitement, and a couple of times he had to be put in a brown paper bag for a little while to calm him down. 

sTones on holiday

Wilson is very excited about the Uckfield Arts Festival Children's Parade this afternoon! 

The High Street is closed to traffic for a couple of hours while all the local children march through the village in fancy dress.

The sun is shining and everything looks set fair for the event.

Several people have asked whether it would be possible to have a better look at the photograph of the sTone Brothers on holiday as children, so here is a nice close-up of it.

The sTones holiday memories...

I've been really looking forward to a few days away in Bournemouth… but Wilson has been talking to the sTone brothers, and they've told him that the best place for a holiday is where their parents used to take them when they were little. 

Which is a quarry in the Midlands.

They've even lent him a treasured photograph of one of their childhood holidays there, of which, they say, they have such wonderful, golden memories.

Ideal holiday destination

Wilson has been discussing possible holiday destinations with the bees, and they've told him that Bournemouth is very lovely at this time of year. They often fly down there for a few days, apparently.

This is a huge relief to me, as I'd been afraid W would come up with somewhere exotic or expensive like a private island or Saint Tropez...

We're all going on a Summer Holiday!

I found Wilson this morning eating his breakfast while watching Larva with Antony and Johnson Major. I don't really approve of watching tv during mealtimes, especially Larva which is a really weird Korean cartoon about, well, larvae, but he and Johnson both love it.

Anyway, I put my idea of a short holiday to him and he thought for a moment.  

'Bookings for the Bee Wedding Venue have been disappointingly low, and the Mk2 WASTE Clock business is under control, so I think I could spare a few weeks for a holiday.'

I had been thinking more of a few days rather than weeks, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Anyway, he said he'd do some research and get back to me. 

Perhaps I should have just told him where we were going and not given him any choice…

Sleepy head...

Following the excitement of yesterday, Wilson is still asleep in bed. 

I had such a lovely birthday this year that I feel a bit guilty that W barely celebrated his at all, even though that was by his own choice. 

So as soon as he wakes up I'm going to suggest we go away on holiday for a few days.

Formal dining

I was seated with Wilson, Polly and Billi while Diesel shared a table with the sTone Brothers. 

The children had a table to themselves, and I wondered whether leaving them unsupervised was altogether wise. However, when they started messing about — bread-stick sword fighting, throwing paper aeroplanes and so on — Billi was able to quell it with a stern stare and a single raised eyebrow; impressive parenting skills, I thought!

The main course and the desserts were delicious, and W licked his plate clean. Also several other people's plates. Some of them had finished eating.

On the journey home we all sang the most carefree and joyous version of that melancholy favourite Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now I have ever heard, but by the time we eventually arrived back at the house everyone was sound asleep and I had to carry them all — including Wilson — inside and put them to bed.

This has been a brilliant birthday!

Are we there yet?

Following the picnic in the garden, the bees tidied away the leftover food while the children played tennis and argued about who would be Andy Murray ('You be Andy Murray!' 'No, YOU be Andy Murray!'). Wilson sang his Birthday Blues several more times, interspersed with a selection of Leonard Cohen and The Smiths songs. 

After a couple of hours he consulted the Mk2 WASTE clock and told everyone that it was time to get into the car for another surprise. When everyone was safely in he directed me to the Mystery Destination.

The distance was not great, but it took several hours to get there due to the difficulty of cornering with a goldfish in a bowl balanced on the back seat; the children's constant chorus of 'Are We There Yet?' made it seem even further.

But eventually — much to Diesel's relief — we turned into a car park and W announced that we had arrived!

Happy Birthday!

My birthday was brilliant! So brilliant that I didn't have time to blog about it yesterday, so here's what went down…

Wilson gave me my birthday present, which was the first prototype model of his Mk2 WASTE clock — he says that as the first prototype it will one day be hugely valuable and probably appear on the Antiques Road Show. 

Then he took me into the garden where everyone had prepared a picnic lunch! 

Before we started eating, he perched on the picnic hamper and sang me a song he had written specially for my birthday. It's called New Dad's Birthday Blues:

     My New Dad woke this morning

          Another year nearer the grave

     Yes, he woke up this morning

          A whole year nearer the grave 

     Ain't nothing he can do 'bout it,

          He's gonna have to be brave!

Unexpected item in bagging area

Wilson phoned me from the village to ask whether I could collect him from Tesco and drive him home with his shopping. He said he was still in the supermarket but would be ready to go by the time I arrived.

As I entered the store the first thing I saw was W having words with one of the self-service checkouts.  

'There'll be a VERY unexpected item in your bagging area in a minute!' he hissed at it, menacingly. 

Buffet?

I see we shall be having crisps, too. Cheese, olives and crisps.

Perhaps it's to be a buffet meal?

Food shopping

Wilson is in the village buying ingredients for the birthday dinner he plans to cook for me.

I can see from this photo that olives and cheese will be involved. 

This is good, as I like olives and cheese, especially a nice piece of Brie or Camembert; Pont l'Evenque or Stinking Bishop, not so much.

He usually spends altogether too long at the cheese counter, availing himself of the little free samples on cocktail sticks and trying to persuade the Cheese Department Manageress to stock cheese-with-ants, which is a Costa Rican delicacy. 

Allegedly. 

Wilson's question is answered!

When I came down to breakfast this morning, Wilson was waiting to tell me that one of his Twitter friends in Australia, Dr Mel (@Dr_Mel_Thompson) is a Medical Researcher and had answered his question about why towels get dirty.

Apparently, the dirt on used towels is made of dead skin and microbes! I had no idea! Nor, of course, had W who has vowed to start giving towels a boil wash next laundry day because 'Microbes are well yucky, and so is dead skin — eeeeeuw!' 

His alternative, labour-saving suggestion — that after I wash I just 'Shake yourself about a bit and drip dry, New Dad' — I rejected out of hand. 

Dr Mel is clearly a good influence, though, as W has promised that he will start washing his paws every week and before cooking. 

I hope he's not making himself a nuisance with her and stopping her from doing vital research — I'll have a word with him later. 

In the meantime he's popped into the village to buy the ingredients for the 'phenomenally wondrous' dinner he's going to cook for my birthday on Friday. 

I hope not too many ants are involved…

One of life's imponderables...

Sometimes Wilson takes my by surprise with a deceptively simple question which I can't readily answer. This morning he asked me:

'New Dad, why do towels get dirty? They're only used to dry the clean water that's left on you after you've washed or showered, so they should just stay clean.'

He's right, isn't he?