Philae enters Idle Mode

Wilson is still in his 'Comet Lander', which has now entered 'Idle Mode' due to low battery power.

This is a pretty boring mode, apparently, so as you can see he's made a couple of brief EVAs to the living room to watch tv. 

A typical communication with Philae goes: 

Philae: 'Philae Lander to Ground Control! Conditions are Nominal! Please send more Supplies, and don't forget the napkins this time. Over!'

Ground Control: '     '

Philae: 'Hello? Hello? Ground Control, come in! POLLY!! BILLI!! I'm hungry!!' 

During his sojourn 'in space' he has been keeping himself amused by watching the live feed of the Comet Lander on his iPad and practicing on his kazoo, but due to the critical battery situation only the kazoo remains…

Houston, we have a problem

Wilson has converted his bedroom into Philae, the Rosetta Comet Lander. 

He's sitting inside it wearing his Space Suit (dressing gown) with his microscope, communicating by email (or by shouting, if nobody replies) requesting supplies of Astronaut Food (Ant Juice and Cheesy Wotsits) be brought to him by the Space Drones (Polly and Billi). 

He's been in there all day apart from a brief trip back to Earth (so he could watch his hero Adam Ant on Loose Women this afternoon) then returned to 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko saying he had to adjust his solar panels before nightfall so his batteries don't fail. 

I think he's worried about his iPad running out of power before bedtime…

Rosetta Mission

First thing this morning Wilson popped into the village to buy himself a kazoo from the toy shop, so he can accompany himself while playing the spoons during the birth of Ms Rowena's baby. This is going to be quite some performance — I wouldn't miss it for the world! 

As soon as he returned he was glued to the tv, watching coverage of the Philae Lander on the Rosetta Mission — he is as excited by this as I was by the Apollo Moon Mission in the '60s! 

Commentators keep saying that Philae is 'the size of a washing machine' so Wilson plans to convert his tumble-dryer into a make-believe Comet Lander as soon as he's finished watching the tv coverage.

We're All Going on a Winter Holiday. Apparently.

This is about this time of year when Wilson usually considers hibernating. Hibernation is not natural for tamanduas, but he often gives it a try so as to miss the worst (ie most boring bit) of the winter.

However, he told me he won't be attempting hibernation this year because he's so excited about our Winter Holiday.

I'm obviously not going to wriggle out of this, so I'd better help him choose where we'll go.

When I say 'help him choose' I mean, of course, 'help him choose somewhere not too expensive!'

And I'd better do it before he starts ordering himself ski goggles on-line…

OCD

It's ironic that, since Wilson's WASTE* clocks were designed to save time by not requiring adjustment for Daylight Saving, he spends so much time adjusting them — he just can't rest unless both clocks show EXACTLY the same time, down to the second, and is constantly in the hall fine-tuning them. 

Things are made more difficult for him by not knowing which, if either, one is precisely correct!

Perhaps OCD what happens when you are delivered with Metallica as your Birthing Music. 

And also your Conceiving Music, apparently...

_____________________________________
*Winter And Summer Timekeeping Equipment

Wilson explains the mystery

As we drove home Wilson explained that the message on the Polaroid had actually been written by Ms Jenny, to Colin's dictation. As many of W's friends had suggested.

'People may say I'm paranoid,' he continued, 'but once someone said that Colin was being used as a dishcloth, I just had to see for myself that he was safe! I didn't mention the 'dishcloth' thing to him, though — there's no sense in worrying him unnecessarily.'

We drove in silence for a few minutes before he added, 'Say what you like, though — that child is not eating enough ants! Tomorrow I'll see what I can spare and I might put a food parcel together…'

Wilson learns Colin's fate...

Wilson whispered to me that he was going to take the bull by the horns and find out once-and-for-all what had happened to Colin. Before I could react, he coughed and said, 'Excuse me, Ms Jenny, but where's Colin?'

'Oh, he's upstairs in the nursery playing with his friends!' she replied. 'I'll go and get him — he'll be so pleased to see you!'

A moment later she returned with Colin the putative camel and handed him to Wilson, who said, 'I just need a word with him in private!' and left the room. 

After a few minutes they returned, with W visibly more relaxed.

He came over to me and whispered into my ear, 'Everything is okay! I'll explain on the drive home.'

Then he handed Colin to Baby William, observing, 'Baby William has very nice slippers! They remind me of my Wellington boots that look like fire engines!' 

Ms Jenny asked W whether he'd like to hold Baby William, and before he could object the baby was laid in his lap.

'Oh!' W exclaimed. 'Oh my!' Then after a short pause, 'Baby William appears to have been a bit sick on me!'

Wilson goes in search of Colin...

Today, as promised, we drove up to London — ostensibly to see Baby William, but principally so that Wilson could check that Colin the Knitted Camel wasn't being held there against his will.

On the drive up W accompanied everything that came on the radio — including the news bulletins — with his spoons, but although I had tried to reassure him I could tell by his playing that he was very tense. The constant unmusical tapping made me pretty tense too, but I said nothing.

Before leaving the car I made him promise not to steam in accusing anyone of kidnapping Colin, and he reluctantly agreed.

When we went inside, William was just being fed… and Colin was nowhere to be seen. 

Colin has been abducted?

This morning the postman brought a letter for Wilson containing a Polaroid of Colin the Knitted Camel playing with his friends. 

W showed it to me proudly, saying that Colin seemed to be settling down well with his new family.

Some time later he showed the picture to me again, saying, 'This isn't Colin's handwriting — I'm afraid he's being held against his will!'

I told him he was overthinking this and Colin was fine, but it seems the only thing that will set his mind at rest is a visit to see Colin in the flesh. 

Well, in the Pure Cotton Double Knit...

Bonfire Night

In the past, Wilson has always enjoyed choosing his fireworks for Bonfire Night, drawing up an 'ignition schedule' then helping to let them off in the back garden. This time, though, he asked to go to an organised display in the village.

The fireworks were certainly far more exciting and elaborate than we would have had at home, but I think W was motivated mostly by keeping the cost down this year, so he could put the money saved into his Winter Holiday Fund.

There was a small incident when he accidentally tipped some of his dried ants into someone else's mug of tomato soup, but apart from that the night passed very pleasantly.

Wouldn't It Be Luverly...

While eating my breakfast cereal this morning — with a fork, as all the spoons had mysteriously disappeared — I heard a strange, percussive sound coming from the living room, accompanied by a breathy, tuneless whistling I recognised as Wilson's.

Going in to investigate W told me that Amy, one of his Twitter friends, had suggested that playing the spoons would be an ideal way to welcome a new baby into the world. 

Hmmm. I suppose spoons have the advantage of being easier to transport to the hospital than a guitar.

He's been practicing for several hours now playing, inexplicably, a strict-tempo version of 'Wouldn't It Be Loverly' from My Fair Lady. 

I asked why he'd thought that would be appropriate, and he said it was just what was stuck in his head when he started; it was either that or 'Ghost Town' by the The Specials.

Well, 'Wouldn't It Be Loverly' is firmly stuck in my head too, now. 

Music to give birth by...

Wilson has seen Robbie Williams singing 'Let It Go' to his wife during labour, and he's reconsidering his role as Birthing Partner to his friend Ms Rowena. 

Now he thinks perhaps he should turn up with his guitar and mouth organ instead of his Kathryn Tickell CD.

Speaking as a father myself, I have told him I think that would be a very bad idea, but the bees are saying it would be lovely. 

The Sign Man cometh...

Wilson was very tired after his last-minute Hallowe'en adventure yesterday, so I felt a little bit bad about rousting him out of his bed and marching him outside to deal with the signwriter who had 'Come to do yer car, mate!'

W had engaged him to paint over the 'CoffeeMobile' lettering on the car and replace it with 'Pud-U-Like'… and had forgotten to cancel when the plan went belly-up.

Once he had placated the signwriter and we were back indoors, he confided to me that his Trick-or-Treat takings were a bit down on previous years, which he blamed on his lack of advance preparation. 

And the fact that people couldn't understand him when he said 'Trick-or-Treat?' due to his having cut the mouth hole in the pumpkin a bit too small to move his lips…

Trick or Treat...

Hallowe'en rather crept up on Wilson this year — he'd been so busy with his (doomed) Pud-U-Like business plan that it was only yesterday he realised the event was upon him!

He rushed round to Tesco for a pumpkin and quickly carved it into a helmet. 

By the time he'd finished it was already getting dark, so he scampered out to go Trick-or-Treating, without even stopping for dinner.

'It's alright, New Dad,' he called back to me as he left, 'I'll just eat my Treats as I get them!'

No win, no fee

'We were researching the Pud-U-Like name online, like you said,' Billi gasped out, flushed and breathless, 'and it's already taken! It's being used by a company in Yorkshire!'

'They make Yorkshire Puddings with Exotic Fillings!' Polly added.

Wilson's response was immediate: 'Okay, bees — find me a cheap on-line no-win no-fee solicitor and we'll sue for infringement!'

The bees both looked at me for confirmation, but I shook my head.

W threw up his arms in despair, declaiming, 'This is a calamity!'

I think only a holiday will cheer poor Wilson up now…

Grave news from the bees...

Wilson wants to plough the so-called Winter Holiday Fund into his Pud-U-Like scheme, and is now trying to persuade me to invest an equal amount myself! 

I pointed out that with such a similar name, Spud-U-Like might sue him. 

'Also,' I asked, 'isn't your pudding shop idea pretty much like a cake shop? Or tea rooms?'

'This is a totally different concept,' he replied, 'These wouldn't be cakes, these would be puddings!'

I watched as he scribbled a note in his pad: 'Sell cakes too!'

At this point Polly and Billi rushed in bearing grave news.

Pud-U-Like

While we were driving back from the supermarket this morning, Wilson suddenly shouted for me to stop the car! As soon as I'd done so, he jumped out and stood regarding the local Spud-U-Like franchise, deep in thought.

'Do you want a baked potato?' I asked him. 'We can have spuds here if you like.'

'No no no!' he replied. 'But it's given me a brilliant idea — a total gap in the market!'

As we drove home, he began to expound his plan for a chain of fast-food restaurants called, wait for it, Pud-U-Like. These would cater for people who like dining out, but only like dessert. 

'People like you, New Dad!' he exclaimed, rather unkindly I thought. 'You are exactly Pud-U-Like's dream demographic!'

Spending money

Wilson has returned to the topic of Winter Holidays, asking whether the Canary Islands are out of the question. 'This time, we might see some canaries!' he added, hopefully.

I told him that what with my recent unexpected expenditure on a clock, we just couldn't afford a holiday right now.

'But there's £200 in the Holiday Fund!' he countered.

'£200?' I queried, 'I paid you £300 for that clock — what's happened to the other £100?'

'Spending money' he replied, nonchalantly. 

Whatever, I was pleased to notice a tourist brochure for Bristol — perhaps the Canaries are just an opening gambit. I wonder whether he'd be satisfied with a day in Seaford…

BBC Northern Dance Orchestra

Wilson is in the conservatory playing his Kathryn Tickell CD, and wondering whether it would be suitable as Birthing Music for his friend Ms Rowena's baby. Some of the tracks are mournful and haunting, while others are quite foot-tappy, and he's not sure whether either would be appropriate.

I asked him what his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, used to listen to when she was giving birth, and he said, 'The BBC Northern Dance Orchestra mostly. Oh and Metallica!'

'She had very catholic taste!' I observed.

'They were the only two records we had when I was little,' he explained, 'the Dance Band and the Thrash Metal.'

I just nodded, but reflected that being born to the sounds of Anthrax probably explained quite a lot about Wilson's family. 

I'm a Winner! But I don't feel like it...

Why couldn't I see this coming? Now I've got TWO clocks — one a birthday present, and one I appear to have bought at auction for the astonishing sum of £300!

Wilson's clock did sell on eBay last night. To me! The bid I placed — at his insistence, simply to pique bidders' interest — was the only bid received so I was, as he put it, 'The lucky winner!' 

W banked my £300 this morning before hanging the clock in the hall next to my almost-identical birthday clock.

He told me not to feel bad about the money as he would donate 'most of it' to our Winter Holiday fund.

I was unaware that we even had a Winter Holiday fund — this is almost certainly the only money in it!