Multiversal problem

Just as I feared, Wilson did notice the New Scientist Special Edition in the recycling, and is poring over the How To Live In The Multiverse feature.

These metaphysical, 'spacey' articles always unsettle him, and he keeps asking me how he can transfer into the universe where he's a millionaire… 

then reflecting that might be the same universe in which I'm an evil New Dad… 

then realising there'll be another where he's rich and I'm not evil, and wanting to know how to choose the right universe when there's an infinite number to choose from.

Or: 'If everything happens in one universe or another, what does it matter if I'm naughty in this one? I've got to be naughty in some universes, or the Law of the Multiverse will be broken!'

I really don't know what to say to him, but recalling the advice the psychiatrist gave me the last time he had one of these 'Reality' crises, I think a brisk walk in the woods is called for.

As soon as it stops raining...

Multiverse

Following a couple of therapeutic mugs of hot chocolate (with extra therapeutic squirty cream, marshmallows and ant sprinkles) Wilson was pretty much back to his normal, cheerful self today. 

Then I saw him taking out the Recycling…

On top of the pile of magazines I spotted the New Scientist 'Multiverse Special Edition.' I'd meant to hide that and secretly dispose of it in a plain brown envelope at the bottom of the bin.

Perhaps W won't notice it...

SAD — Seasonal Affective Disorder

FIrst thing this morning I heard Wilson playing quite a mournful rendition of There Is Nothing Like A Dame, from South Pacific, on his kazoo and spoons. Gradually his playing grew slower and slower, the kazoo dropped out and soon even the spoons fell silent.

Going to see if everything was alright, I found W gazing dolefully out the living room window at the bare trees and the fallen leaves outside. 

'What's up?' I asked him.

'Oh, I'm just contemplating where my life's going…' he replied disconsolately. 

I think all the new babies may have disturbed his equilibrium — made him feel old, perhaps. That, and the unwelcome approach of Winter. 

Still, once I'd made him a big mug of hot chocolate with squirty cream, marshmallows and ant sprinkles he seemed a bit more his usual self. 

I'm a big believer in the healing power of hot chocolate...

Birth rate rises sharply!

Polly had a long labour, with many refreshment breaks, and it was starting to get dark when Johnson Minor was eventually 'born.' 

However, Billi didn't want to be left out and wanted to experience motherhood for herself — so  'Mother' and 'Midwife' switched roles and the entire process was repeated with Billi 'giving birth' to Johnson Major.

Wilson had by now moved on to Show Tunes and was belting out Ethel Merman's There's No Business Like Show Business. 

Quite a crowd had gathered, attracted by the music, the excitement and Johnson Minor running round shouting, 'I've been borned! I've been borned!' 

Finally, just as Wilson segued from 76 Trombones to the Colonel Bogey March, Johnson Maj. was 'born', with Tiny Toy lying next to him pretending to be his twin and shouting, 'PUSH! PUSH HARDER!'

IT'S A BOY! A boy ladybird...

I was woken this morning by the sound of Wilson playing Roll Out The Barrel very loudly and enthusiastically on his spoons and kazoo, breaking off occasionally to shout, 'Push!' 'Pant!' 'Breathe!' 'I can see the head!' etc.

On going to investigate I was very surprised to find Polly, prone on the kitchen table, apparently giving birth. 

As Wilson segued seamlessly into Joe Pasquale's I've Got A Song That'll Get On Your Nerves, Billi explained that W had been so disappointed to miss Piper Bay's birth that she and Polly were re-enacting the occasion so he could experience what it would have been like if he hadn't arrived at the hospital too late and missed it all.

The 'baby' was played by a very excited Johnson Minor, while a bemused Johnson Major looked on. 

For 'educational purposes' apparently.

When a child is born...

Okay, sorry there wasn't a blog post yesterday, but Wilson had a very trying day.

Because his replica Comet Lander was in 'Idle Mode' he missed the email letting him know that Ms Rowena had gone into labour. Since he is Ms R's Birthing Partner, when he did finally get the news he was thrown into a panic, scrambling out of the tumble dryer clutching his kazoo and calling my name. We jumped into the car and immediately set off for the hospital.

It was only after several miles that W realised that he had left his spoons at home. I assured him that the hospital would have thousands of spoons, but he can apparently only play his 'special' spoons, so we had to return to the house to collect them.

By the time we finally reached the hospital it was all over — Ms Rowena had given birth to a beautiful baby girl, Piper Bay, without the aid of Wilson's Birthing Music. 

All things considered, I have to say that's probably for the best — a stressful event will be made no less stressful when accompanied by a serenade on spoons and kazoo…

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!'