Wilson sat on the sofa and cleared his throat nervously. Antony nodded to him encouragingly and he began:
'Okay,' he said, 'There was this insomniac, agnostic, dyslexic man. Or woman. Person — it doesn't really matter.'
He paused to giggle to himself for a moment, then continued, 'He lay awake all night wondering...' he snorted with suppressed laughter, 'if there really was a god!'
Antony nudged him and whispered something urgently in his ear, and his face fell.
'D'oh!' he exclaimed, 'I got the punchline wrong; he wondered whether there was really a DOG! He was Dyslexic, you see...'
I laughed enthusiastically.
A lot.
Everyone seemed satisfied, though Wilson appeared to be a little bit down, and later asked me what I'd thought of his joke.
I said it was indeed brilliant, but suggested it might help if in future he wrote his jokes down just in case he forgot any important bits in the excitement of telling...
As I finished my breakfast this morning, Wilson came in and asked me what the word was that meant a person who couldn't sleep.
I suggested Insomniac was probably the word he was searching for; he nodded happily and went back into the living room.
A few minutes later he was back, asking about the word for somebody who couldn't decide whether god was real or not. He accepted my suggestion of Agnostic and left.
I was washing up the breakfast things when he reappeared to ask what you called someone who couldn't spell, and I asked if he was thinking of Dyslexic. He repeated the word to himself and ran off.
After an hour or so he asked me to come into the living room, as he had a brilliant joke to tell me.
Wilson is notoriously bad at telling jokes, so it was with some apprehension that I followed him, preparing a delighted and amused expression in readiness.
Wilson eventually judged it safe to leave his refuge in 'The Museum', but spent the night in my room 'for safety'.
He made many remarks about 'dark forces' and 'the criminal underworld' and even mentioned the Hornet Mafia. I had no idea that was even a thing, but W explained that was because of the Code of Omertà , which swears all Mafia Hornets to silence.
It seems there is so much I don't know!
Anyway, after breakfast this morning he showed me an interesting article he'd found in The Guardian, saying that people should shower a maximum of once a week.
He was worried that I was damaging my health by over-showering, and recommended that I start showering only weekly, as an interim step to following his regime of never showering at all.
Or even washing, come to that!
Here's the link, if you're interested: http://tinyurl.com/o3rjlvp
It was with some trepidation that Sgt. Lucas (Antony) and Inspector Janvier (Tiny Toy) returned Uncle Zoltan's soaking-wet hat to him at his hive.
Uncle Z set his topper aside to dry, then read the note that Wilson had sent with the hat... before screwing it up and grinding it under one of his back tarsals.
After popping inside the hive for a moment, he returned with two slices of Wilson's favourite cakes, which he handed to the toys as a reward.
Then he raised and waggled one of his tarsal pads, admonishing them, 'This cake is for YOU BOYS, it's not for that... anteater!'
The toys nodded in silent agreement, before he added, 'You heed my words, young 'uns: if you want to grow into Happy Members of Society, you'll give that anteater a wide berth. He'll only lead you astray!'
Antony and TT made off with their slices of cake, but Uncle Zoltan called after them: 'That anteater's the reason my hat's soaking wet, isn't it? Eh? You can tell me!'
Wilson was taken by surprise by Mad Uncle Zoltans reaction to his April Fools Day joke. I know we're not supposed to call him 'mad' any more, but right now he is, as the saying goes, As Mad As A Hornet!
W took shelter in the "Wilson Vermilingua Museum of Old Stuff and a Robot" with the lights off and his Maigret hat pulled down over his eyes, in the fervent hope that Uncle Z would not find him.
After a few hours, during which time he had not eaten, Wilson grew desperate and stuck his nose outside to see whether the coast was clear... and saw Uncle Z's hat floating in the fish pond!
He's sent Sgt. Lucas (Antony) and Inspector Janvier (Tiny Toy) round to Uncle Z's hive to return it, along with a note explaining that it had been recovered only by the diligent application of Police Investigative Methods.
While The Bees and their children were sunning themselves on Brighton Pier yesterday, Wilson was in the garden wearing his Inspector Maigret trilby and searching for Uncle Zoltan's hat — which has been missing since Storm Katie last week.
Sgt. Lucas (Antony) and Inspector Janvier (Tiny Toy) are going 'door-to-door' and taking statements from the sTone Brothers and Diesel the Goldfish.
Suddenly, Wilson shouted, 'Sacré Bleu! I've found it!'
Uncle Z came flying over and was trying to decide whether to grudgingly thank W or just take his hat and ignore him, when Wilson shouted again, 'April Fool!'
Hornets and other more aggressive members of the Wasp genus are known to react badly to japes, jests and practical jokes of all kinds — this is well known by entomologists, and I'm a bit surprised W wasn't aware of it.
We bees have a saying: "It's the Early Bee that Catches the Pollen" and we were up bright and early this lovely Spring day!
By mid-morning we'd made a couple of little jars of honey (like those you get in Tea Rooms) so we buzzed off (haha — did you see what we did there?) to Brighton so the children could have a day on the pier while the sun was shining.
What with it being April Fools Day, we think Wilson is planning some merriment at home, but it's probably best if we keep out of the way — you'll surely hear all about it soon enough!
We're the Bees and we'll see you next month! Until then, Beeeeeeeee Good!
"Buzzed off!" Hahahahaha...
Wilson was greatly impressed by the new Inspector Maigret which he watched on ITV over the Easter weekend.
He greeted me this morning: 'Bon Marché, New Dad!' and proceeded to tell me that if only his French were a little better [ie if he could speak it at all] he would consider moving to Paris and joining the Sûreté as a Detective. As he pointed out, he already has the hat!
So for the moment he is mooching about the house with Sgt. Lucas (Antony) and Inspector Janvier (Tiny Toy) looking for evidence of criminal activity.
And saying 'Zut Alors!' and 'Ah, la vache!' a lot.
Wilson would like to reassure his friends and family that he is alright, having survived Storm Katie.
The tempest has now more-or-less passed over Uckfield, although it has left what he describes as a 'trail of unprecedented devastation' in its wake.
No-one was injured, although Uncle Zoltan's hat blew off and he's out in the back garden with most of the children searching for it.
He's not in a very good mood.
W and Antony are surveying a fallen tree (the only damage we sustained) and discussing how best to deal with the aftermath of the hurricane...
Today is not only, as Wilson insists on calling it, Good Sunday, it is also the first day of British Summer Time.
Last night W offered to put the clocks forward, so when we awoke this morning we wouldn't have to wonder what time it was.
Wilson is not allowed to open any of his Easter Eggs until 10am but I was unaware that when he advanced the clocks he moved them THREE hours forward... so "10am" arrived a lot more quickly than I had anticipated.
So it was that dawn had barely broken when I heard W and his family opening their chocolate treats. I glanced at my (unadjusted) watch and saw it was just 7am, but when I went to remonstrate with W he just pointed at the wall clock and continued munching...
Today is also the day of that great British Institution: The University Boat Race.
Wilson takes this very seriously and is a staunch supporter of Oxford (unless they're WELL behind, when he'll seamlessly start to support Cambridge) so this afternoon everyone settled down in front of the telly to watch the race while finishing up their eggs.
Wilson thought today, 'Good Saturday' as he refers to it, was the day he got his chocolate eggs.
To make up for his disappointment, I took him and Antony into the village to meet the Easter Bunny.
I could tell W was shocked as soon as he saw the rabbit's size — his grip on my hand tightened, his eyes widened and he repeatedly told little Antony, 'There's nothing to be scared of, everything will be fine. I hope.'
I tried to reassure them both, but barely a few minutes after arriving Wilson told me that we should be getting back home.
He explained that he had a lot to do what with the start of British Summertime [Daylight Saving] and the University Boat Race all happening tomorrow.
'Also,' he added, 'I must dash off a letter to Father Eastermas to confirm that I've been a very good boy throughout the year, and I don't want to miss the mail collection!'
Wilson is in the kitchen making his 'signature dish' of Easter Fruit Pizza.
He insists that Fruit Pizza is his own invention, though I think he's mistaken in that, and Google confirms my opinion.
However, his recipe probably IS unique to him: the pizza base is generously covered in Cornish Clotted Cream, then smothered with fresh fruit, decorated with Creme Eggs and finally garnished with a (very) generous sprinkling of ants.
Most of the boys are with him, 'helping' with the recipe...
I'd like to apologise for the lateness of this post, which was unavoidably delayed by a catastrophic computer problem.
Thanks to those very nice people at AppleCare I'm now up and running again, and I hope things are back to normal.
Although as Wilson's friend Ms Viv pointed out, in the Wonderful World of Wilson, 'Normality' is a very relative term.
Anyway, Easter rather crept up on W this year, so I had to drive him to the shops so he could choose chocolate eggs for the rest of his family.
And hint to me which one's he'd like to receive himself.
Obviously!
The result of the Australian Grand Prix appears to be that Wilson and the boys all had way too much to drink while watching the race.
Wilson and Antony are sleeping off their overindulgence in the living room, while the sTone Brothers are having a breath of fresh air in the garden.
Meanwhile, The Bees have gathered up all the youngsters and put them to bed with a big dose of Royal Jelly and a bit of a talking-to about underage drinking and being led-on by people who really ought to know better.
I should probably have a word with W about his drinking...
The Australian GP starts about 5am UK time, so Wilson was up very early, together with all the boys, to watch.
He's carried a TV out into the garden so he can see the race while eating snacks at his F1 Racing Engine Coffee Table.
If he gets through all those tinnies of Fosters before the race ends, he'll be wasted for the rest of the day...
Due to the controversial new Qualifying rules, Wilson narrowly failed to make Pole.
He blamed the shambolic new 'elimination' system, but added that his car's aerodynamics also contributed to his lack of success.
He popped in to a nearby DIY store to buy a 'special tool' so he could 'adjust' his wings and spoilers to improve his performance.
I managed to get W and his Pit Crew out of the Mall just before Security arrived.
With the 2016 Grand Prix Season starting Sunday, I had to take Wilson to the Mall this morning so he could put in some practice laps before Qualifying.
He's pretty confident about his driving, but apparently his Pit Crew (Antony) needs to improve his technique — the Coin Changes are losing valuable seconds.
Antony says he's doing his best, but some of the coins are a bit sticky, so difficult to get into the slot...
In the best scientific tradition, Wilson is carrying out an experiment to test his thesis that all food tastes better when eaten at what he still calls (in spite of evidence to the contrary) his 'Formula 1 Racing Engine' picnic table.
He has prepared two identical Brussels Sprouts, one to be eaten in the kitchen, the other at his picnic table in the garden.
His conclusion is that his proposition is: FALSE.
As soon as he'd rinsed his mouth out, he told me that, wherever they were eaten, Brussels Sprouts taste like (to quote the late Paula Yates) The Sperm of the Devil!
Today is very warm and spring-like, so once the engine had been cleaned up a bit Wilson converted it to a (slightly wobbly) coffee table and invited everyone to afternoon tea.
I've made it clear that it must never come into the house, but told him I was happy for it to remain in the garden as a picnic table.
W put a brave face on things, but I think he was disappointed that his Formula 1 Racing Car Coffee Table bore so little resemblance to the sparkling and pristine chrome-plated one in the picture, but he cheered up once he saw the raspberry and cream sponge Uncle Zoltan had baked in honour of the occasion.
'Nobody wants to buy a Formula 1 Racing Car Engine and find it's really a 1950s lorry engine,' Uncle Z whispered to me, 'so I thought this might cheer him up.'
Over tea, W explained that it was much harder than I might imagine finding Marigolds that would fit an anteater's paws, and he was wondering whether to develop a line of anteater-friendly rubber gloves.
I tried to dissuade him, saying I just didn't believe there'd be much demand — he's the only anteater in this village, after all!
'If this conversion goes well, I could start up a business selling them!' Wilson continued, pulling on a pair of Marigold rubber gloves. 'After I've cleaned this one up...'
Uncle Zoltan emerged from his hive and announced sharply: 'There'll be trouble if you splash any of that oil on my house!' then after a moment's thought he asked, 'Are you sure that's an F1 racing engine?'
W replied doubtfully, 'Well, it might have come from a Ford Transit... you can never be quite sure with eBay.'
Uncle Z stated authoritatively, 'This came from a Bedford Van, my boy. Or possibly an old AEC Mammoth Major — there were a lot of those round when I was a pupa!'
With this he disappeared back inside, returning a moment later to say, 'When you've finished that, you can wash my hive! But use clean water, mind, and plenty of soap!'
