Wilson can still barely contain his curiosity about what is in The Bees' Parcel.
Between them, Polly and Billi carried it off to their room, saying only that it was a surprise and everyone would have to wait for their Guest Blog on 1st May to see what it is.
This uncertainty has made W pretty tense, and Tiny Toy's constant litany of jokes isn't helping settle his nerves:
'Anyway, what happens to a frog's car when it breaks down? It gets toad away! I went to Waterstones and asked the woman for a book about turtles. She asked: "Hardback?" and I was like: "Yeah, and little heads." Just read that 4,153,237 people got married last year — not to cause any trouble but shouldn't that be an even number? I think my neighbour is stalking me as she's been Googling my name on her computer. I saw it through my telescope last night. I went to a zoo last week...'
It was at this point that Wilson finally snapped, and he picked TT up by his tail.
'There was only one animal there,' TT continued, undaunted, 'and that was a dog.'
Dropping him into a brown paper bag, he closed the top.
From within the bag a tiny, muffled voice was just audible, shouting, 'It was a shih-tzu!'
This morning a parcel arrived, addressed to The Bees!
This is unprecedented, and Wilson had to read the label several times before finally conceding that it wasn't for him.
He is consumed with curiosity, not helped by Polly and Billi being very secretive and refusing to open the package until they are alone...
Tiny Toy, meanwhile, has hit his joke-telling stride, and is reeling off a stream of non-stop one-liners:
'Okay, What's the difference between a Hippo and a Zippo? One is really heavy, the other is a little lighter! Surely every car is a people carrier? Red sky at night: Shepherd's delight. Blue sky at night: Day.'
As TT paused for breath, the Johnson Brothers and Anthony applauded him and whooped enthusiastically.
'So,' he resumed, 'Today a man knocked on my door and asked for a small donation towards the local swimming pool — I gave him a glass of water. I changed my password to "incorrect" — so whenever I forget what it is the computer will say "Your password is incorrect".'
After a period of intense anticipation, during which everyone stared at TT, he took a deep breath and said, in a dead-pan voice, 'A man walked into a bar. Ouch!'
Wilson frowned, then asked, 'Did the barman say, "Why the long face?"'
TT replied, 'No, it was an iron bar.'
After an embarrassing pause, he continued, 'Okay, what's orange and sounds like a parrot?'
W scratched his head for a moment, before TT supplied, 'A carrot!'
Antony thought for a moment before bursting into laughter. 'An IRON bar!' he giggled, but Wilson climbed off the swinging seat and wandered away, shaking his head.
Following his in-depth research into the social and family life of ants, Wilson has changed the name of his proposed novel.
It will now be called Ants Are Pretty Much All The Same — Until You Eat Them and will be less of a novel, more of a recipe book.
Wearing a glum expression as he sat on the garden swing with his literary collaborators, he told me he'd had no idea what an authoritarian, fascistic race ants were, all driven by unquestioning obedience to the whims and wishes of the Ant Queen.
Warming to his theme, he explained that ants have no social life, nor any understanding of individuality, and instead of names they have only ranks and numbers.
I wondered aloud whether this information itself might not make an interesting book, but Wilson dismissed my idea out of hand.
'D'you know what, New Dad?' he replied, 'I can't be arsed! It's a novel or nothing — you can't get rich writing textbooks!'
On a more positive note, however, TT suddenly shocked everyone by announcing that he'd thought of a joke for Wilson's Joke Book.
Wilson, still stuck for plot ideas for his novel All Ants Are Not The Same, has decided to go straight to the horse's mouth, so to speak — he's interviewing the residents (AKA inmates) of his Luxury Ant Farm (AKA The Pantry) to see if they have any interesting family secrets etc.
So far all they have told him is, 'We Are Ant! Resistance Is Futile! You Will Be Assimilated!' which doesn't sound very hopeful to me, although it does tend to confirm Wilson's Mum, Mrs Vermilingua's thesis that ants are not individuals so may be safely eaten by a vegetarian.
At this rate, though, Wilson's novel will be a lot less Poldark and a lot more 1984...
Before he went to bed last night Wilson — still suffering from Writer's Block — consumed a big supper of cheese (and ants, obviously) in hopes that he would dream a suitable plot for his upcoming novel The Truth About Ants.
Unfortunately it didn't work out so well.
When he eventually came down to breakfast this morning, bleary-eyed and very grumpy, he told me variously that he'd had nightmares all night; that he hadn't slept a wink; and that he'd dreamed he was being eaten by ants.
Also, he now thinks there is a cheese-monster living under his tumble-dryer.
I'm not sure he's properly awake yet.
I would definitely counsel him against repeating this ill-advised experiment.
Best-selling Blockbuster-writing Novelists certainly seem to pay a high price for their success — I wonder how Stephen King gets his ideas?
Wilson has written both his jokes in his Jokes Book, and left a spare page in case he ever thinks of another one.
He has decided to use the rest of his book to write a blockbuster best-selling novel:
THE TRUTH ABOUT ANTS
— All Ants Are Not The Same
This will be a Winston Graham style sweeping epic, spanning many generations and exposing long-kept family secrets to the light of day.
He's in the dining room now with Antony (Literary Agent) and Tiny Toy (Barista and Pencil Technician) complaining of Writers' Block.
We arrived home for the theatre in plenty of time for Wilson to open his remaining presents.
He received:
• an imported Luxury Ant Farm,
• a book about Ants and
• a notebook for him to write his jokes in (so he won't forget the punchline when he gets to it).
You see him here a few moments before Uncle Zoltan called him in for his Birthday Tea, which consisted of a Gourmet assortment of Chocolate- and Gin-soaked ants from across the USA (given to him by his friend Ms Cali) and a candle-topped birthday cake baked for him by Uncle Z.
He's very excited that a new series of Scott & Bailey starts on ITV this evening — he says this will be the perfect end to his day!
I can now reveal that Wilson's special Birthday Treat was a trip to see FAME! the Musical.
After breakfast we jumped into the CoffeeMobile and drove up to the Bob Hope Theatre; it's not actually IN London's West End but it's very NEAR, which is quite as good — if not better, because the parking is cheaper and easier.
As a special indulgence, he was given a Backstage Pass by his friend Ms Julia, who is also the show's choreographer!
Wilson LOVED the show, and sang songs from it all the way home to Uckfield.
He confessed that Ms Julia is a bit of a role-model for him, and he thinks he might like to be a choreographer when he grows up, adding that if he gets any money for his birthday, he's going to buy some pink trainers just like hers.
Since we went to the Matinée performance, there was still time to give W his Birthday Tea and a couple of other little gifts once we got back home...
Tomorrow is Wilson's Official Birthday, and I'm pretty sure he thinks I've forgotten about it.
He's in the dining room at the moment, colouring-in a new portrait of his pet goldfish Diesel, but he's not doing it very enthusiastically. Even after Diesel asked him to 'Colour me like one of your French Goldfish!'
I will admit that it's not easy to choose birthday presents for someone like Wilson — someone who has everything including his own Amazon account and access to my VISA card — but I've got him a couple of little things I think he'll like, plus a big treat!
Like him, you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what it is, as I can't risk the secret getting out...
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.
