Once we got inside the farm, and Wilson had been assured that the sheep wouldn't bite him, he started handing out sheep food to all and sundry. He even tried it himself, but decided it 'needs more ants' — his standard criticism of any food he doesn't like.
There were not only sheep and lambs on the farm but also calves, foals, a baby piglet and his mummy, field mice, chickens and a farm cat. Wilson isn't quite certain whether cats like him, but he offered this one some sheep food, which it refused.
Later the farmer invited him to bottle-feed some lambs, an opportunity W jumped at. Afterwards he told me they were 'Mighty little suckers!' who had all but pulled the bottles from his paws.
Then he fed the baby piglet, which was adorable.
When we get home, I'm expecting a campaign for W to be allowed a baby pig. Having seen the piglet's mother, who is the size of a small family car, I shall resist these requests with all my might!
Finally, The Bees have asked me to remind you that it will be time for their Guest Blog tomorrow, and they've amped up the experience to a new, more professional level. Whatever that means — they are still tight-lipped about exactly what will happen!
Anyway, find out what transpired in the rest of our trip to the farm the day after tomorrow — see you then!
Today, as I'd promised, I took Wilson to our local Sheep Petting Farm.
He was so excited that by the time I'd parked the car and made my way to the entrance he had already bought our tickets and a bag of Sheep Food, and was standing outside shouting, 'Hurry up, New Dad! Hurry up! The baby lambs are waiting for me to feed them!'
I hope our visit takes his mind off waiting for comedians to reply to his emails asking whether they wanted to buy some of his jokes...
Wilson is busy emailing comedians to see whether they want to buy any of his jokes, while The Bees have banned everyone from entering the dining room because they are preparing for their 'extra special' Guest Blog on Sunday.
Which leaves me, for once, at a bit of a loose end. So I thought I'd take this opportunity to explain why you've been seeing fewer stories about Wilson lately.
Anyone who has looked after young children knows what hard work it is, and taking care of young Wilson is like trying to keep toddler triplets out of trouble in a working sawmill with no safety guards: it's a 24/7 job!
So recently, I've been posting W's adventures just five days a week instead of seven, which leaves me Tuesdays and Thursdays to get on with my own work. I hope you understand.
This weekend I plan to take W to a local sheep farm to see some lambs being born — I'm sure he'll love it.
He'll either love it, or he'll be so shocked he will have to see his therapist again...
Between writing down jokes (while TT was gasping for breath) Wilson confided to me that, just because he didn't understand most of the jokes didn't mean he couldn't monetise them.
He plans to try selling them to tv comedians; people like Michael Mcintyre and Bradley Walsh, both of whom he really likes. He says it will be a convenient way of getting rich because he can do it from the comfort of his bed.
TT took a deep breath and started up again:
'So, there was a mathematician who had a cattle farm. He had 198 cows, but when he rounded them up he had 200! As a child, I had an obsession with Posh Spice — it cost my mum a fortune in saffron. A man walked into a bar — ouch!'
Wilson raised his paw and observed, I've already heard that one!'
'In that case,' TT replied, 'you've been a wonderful audience, and I've been Tiny Toy. Thank you and goodnight!'
Suddenly Wilson clapped his paw to his forehead and exclaimed, 'D'oh! What am I thinking?'
He rushed back and opened the brown paper bag, tipping TT unceremoniously out onto the table.
As soon as he was out of the bag, TT took several deep breaths, coughed and continued:
'Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen! Anyway, the first time I got a universal remote control, I thought to myself "This changes everything." I asked my North Korean friend how it was there — he said he couldn't complain...'
I thought Wilson had suddenly realised that using the Bag of Serenity* had been an overreaction, but that was not the case — he snatched up his pencil and started writing all TT's jokes into his Joke Book, muttering, 'This is gold! Pure Gold!'
*Patent pending
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.
