Wilson and Byron burst into my room shortly after dawn, in a state of great agitation.
Between them they explained that W's tomatoes were growing 'all wrong' and they feared they were growing the 'wrong kind' of tomatoes.
I pulled on my dressing gown and they took me out to show me the plants, which now have a number of baby green tomatoes on them.
I said they looked like they were coming on well and told them they had both done a good job caring for them.
In unison, two sad voices objected that they are 'Tiny. And green!' 'We wanted big, red ones,' Wilson explained. 'Not ones that look like green peas!'
Following a night of intense electrical storms and torrential rainfall, I'm feeling pretty tired this morning.
It wasn't the storm itself that kept me awake, rather it was the two nervous anteaters who insisted on cowering in my bed 'for safety'!
I've been thinking about the Fathers Day card I got on Sunday, and how Byron signed it as well as Wilson.
Byron's a lovely lad, but I hope I haven't adopted him too — it's all I can do to cope with Wilson!
I expect Byron was just being polite.
Uncle Z has just strolled over to remark, 'The nights are drawing in... it'll soon be Xmas. I hope you all get me something better than last year!'
Towards the end of the day I went up to see how the boys were getting on at the Tomato Stall.
Wilson consulted briefly with his Sales Manager Tiny Toy, then reported that sales had been 'disappointing.'
'So how many tomatoes did you sell?' I enquired. There was a further consultation with TT before Byron admitted they had sold 'Less than one.'
'None!' Wilson confirmed.
After all their hard work I felt really sorry for them, so I said I would buy all their stock.
'So, three tomatoes at 75p each, that's £2.25,' I said, handing over a £5 note.
Wilson sighed and shook his head, before explaining to me, in the manner of one addressing a simpleton, that I didn't understand the laws of Supply and Demand: The first tomato was 75p, but once that was sold it increased the scarcity of tomatoes so the remaining two would cost £1 each... except that once there was only one tomato left there would be an even greater scarcity surcharge meaning that one would cost £2.
I raised my eyebrows in disbelief, but said only, 'So three tomatoes are going to cost me £3.75?'
Everyone nodded in agreement, but Wilson added that since he didn't have any change he was willing to round the price up to £5!
If this boy isn't a millionaire soon, I shall be astonished...
Today may be the Summer Solstice, but the weather is still miserable with heavy cloud cover and a steady drizzle of rain.
Undaunted by this, Wilson and Byron set up their Roadside Tomato Emporium early this morning, laid out their tomatoes and waited for the customers to pour in.
They haven't had any actual customers yet — a few of our neighbours have called by to say hello and generally encourage them — but nobody has actually bought anything.
Wilson blames the inclement weather for his lack of sales, but I'm more inclined to think it's his prices: 75p (~US$1) for a single tomato seems pretty steep to me, but Wilson explained that overheads are notoriously high in what he calls 'The Tomato Game'...
Today being Fathers' Day, Wilson has given me a home-made Fathers' Day Card, signed by both him and Byron, and a shop-bought tomato.
He said that I shouldn't eat the tomato until Tuesday, as he'd need to borrow it back tomorrow for 'display purposes' — whatever that means.
Both boys have been rooting round in Wilson's "Museum" (garden shed) looking for an old fold-up Gazebo that Wilson is certain was once one of his exhibits.
Byron is very impressed by the Museum, although understandably anxious about The Robot — which is now described as the "Killer Robot [decommissioned] [probably]."
The Gazebo is apparently an essential constituent of the Tomato Farm Shop which they plan to open on Monday.
I'm not looking forward to that — please drop by tomorrow to give me some moral support in case I have to put my foot down.
Or if you want to buy some tomatoes, I suppose...
Wilson is afraid that by the time his tomatoes are ripe and ready to pick, and his PYO Tomato Farm can finally open for business, Byron will have gone back to the zoo.
Consequently, he has decided to outsource his tomato supplies until his own crop is ready.
Both the boys have popped in to Tesco in the village, together with their Retail Buying Manager Antony, to choose some tomatoes.
I don't mind saying, I have reservations about this.
Grave reservations...
The weather has been very disappointing for June — we're all getting a dose of 'cabin fever' — so I took the boys out for a drive in the countryside today.
Suddenly Wilson shouted, 'Stop! New Dad, stop the car!'
He had spotted a roadside stall selling fresh fruit, so I asked whether he or Byron would like a mango or a pineapple or something.
'Yes, yes, okay...' W muttered, so I parked in the lay-by opposite the stall, hopped out and bought them some apples and nectarines and a mango each.
When I returned they were both whispering conspiratorially to each other...
Early this morning a van pulled up outside the house to deliver Wilson's eBay purchases — several second-hand A-boards.
The boys are in the garden now, repainting them so they can be used for Wilson's Pick-Your-Own Tomato Farm, when he finally gets some tomatoes.
Actually, Wilson is doing most of the painting, while Byron is drawing anteaters on the blank ones and generally trying not to get in W's way (ie not get covered in white paint!)...
Both boys got a totally blootered on Ant Gin at Saturday's Street Party for the Queen's 90th Birthday.
Byron, being a bit of a stranger to overindulgence and the hangover, is still sleeping it off, but Wilson is gradually recovering his equilibrium and right now he's in the living room buying something on eBay.
I wouldn't have thought a hangover was the ideal companion to eBay — I hope he doesn't make any rash purchases... on my VISA card.
Following the Street Party yesterday, Wilson and Byron are both still sound asleep.
Last night they were both so tired [drunk] that they didn't even make it as far as the tumble dryer, falling fast asleep on the living room floor.
I covered them up with a duvet and left them to sleep it off, but I bet they've both got hangovers when they wake up.
As will the Bees, who got VERY overexcited yesterday! They blamed Wilson's gin, saying they were only used to drinking mead...
Today is HM The Queen's Official 90th Birthday, and the day of Street Parties up and down the country. Probably.
Wilson was up much of the night making more fairy cakes as he and Byron had eaten all those he baked yesterday.
However, by a happy coincidence today is also National Gin Day, and he has plentiful supplies of that.
I understand the Queen is partial to a gin or two (certainly her late sister and mother both were) so it's an entirely appropriate tipple for the party.
W told me that after a couple of Gin Cocktails no one would notice the lack of food, but I popped into Waitrose in the village and bought some extra snacks anyway — I don't want the little ones drinking too much with nothing to soak it up.
Also Diesel the Goldfish is a bit of an unknown quantity once there's gin in his water...
What with all the unpleasantness and disappointment surrounding his OBE, Wilson is not a great Royalist... but he is also not one to willingly pass up the chance of a party!
Therefore he has put aside his differences with the Royal Family and is now preparing to hold a Street Party tomorrow, the Queen's Official 90th Birthday.
He's busy in the kitchen with the Bees, cooking some red, white and blue Fairy Cakes... while trying to balance his Chef's Hat on his head!
I let Wilson and Byron stay up late last night to watch the launch of the new series of Big Brother.
Byron said he'd never seen anything like it in his entire life, and humanity has gone down in his estimation!
Anyway, they both had a bit of a lie-in this morning, but after breakfast they popped into the village to collect their leaflets from the Printer and started handing them out to the tomato-eating public.
I just hope W's publicity doesn't peak too soon — so far he hasn't actually got ANY tomatoes, and I think it will be some weeks before his crop is ripe and ready to pick...
Wilson and Byron are working on the iMac, designing a flyer and business card for the PYO Tomato Farm.
Apart from a minor disagreement about fonts (resolved by them both sticking their tongues out as far as they would go) they're playing together nicely.
There has been no further mention of tongue-extending exercises nor of 'stretching devices' and I am certainly not about to raise the subject!
While settling an argument by means of a 'Who's Got The Longest Tongue' ant eating competition in the garden, I overheard Byron remark that, even for a human, I appeared to have an unusually short tongue.
Well really — I can confidently state for the record that I've never had any complaints!
So I was shocked when Wilson replied that he had been worried about it for some time, though he hadn't liked to mention it to me for fear of hurting my feelings.
Byron suggested that I might benefit from some tongue-stretching exercises.
W agreed, and said that if they didn't work, he would devise some kind of tongue stretching apparatus for me to wear at night.
I REALLY don't like the sound of this!
Both the boys spent a rather restless night in the tumble dryer, each blaming the other for taking up too much room.
Byron is obviously in the middle of a growth spurt, but he suggested that Wilson too had gained a few pounds.
'Carrying a bit of timber' was how he put it and W — a bit stung by this — insisted on a weigh-off on the bathroom scales.
This didn't settle anything, since neither of them had any idea of their previous weight, but it did give them something new to argue about.
Eventually they settled the matter out in the garden, through the medium of Competitive Ant Eating.
I kept well out of the way...
Wilson's younger brother Byron has really grown since the last time he stayed, so it's quite a squeeze fitting both him and W in the tumble dryer together.
There has been much jostling and shouting of insults, but all good-humoured.
As far as I can tell.
W has hinted that we should probably buy a Guest Tumble Dryer for when we have overnight visitors...
Hello! We are Polly and Billi the Bees, and this is our guest blog!
Today we would like to celebrate a real Bee Hero: Mr Morgan Freeman!
Like us, Mr Morgan was very worried about the loss of bees, so he converted his 500,000 sq m farm into a Bee Refuge — he hired a gardener who planted loads of clover and flowering trees and other things that bees just love, bought dozens of hives and became a bee-keeper!
Hurray! Let's hear it for Mr Morgan.
Oh, apparently Mr Morgan is an actor too — we expect he's a very good one, though we're not personally familiar with his work!
BEE like Mr Morgan — help bees!
(Hahaha — did you see what we did there?!)
We've been Polly and Billi the Bees and we'll see you again next month — until then, BEEEEEEE GOOD!
There was a lot of giggling from the back seat on the journey home, but by the time we arrived both boys had calmed down a bit.
As soon as we stopped on the drive, Wilson jumped out of the car and, without even pausing to say hello to anyone, ran into the garden so he could show Byron his famous Tomato Farm.
W explained how the sTone Brothers were guarding the farm as a temporary measure, just until he could get a Guard Piglet, then went on to tell him about Projected Yields and Farm Subsidies.
Happily, he did remember to thank the sTone boys, patting them on their handles and telling them they'd both done a great job.
Byron was suitably appreciative and admiring, but I think he was a little disappointed that there weren't any tomatoes to see yet; I think Wilson was a bit discouraged about that too.
_________
Wednesday (being the 1st of the month) will be the Bees' Blog, so I'll be back on Friday to tell you how Wilson and Byron are getting on — I hope they don't fall out...
Before I even reached the entrance to the zoo I saw Wilson waiting for me on the pavement, with his suitcase. And another slightly smaller anteater. With his suitcase too.
'Hi, New Dad!' Wilson greeted me, 'You remember by half-brother Byron, don't you? Well, I've told him he could come to stay at our house for a few days.' He looked appealingly at me, adding, 'That will be okay, won't it?'
What could I say? Anyway, I do remember Byron — he was very polite and really no trouble — so I agreed.
Both anteaters climbed into the back of the car, leaving me to stow their cases in the boot, and we set off for home.
