The weather this year has been very disappointing, but today the sun is shining weakly so the Bees have taken their two boys, Johnson and Johnson, out for a picnic in the country before the rain returns.
The lads — being adopted ladybirds — aren't really interested in pollen or nectar, but the Bees are insisting on bringing them up as bees.
I can't see this ending well but, despite being adopted myself, I'm not an expert in these matters. I just predict that in a few years time the Johnson Brothers will be writing to Nicky Campbell at 'Long Lost Family' trying to locate their Birth Parents...
Anyway, Wilson has put up a Weather Forecast Chart showing sunny weather ahead — he told me he expects it will make people feel happier if they think sunshine is around the corner, and it might encourage the Jet Stream to sort itself out and bring us brief period of summery weather for our holiday before winter sets in.
I'm not certain this is how weather works, but what do I know?
Wilson has been researching Things To Do In Newquay, or 'Nookey' as he insists on calling it, and has learned that it is not far from Port Isaac, AKA 'Portwenn' — the little fishing village where Doc Martin is filmed.
Doc Martin is one of Wilson's TV Favourites because the lovely Caroline Katz is a cast member, so he's now right up for going to Newquay instead of Fiji, as long as we can visit the fictional Portwenn.
I know what's going on in his head; he thinks they'll just happen to be filming while we're there and the Director will spot him and decide they need a 'handsome young anteater' to play a scene with 'Louisa Glasson' (the Caroline Katz character) and he'll get to take a selfie with her.
I honestly can't see them filming at the height of the tourist season, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it...
I wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to Wilson, but there's no use messing around — I grasped the nettle and told him straight.
'Um, Wilson,' I began, 'Can you spare me a minute? It's about our upcoming holiday.'
He turned, muted the travelogue he was watching, put down his glass of 901 Blue and gave me his full attention.
'I'm afraid we won't be going to Fiji...'
He raised his eyebrows quizzically, but I pressed on.
'Nor Bora Bora, nor the Seychelles...'
His gaze hardened.
'The Bahamas then?' he enquired. I shook my head.
'Ibiza? Paris? Venice?' he persisted.
'Newquay!' I announced, 'We're going to Newquay — it's lovely there in the summer, lots of beaches and pretty little villages...' I grew quiet under his increasingly baleful stare.
'Nookey?' he repeated, doubtfully. 'And where, pray, is this... "Nookey"?'
'It's in Cornwall,' I replied encouragingly, 'It's on the Cornish Riviera!'
Before Wilson went to stay with his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, I promised him that when he returned we'd go on holiday to somewhere nice.
Right now he's in the living room, sipping a 901 Blue (whatever that is) while watching The Travel Channel, deciding where he'd like to go.
I hope he's not too disappointed when he finds out that I've already booked us into a hotel in Newquay!
Once the river tour ended and the boat finally docked, Wilson whisked me off to dinner at a very nice restaurant.
The food was lovely and I really enjoyed myself.
We both did.
What I can remember of it anyway.
I'm afraid I had to help Wilson finish up a few of his tots of medicinal Navy Rum before we left the boat, and I don't seem to be able to hold my drink as well as I used to.
Which is why the photo is a bit blurry — I'm sorry about that...
While Wilson made several more trips to the bar, the tour boat progressed up the Thames, past the Tower of London and beneath Tower Bridge, before stopping at Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament.
This is where the British Government meets, and Wilson announced that he would be disembarking here as he wanted to give 'that stupid Mr Farrage' a piece of his mind for getting the country into all this trouble.
I eventually dissuaded him by pointing out that the boat was getting very crowded and he might not be able to get back on when he'd finished in Parliament.
He conceded that this was a possibility and went to have a chat with the Tour Guide instead, adding, 'That vile Mr Farrage hasn't got away with it, though — I shall be writing him a VERY stiff letter when we get home!'
Wilson explained to me that, ironically, the famous seaman Admiral Lord Nelson was a martyr to seasickness, which he would alleviate by copious (but purely medicinal) doses of Navy Rum.
Not wishing to take any chances, he popped down to the belowdecks Bar and returned with a double tot of seasickness cure before the boat finally cast off.
Grasping the rail tightly as we began to move, he soon recognised HMS Belfast moored at the side of the river.
As it happens, we'd taken a tour of the Belfast a few years ago (before The Shard was built) and had found it extremely interesting, so it was good to see it again!
Wilson bought my ticket (he travels free as a 'companion animal') and after a brief queue we embarked on the boat.
His first move was to locate the Bar and open a Tab for himself.
Once this was done, he went off to find a couple of nice seats next to the life belts, pausing only to interrogate the Tour Guide about the vessel's safety record.
And the whereabouts and capacity of the lifeboats.
I'm beginning to wonder how relaxing this trip is going to be...
On the morning of my birthday, Wilson blindfolded me and led me out to the car.
Once we were seated he told me to start the engine, drive forward 72m and turn sharp left when he shouted 'Now!' — when I refused to drive while blindfolded he got a bit upset, saying that if I could see where I was going it would spoil the surprise, but he relented.
Eventually.
Our final destination turned out to be a side street in what Wilson insists on calling 'London Town' leading down to the River Thames.
We climbed out of the car just in time to see a three-masted Dutch schooner sailing past towards the Millennium Dome.
Then W escorted me into The Trafalgar pub where, over a glass of Pimms (he shook a sachet of ants into his, which he offered to share but I declined) he explained how we would be spending the rest of our day: a river cruise up to the Palace of Westminster!
Wilson has assured me that all the preparations for my birthday tomorrow are now in place, and this is why he is now relaxing in the garden, cloud-watching with Antony and TT. It's entirely possible that TT is fast asleep. Actually, it's entirely possible they're ALL fast asleep.
Wilson's actual words were, 'If there's anything I've forgotten, it's too late to do anything about it now!' which didn't exactly fill me with confidence.
A couple of days ago he asked me how old I would be on my birthday, and I told him my age would have a zero on the end of it. For some reason he assumed I meant I'd be 100, and he cautioned everyone to be very polite and respectful when answering the front door, in case in was a footman bringing my Telegram from the Queen!
Anyway, Wilson has warned me that my Birthday Celebrations will take me far, far away from Uckfield, so I shan't be able to post on Monday.
Consequently, you'll have to wait until Wednesday to learn whether I had a Birthday I Shall Always Remember... or a Birthday I Shall Never forget!
I let both boys stay up late last night to watch the Big Brother Live Eviction show.
They were both very satisfied to see Georgina leave — Byron said that her 'negative energy' was enough to bring anyone down. Wilson nodded in agreement, adding, 'And her cake was a catastrophe!'
However, at long last it's time for Byron to return to his family in the zoo. I think he'll be pleased to see his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, again.
The packing having been done days ago, it didn't take long to load the car, then Byron waved goodbye to everyone before we set off.
When we arrived at the zoo he climbed out of the car, said, 'ThankyouverymuchforhavingmeMisterDawes!' and ran inside.
He's a lovely boy, and I shall be happy to see him when he visits again to help Wilson run the PYO Tomato Farm...
Hi, we're The Bees, and this is our Guest Blog!
Some of our blogs in the past have been pretty heavy — about poisons and bees dying out and so on — but today we've got something funny to show you!
It's a film about an anteater trying to steal food from some ducks... and falling in the water! We think it's really funny, and whenever we watch it we can't stop laughing...
http://tinyurl.com/h2hxtjv
Actually, we're just going to watch it again — if Billi can remember how to work out the 'tension loop' on the projector — so why don't you watch it now with us?
However, we don't think Wilson would see the funny side — particularly given how much he hates water — so not a word to him, okay?
Tomorrow Wilson's half-brother Byron will be going back to his family at the zoo. We shall miss him, because he was a nice boy — very polite and well-mannered. Just like our own dear boys, Johnson Major and Johnson Minor!
Anyway, we've been The Bees and we'll see you again next month.
Until then, BEEEEEEEEEE GOOD!
Early this morning Byron pulled out his suitcase and, with Wilson's help, started packing his things ready for his return to the zoo.
W has given Byron a basket of green tomatoes as a gift for his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua. There was a lot of debate about whether they should spray-paint them red, but I think good sense prevailed. Surprisingly.
I shall drive him home on Friday so he's there in time for the weekend, and I expect we'll stay at the zoo with his family for most of the day.
Then as soon as we get home, W says he has 'much planning and preparation' to do for my birthday next week.
If he's baking a cake, I hope it won't have too many ants in it.
And if he's planning the correct number of candles, I'd better warn the village Fire Brigade to be on standby...
Wilson confided to me this morning that Byron is starting to get a bit homesick and is missing his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua.
I've spoken with B and agreed to take him home to the zoo and his family in time for the weekend.
In the meantime, both boys are in the garden preparing direction signs and so on for the P-Y-O Tomato Farm — when it eventually opens, Byron will come back for a few days to help Wilson run it.
And presumably take a share in the profits.
If there are any profits...
Over breakfast, I reassured Wilson that neither he (being half Costa Rican) nor I (half Canadian) would face deportation now that the UK has left the European Union.
Also that the operation of his P-Y-O Tomato Farm was unlikely to be disrupted... though I thought his application for an EU Farm Subsidy was now most unlikely to be successful.
I had promised Wilson that we'd go on holiday when he returned from his stay at the zoo, and once we were alone he asked whether Byron could accompany us. Regrettably I had to refuse, because it's already difficult finding hotels that will allow even one non-human guest, let alone two.
However, I have promised that when the Tomato Farm finally opens for business, Byron can come back to help with its operation — as long as his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, approves.
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...
