I don't know why, but since we returned home The Bees have been quite evasive. I think it's something to do with Wilson.
He hasn't noticed the change in their behaviour yet, however, as first thing this morning he told me he was going into the village to 'stake out the High Street'.
I've only ever heard the expression 'Stakeout' in TV crime dramas, where it means something like 'case the joint for a burglary' so I was concerned W might be considering a life of crime. He allayed my fears, however, by explaining that it is a term used by Surveyors when they're measuring a building site.
When he got to the High Street he started crossing the road in a big, exaggerated stride — almost goose-stepping — and counting his paces aloud.
When he reached the far side he'd record the number of paces on his clip-board, turn round and repeat the process.
As usual, I've no idea what's going on — but I do know I probably won't approve...
Hello, we are The Bees, Polly and Billi, and this is our Guest Blog!
Today we had hoped to show you all the many photos we took at our Party In The Lavender last month (to be fair, they were mostly Selfies) but instead we are the bearers of Bad News.
Very Bad News.
News so bad that we don't know how to break it to Wilson.
It's alright at the moment since he's preoccupied trying to manoeuvre his 'Obelisk' thing in through the gate, but as soon as that's done, he will notice something dear to his heart is not quite as it should be.
On the plus side, once he DOES notice, we won't have to break the news to him... but it's hard not feeling a TINY bit guilty, what with it being slightly* our fault.
Anyway, we've been the bees and we'll see you next month. Until then, BEEEEEEE GOOD!
_____________
*entirely our fault
As soon as we drove into our road I realised that there had been a delivery left on the front drive, meaning I wouldn't be able to park the car there.
I glanced across at Wilson and asked him, 'Any idea what that is? I'm guessing it's yours!'
Climbing out of the car we all inspected it curiously from a safe distance — all except little Antony, who declared in a wavering voice:
'Good News, everyone, I know what this is!'
He approached the box slowly, extended one forepaw and cautiously touched it... then jumped as though he'd received an electric shock.
He stood motionless with his eyes closed for a full minute while everyone waited expectantly, before finally announcing:
'It is as I suspected. It is the Obelisk from 2001 A Space Odyssey. I have now absorbed all the knowledge of the universe, and small plush toys will shortly develop a mission into Deep Space! Deep, Deep Space...'
Wilson snorted and shook his head despairingly, but Antony continued, 'In future, you may address me as Bowman. Dr Bowman.'
This morning we went down to what Wilson is calling, rather dolorously, The Last Breakfast (he was raised a Catholic in Costa Rica, which I suppose explains quite a lot).
While we were all waiting for out breakfasts to be served, W explained some of the difficulties in having a piglet called 'Piglet' — he's principally worried that he might be sued by The Estate of AA Milne and Christopher Robin, and possibly even the Walt Disney Corporation, if he doesn't think of an alternative name soon.
I replied that some of his friends have been sending in suggestions, one of which was Percy.
'Percy Pig?' Wilson raised his eyebrows. 'Bit of a cliché, isn't it?'
I've decided to keep the mooted name of Porky to myself, for everyone's sake, so I continued, 'Another suggestion was Peregrine!'
At this, W puffed out his cheeks and made a sort of 'Poof' sound, while the pig rolled his eyes.
Wilson closed down further discussion by saying, 'Well, I'm sure something suitable and appropriate will occur to me soon...'
Indeed, by the time we'd all finished our breakfasts and we were preparing to leave the table, Wilson called out, 'Come on Antony. Tiny Toy. Dave. It's time to go...'
Not long afterwards we were back in the car, bound for Uckfield once more...
We spent our final evening in Newquay (or Nookey as Wilson still insists on calling it) sitting on a bench on the cliffs opposite our hotel, gazing out thoughtfully towards the horizon as the sun set.
'It's been a good holiday, New Dad,' W observed wistfully, 'and I've had a lovely time. I'm sorry I didn't get to propose to my fiancĂ©e — or even meet her, come to that — but I've enjoyed making new surfing friends, and I've got Piglet to guard my tomatoes...'
Traditionally this is the time when W pleads to stay a few more days, but this time, to my surprise, that didn't happen. Instead, he continued:
'I'd love to spend a bit longer in Nookey, but sadly I must return to Uckfield — I have many responsibilities there, and duties to perform.'
Before heading back for a pre-bedtime drink in the bar he asked me to take a photograph of both our shadows on the cliff top park, to help him remember this poignant moment.
As I pressed the shutter he waved his paw in the air and shouted, 'Good Night Nookey — thank you for a lovely holiday!' before we walked slowly, paw-in-hand, back to the bar...
We retrieved the car from King Arthur's Pay-'N'-Display Car Park and set off for our hotel in Newquay.
Throughout the journey Wilson constantly criticised both King Arthur's and Merlin's living arrangements.
'How poor Queen Guinevere coped with living in that ruin I can't begin to imagine! I'm only surprised she didn't leave HRH Arthur and take up with somebody with a bit more ambition!' and so on. I have to admit I rather tuned out.
He was in the middle of a tirade against Merlin for not helping out more when suddenly he stopped, mid-sentence, shouting, 'Stop the Car! New Dad, Stop The Car!'
I'm quite used to this by now, so instead of performing an Emergency Stop in the middle of the road I drew into a parking bay.
Wilson jumped out of the car and ran into a toy shop we'd just passed, calling back to me that he had to buy a souvenir of the holiday.
By the time I'd locked the car and followed him inside, he was trying to decide between many cute animals — monkeys, giraffes, hedgehogs and hippos — when he spied a rack of piglets.
'This little guy,' he announced as he took one off the shelf, 'is EXACTLY who I need to guard my Tomato Farm back in Uckfield!'
Coinage was exchanged with the shopkeeper and the piglet, currently called 'Piglet' was proudly carried back to the car.
To the annoyance of some of the other passengers, Wilson had to wrestle his surf board into the Land Rover for the trip down to King Arthur's Castle and Merlin's Cave.
Once we arrived, to their further annoyance, he had to wrestle it out again.
It was a surprisingly tight fit, and you'd be amazed what a fuss some people make when they're poked round the head with a surf board...
We stood for a long time without speaking, taking in the beauty of this wild and rugged spot and listening to the cries of the wheeling seabirds and the roar of the surf breaking on the rocks below us and soaking in the atmosphere of this magical and elemental place.
At length, Wilson spoke: 'I'm a bit disappointed that King Arthur lived in a ruin,' he announced, 'and very surprised that his magician, Merlin, lived in a cave with its floor underwater!'
I raised my eyebrows and tried to maintain a neutral expression.
He continued, 'If Merlin was such a Red-Hot, Tip Top Magician, I'd have thought he could magic himself up somewhere a bit grander to live than a wet cave. Somewhere with a dry floor, for a start. And a door. I bet Paul Daniels' house is WAY better than this!'
We drove in through the main road into Tintagel and parked in King Arthur's Pay-'n'-Display Car Park (Max Stay 4 hrs).
Strolling towards the centre of the village we passed King Arthur's Hair Salon, King Arthur's Café, King Arthur's Launderette and King Arthur's Toy Shop (selling King Arthur's Teddy Bears).
Wilson remarked that King Arthur seemed to have this town pretty much sewn up — even tighter than Prince Charles, who actually owns all of Cornwall!
However, the main objective of our visit was to see King Arthur's Castle and Merlin's Cave, and we soon located a Shuttle Service that would transport us down the very steep hill to the castle.
Hopefully back up again, too!
________
PS: Wilson says "Hi!" to his new readers in Russia! Добро пожаловать! 🇷🇺
Wilson spent a long time in the junk shop; a LONG time.
As I waited outside with Antony and little TT, guarding W's surf board, it felt as though he'd been inside for several hours, but when I checked my watch it turned out he'd only been inside for several hours.
Finally he emerged, without having bought anything.
He explained that he thought he'd found an Etch-A-Sketch once owned by the Dutch artist Mondrian — when he looked closely he could apparently make out a lot of pale rectangles 'Exactly like Mr Piet used to draw' — but he was unwilling to risk a whole £1 on it.
While W had been in the shop the sun had come out and the sky turned blue, so I suggested we move on to Tintagel, putative home of King Arthur and Merlin, his magician.
Wilson applied some Factor 50 to the end of his snout and we set off back to the car.
In a tiny lane leading away from the quayside in Mevagissey, Wilson spotted a shop he couldn't resist.
He is magnetically drawn to seductive places such as this, imagining he will find a lost Picasso sketch or misidentified Ming Dynasty ashtray, or even just a complete Clarice Cliff tea service, then get rich and famous on Flog It or Dickinson's Real Deal by selling it for £1M, and so keeping the promise he once rashly made to his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua.
Daytime TV has much to answer for.
Anyway, he ducked inside to have a good look round, leaving me outside holding Antony and TT, and guarding his surf board.
As he left he admonished me, 'Don't let anyone buy my "stick" New Dad — not unless you can snag a REALLY good price!'
As we strolled through the beautiful little village of Mevagissey we came across a shop called The Bee Hive.
Unfortunately it was closed so Wilson was unable to buy a gift for the bees, Polly and Billi, but as the next-best thing he insisted on having his photograph taken standing in front of it.
He says he will give them a copy of the photo as it is, after all, the thought that counts.
And he thought they'd like a photo of him.
As we were leaving the village, we came across a 'Living Statue'.
Wilson has encountered these before, in London's busy Covent Garden, but in this deserted street he was, as he later described it to me, 'Totes creeped out!'
He stood rooted to the spot until I tossed a few coins into the statue's bucket, when we made our excuses and left.
As we walked back to the car I took his paw, and I could feel him trembling...
Today is not quite as sunny. In fact it's raining, but not hard enough to dampen our spirits — for we are British Holidaymakers, well used to Augusts that feel like February!
Of course, Wilson has Dual Nationality, and his Costa Rican half is yearning for sunshine, while Antony and TT (nationality unknown) are both safely in the dry of my pocket.
On our way to Mevagissey we stopped off at the enchanting little fishing port of Fowey, as Wilson needed to stock up on ice cream and chocolate.
Sadly, we're not seeing the village at its best because of the drizzle, but also the weather has kept some of the less hardy tourists away, so it's not too crowded.
The climate is very variable on the Cornish Peninsula, and it may yet be sunny in Mevagissey by the time we arrive — we shall have to see...
By the time we arrived at the centre of the village Wilson, although still downcast, had cheered up a little.
I suggested we head into the 'Port Wen Café' for some coffee and cake... and ice-cream... and an Ant Slushie (that wasn't on the menu, but Wilson always travels equipped with some spare ants), but he was a bit worried about the sign outside reading, 'ALL Doggies Are Very Welcome!' since, as he's mentioned before, dogs seem to have an inherent dislike of anteaters. Or perhaps it's just Wilson.
Whatever, I went on ahead to check out the dog situation, and it turns out there weren't any at the moment, so I called W in — the surf board causing only minor inconvenience and breakages.
I removed Antony and Tiny Toy from my pocket, set them down on the table and we all shared some 'grindage' as W still insists on calling food.
Over our scoff Wilson confessed that, although he was disappointed he hadn't got to meet Ms Caroline, and taken a selfie with her, and proposed marriage, perhaps it was after all for the best.
'Mayhap I'm intended to be a solitary, single Anteater, New Dad.' he said, 'always an Uncle, never a Dad...'
He tried to smile as he said this, but his voice betrayed his emotion.
Anyway, tomorrow we're off to Mevagissy — who could fail to have his spirits lifted by such a prospect?!
After a stiff climb we eventually reached Doc Martin's Surgery. It wasn't hard to spot: it was chained off and surrounded by signs saying 'Private Residence: Keep Out' etc.
Having invested so much emotional effort into coming here, however, Wilson was not to be denied at the last moment, so he ducked under the chain barrier and peered in through the downstairs windows, tapping on the glass and calling, 'Ms Caroline? Are you there? It's me, Wilson!'
It seemed that his prospective fiancée, Ms Katz, was not at home, so he just posed for a photo with his medical accoutrements outside the Surgery door.
As we left Wilson confided that he was 'well gutted' not to have met Ms Caroline, but relieved that at least the dog, Buddy, hadn't been in attendance.
'Dogs just don't seem to like me,' he added, 'and I don't know why...'
I'm hoping that an ice cream will cheer him up; it usually does!
When Wilson emerged from the toy shop he thrust his purchase — a Junior Doctor Kit — into my hands, grabbed his surfboard and ran towards the beach.
Sticking his board nose-first into the sand he waited nonchalantly by it until a couple of surfers passed him.
He called out to them, 'Caught any gnarly tubes, dudes? I'm looking spend some time in the glasshouse!'
'Point your nose thattaway, dude,' the older one replied, 'See ya out back!'
The other added, 'Hey, nice Thruster, man!'
'Awesome — thanks! Um... Cowabunga!'
With that, W returned to me, beaming from ear to ear, and we resumed our search to find Doc Martin's Surgery...
Leaving the Village School we set off in search of Doc Martin's Surgery, but on the way Wilson noticed a toy and souvenir shop and ducked inside.
He caused a measure of mayhem with his surfboard, sweeping things off the shelves and onto the floor with it every time he turned around.
You know that saying about A Bull in a China Shop? I think its modern equivalent should be An Anteater With a Surfboard in a Toy Shop, such was the pandemonium he wrought.
Fearing a massive bill for breakages, I offered to stand outside the shop with his 'stick' while he made his purchases — I think there is little danger of me being mistaken for a Surfer Dude...
Soon we came across the 'Village School' where 'Louisa Ellingham' (Caroline Katz) teaches older Primary children. While it was once a real school, it has now been converted into a restaurant.
Wilson has avoided any formal education so far (actually I think this is the closest he's ever been to a school in his life) so is pretty unfamiliar with the concept of 'school' except for what he's read about it in The Beano, The Dandy and Tom Brown's Schooldays (Abridged, Illustrated Edition), so he didn't know what to expect as he peered through the windows into the 'classroom'.
What he saw was a roomful of mostly adults eating and not a teacher in sight, so he concluded that it was 'School Dinners' time between morning and afternoon lessons.
Of Caroline Katz, his prospective fiancée, there was no sign.
'She's probably got her feet up in the Staff Room,' he told me, 'having a G&T and a rest from teaching all those surprisingly mature students. We'll come back later...'
With this we headed further into the village in search of Doc Martin's Surgery.
I'm afraid Wilson still has a very tenuous grasp of the difference between Real Life and TV Drama.
When we arrived at Port Isaac (the pretty Cornish village that pretends to be 'Port Wen' in the Doc Martin TV series) we parked on the outskirts and walked the short distance to the village.
Before we set off, Wilson circled the car park looking for any BUFFALO PICTURES vans (that being the name of the Doc Martin Production company) but came up empty.
I'm quite relieved, actually — there would have been a measure of embarrassment involved if the Director and crew had been there and W had started performing impromptu auditions.
Walking down the lane to the village, Wilson suddenly and unexpectedly shouted at the top of his lungs, 'Prepare yourself, Port Wen — I am amongst you!' Several people turned and stared, and I blushed a little.
As we approached the outskirts of the little port, we started to recognise some of the buildings from the show, remarking on them to each other...
Once he and his family were fully protected from marauding lions, Wilson settled down on the bed to check his email.
He hasn't received any response from the Editor of The Daily Telegraph about his job application to be a columnist, but he took this disappointment philosophically.
'I'm not really surprised,' he told me. 'After that Mendacious Brexiteer Boris Johnson, they probably think I'm overqualified!'
Following several minutes of earnest tapping on his (my) iPad he announced that he had just sent a further email to the Editor, asking to be considered for the position of Daily Telegraph Surfing Correspondent.
But tomorrow is another day. We shall visit 'Port Wen' and Wilson will possibly meet his future fiancée Caroline Katz and snag a starring role in an episode of Doc Martin.
I think 'possibly' is the key word here...
