Wilson
has asked me to warn you that this year's Hallowe'en photo — which will
be up tomorrow — is especially terrifying, and if you're of a generally
nervous disposition you might like to ensure you're sitting down, with a glass of Ant Gin in your hand, before
you look at it...
If you're really nervous, I'd suggest looking at it with your eyes closed — we don't want any trauma-related law suits coming our way...
It took a while for Wilson to make his selection of Christmas Necessities — regularly popping outside to top-up his mince pie supply slowed him down quite a lot.
His 'first round' pick seemed to include at least one of everything in the shop, but eventually he narrowed things down to his final, FINAL choice, and he went to the counter to pay for his purchases.
As he left, he saw Mr James, the Christmas Shop's owner — Wilson shook his hand and told him what a lovely time he'd had in his wonderful Xmas shop.
As we walked back to the car, W remarked that he'd wanted to ask Mr James if he could do the official opening next year instead of the mayor, but he'd been too shy to bring it up.
I hope he doesn't decide to run for Mayor of Uckfield again...
As expected, Wilson was desperate to go to the newly-opened Allsorts Xmas Shop at the top of the high street.
When we arrived, the town was heaving with people, and apparently the Mayor had just left after declaring the shop officially open.
It was no wonder it was crowded — apart from a general air of excitement and Xmassyness there were free balloons and mince pies, plus face-painting.
Wilson declined to have his face painted on the grounds that, sooner or later, I would insist on him washing it off, and his dislike of soap and water is legendary.
However, he accepted a mince pie and a big red Xmas balloon before making his way into the shop, which he described upon entering as, 'A Winter Wonderland!'
Wilson is still muttering about the advantages of a winter holiday — how the beaches won't be crowded, hotels will be cheap etc — but at the moment he's in the kitchen, baking.
He has decided not to go Trick-or-Treating this year, but instead to put something back into the celebration by preparing some treats for any Trick-or-Treaters who call on us.
'I've used EXTRA ANTS!' he told me proudly.
He also plans to open the door to them in as terrifying a way as possible (although he has not yet revealed how this is to be done).
At least when they regain consciousness after their fright, our young visitors can be revived with Fairy Cakes...
Last night Wilson stayed up late to watch the Orionid Meteor Shower — it peaked a few days ago, but he only found out about it yesterday.
He sat in the garden in a deckchair, (within easy reach of his Asteroid Shelter, just in case!) staring at the sky, accompanied by the sTone Brothers who said they would be there anyway, and in any event had nothing better to do.
At 10:30 I went out with a blanket and a mug of hot chocolate for him, but he was sound asleep and snoring, so I carried him gently indoors and popped him into the tumble dryer for the night.
Over breakfast this morning I asked whether he'd seen any meteors.
He answered my question with a question of his own: 'Do meteors travel in threes, quite slowly, and flash? And make a droning sound?'
'I'm not an astronomer,' I replied, 'but I'm pretty sure they don't.'
'Oh,' he replied with a shrug. 'Then it was probably just the EasyJet flight to Perugia that I saw...'
Once inside the shop, Wilson was transfixed by the magnificent array of fireworks on offer!
He eventually settled on the Gold Selection (which, as it happens, includes some of my childhood favourites as well as many other exciting-sounding pyrotechnics) and a packet of Giant Sparklers.
As W paid for his purchase, Mr James — the man who runs Allsorts — told him that these fireworks were made by the same company that made the fireworks for the London Olympics display, and that each and every one was 'packed full of gunpowder!'
As we were leaving, he added that he would be opening a special Christmas Shop in Uckfield on the 29th.
Wilson's face lit up — I imagine we'll be on the doorstep waiting for opening time that day...
Before we went home, Wilson popped in to ALLSORTS at the top of the High Street, to buy some 'Hallowe'en Essentials' as he describes them: Lanterns, Masks, Ghost outfits, Cobwebs, Trick-or-Treat Goodies Bucket and so on.
I would have thought we had enough of this stuff left over from last Hallowe'en but, like his bucket and spade, W insists on replacing everything each year because 'The scaryness wears off'.
As he approached the shop, he saw a banner advertising fireworks! He told me later that he had 'Totes forgotten about Bonfire Night,' due to his excitement about Hallowe'en.
However, the thought of fireworks drew him into the shop like a pin drawn to a magnet, powerless to resist...
_____
In the UK we celebrate with fireworks not on July 4 but November 5, commemorating Guy Fawkes not killing King James I in a Roman Catholic plot in 1605.
Effigies of Fawkes are still burnt today — we really know how to hold a grudge!
The celebration is variously known as Bonfire Night, Fireworks Night or Guy Fawkes Night.
This morning we took Byron back to the zoo so he could be with his family once more.
All his (many) siblings and half-siblings were very pleased to see him again, and greeted his carved pumpkin as a thing of great wonder!
As we drove back to Uckfield, Wilson asked me to drop him off in the village, as he wanted to visit a Financial Advisor for some investment advice.
I waited in the car park until he had finished and he returned to the car for a lift home.
The advice he wanted, it transpires, was to be told how to convert £17.50 into £1M before his next birthday; the financial advisor advised him that it was not possible to do this legally and without serious risk of losing his original investment.
This strikes me as very sound advice!
W shrugged and said that if he couldn't convert his £17.50 into £1M within a reasonable period, we might as well spend it on a holiday.
'We can just fit one in before Xmas and me being Best Man at a dear friend's wedding,' he explained, adding that he's heard great things about a seaside resort called Weston-Super-Market...
Following a night in which nobody got much sleep, both Byron and Wilson were very tired this morning.
However, Byron will be returning to the Zoo tomorrow, so this is his last full day here, and he's determined not to waste a minute of it.
Accordingly, they have both popped down to Tesco in the village, to choose Pumpkins for Hallowe'en, then they'll spend the afternoon carving them.
I've given them money to buy one each, so they don't have to spend their precious earnings... and so that they buy only ONE pumpkin each! It's all too easy to get carried away at this time of year...
Wilson and Byron have implemented a Profit Sharing policy, splitting the earnings from the Wildlife Petting Zoo and Anteater Experience straight down the middle — £17.50 each — leaving me to foot the (not-inconsiderable) 'below-the-line' costs. Whatever that means.
Apart from the charge to my VISA card, this seems very fair, as although Byron did most of the work impersonating wild animals, the Petting Zoo was Wilson's original idea and he did all the planning and organisation.
When they went to bed last night, it soon became clear they were FAR too excited to sleep... and so it proved.
Sadly, Byron will have to return to the zoo soon — it's a pleasure having him here, but he's starting to miss his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, and his many, many siblings and half-siblings...
Looking over the Accounts for the Wild Animal Petting Zoo and Anteater Experience, Wilson observed that while attendance figures were a little disappointing, takings were higher than he'd expected.
Detailed analysis of the accounts reveals that while I was the only visitor, I did have a go on everything... although it did not escape W's notice that I appeared not to have paid for the Pet-a-Wild-Animal Experience, nor to Meet a Tibetan Flying Pig.
However, the Bottom Line of £34 both he and Byron found entirely satisfactory.
I pointed out that the accounts didn't show any expenses — such as hiring the weighing machine, for example — but W explained that those are 'Below The Line' costs, and as such are never shown on accounts.
Uncle Zoltan nodded knowledgeably at this, adding that since Wilson had used my VISA card to pay for everything, there was no need to take them into consideration at all...
While the children gorged themselves on the home-made cake Uncle Zoltan had baked for them, Wilson and Byron watched with bated breath while Uncle Z typed out the Accounts for the Uckfield Wildlife Petting Zoo and Anteater Experience.
Uncle Z claimed some familiarity with dual-entry bookkeeping, and I have to admit that, with his antique typewriter and Victorian dress he looked every bit the part. Like Scrooge from A Christmas Carol...
Occasionally the anticipation would get too much for one of the anteaters, and they'd burst out, 'Are we rich yet?'
Uncle Z would groan theatrically, remove the sheet of paper from his typewriter and shout, 'Now you've made me lose count! I shall have to start all over again!' screw the paper into a ball and toss it onto the floor...
____________________
Sorry this post is a bit late — the posting schedule has been disturbed, but you won't miss any news if you're on the Mailing List, a member of the Appreciation Society or if you keep checking the Blog site: https://antwars2.blogspot.co.uk/
The answer to Dave's question, 'What's your name?' turned out to be unexpectedly complex.
At first he said his name was 'Mole', but Wilson couldn't believe that he was just called Mole the Mole and pressed him for more details.
'It's like my New Dad being called Human the Human!' he complained, 'Or me being called Anteater the Anteater! And think of the confusion if both bees were called Bee the Bee!'
However, it seems that moles lead such solitary lives that they rarely, if ever, need a name (there being no-one else to use it) so even the concept of a name was alien to him.
Eventually W conceded that his name henceforward would be Mole, and took him to one side to fill in a Special Dietary Requirements questionnaire.
It seems this was to establish whether moles ate ants, as W didn't want there to be any competition for food. Antony sat very close to Mole and silently mouthed or mimed the 'correct' answers to Wilson's questions.
Once he had evidence that Mole wouldn't be vying with him over the juiciest ants, Wilson invited him to spend the winter with us in the garden.
'You can live with the sTone Brothers,' he said. 'I'll introduce you!'
Just before Wilson fled to safety in his Asteroid Shelter, a small, dirt-encrusted furry head emerged from the recently-appeared pile of earth.
Antony unhelpfully called out, 'Oooh look — it's a man-eating Sandworm, from Dune! In the movie they were WAY bigger than that — this one's probably a baby!'
The creature looked up and said, 'Hi Antony!' and Antony waved back.
'You two know each other?' Wilson asked, incredulously.
'Sure,' Antony replied, 'This is the mole you kept missing last year!'
In a timid voice, Dave said, 'Hello, my name is Dave; Dave Beanie-Ty. What's your name?'
Wilson immediately turned to me, his paw extended, and announced, 'Meet the Wild Mole Experience — £5 please, New Dad!'
With ants running all over my face I found it difficult to muster the necessary dignity to confront Wilson, but it was time.
'Wilson,' I began, 'Young Dave here — Dave the Pig — says you told him he was adopted. He's very upset. What's going on?'
'W sighed wearily and replied, 'I didn't say he was "adopted". Not exactly. What I actually said was that if anyone asked, he should say he was a Tibetan Flying Pig — just while the Wildlife Petting Zoo is open!'
Dave considered this in silence.
For some reason, Wilson seemed to be wobbling about and — impossible though this sounds — growing taller before my eyes.
Glancing at his feet I noticed the ground beneath him was moving; writhing, almost.
'Don't panic! Don't panic!' he shouted (sounding very like Cpl Jones in Dads' Army). 'We're having an earthquake! Everyone go indoors and hide under the table!'
Without warning, Antony announced, 'Dreams feel real while we're in them. It's only when we wake that we realise something was actually strange.' Everyone stared at him in confusion.
He blushed and explained, 'It's a quote from "Inception" — we're probably all just dreaming that this is happening...'
Determined to have a word with Wilson about Dave the 'Tibetan Flying Pig', I strode over to the Anteater Food kiosk (Dave following at my heel) to confront him.
W pre-empted me with a cheery, 'Hello, New Dad — this is going well, isn't it? I expect you've come for a bag of Anteater Food, to feed the anteaters, yes?'
Caught off-guard, I handed over £2.00. Wilson replied, 'Thank you very much!' opened a bag of ants and proceeded to eat them.
'Mmmmm...' he said, 'These are delicious!'
Intrigued by the 'Eat Like An Anteater' Experience sign, I asked him about it.
He handed me a fresh bag of ants, instructing me, 'Don't use your hands — just eat them with your tongue! I'll finish up your leftovers, if you can't manage them all.'
After a moment I noticed his paw was extended, waiting for another £2.00...
Byron had barely recovered from his Climbing Accident when he reappeared at the Guess My Weight stall, disguised as a... Rabbit? Donkey? It's hard to be sure.
The point of this stall (if there IS a point) is to guess the weight of the Wild Animal at a cost of £5 — if I guess correctly, I get my £5 back.
I handed over my £5. I guessed Byron's weight. I was not correct. I was not surprised.
I asked Byron what the row of sandbags was for — was he expecting the garden to flood? He told me they were just in case people got too good at guessing his weight.
At this point, I noticed that one of the sandbags was already resting on the platform of the weighing machine, concealed behind B's back legs...
Dave the Pig is following me around morosely, so I will definitely have a word with Wilson about Working Conditions in his Wildlife Park, and find out exactly what he said to Dave that has so upset him.
In fact, I shall find Wilson now and confront him!
Next up on the list of Must-See Attractions was a climbing demonstration which would apparently leave me 'Breathless with excitement and wonder' as I watch this 'Lithe and acrobatic animal climb high into the leafy forest canopy above in search of food.'
The lithe and acrobatic animal turned out to be Byron. Again. It occurs to me that Byron appears to be doing a lot of work, while Wilson takes the ticket money and is paid to eat ants...
Anyway, I handed him a £5 note and he clambered enthusiastically (though a little uncertainly) into the lower reaches of a small tree.
By the time he drew level with my head, he stopped, and remarked that at the Zoo he did all his climbing on a Jungle Gym, and trees were quite a bit trickier.
I reassured him that he was doing very well — certainly much better than I could have managed — but he eventually confessed that he was stuck, and asked me to help him down.
Reaching towards him he put his arms round my neck and I lifted him back to Terra Firma.
'There's no need to mention this to Wilson, is there?' he asked.
I shook my head, saying, 'Absolutely not — no need at all!'
Moving on, I noticed Dave the Pig sitting glumly on the patio wearing, inexplicably, a pair of wings.
'Hi Dave!' I greeted him, 'How's tricks?'
He sighed and explained that Wilson had told him he was a rare, Tibetan Flying Pig — an endangered species, and probably the last of his kind.
Dave had been blissfuly unaware of this, always assuming he came from a great lineage: his Mum, after all, had been from the House of Beanie, while his Dad had been of Clan Ty.
Now, though, it seemed that he must have been adopted, his brief life to date rendered a lie...
I tried to cheer him up, saying that Wilson was obviously mistaken and I'd have a word with him to sort things out...
Moving along into the park proper, the first thing I encountered was a 'wild animal pen' containing what, if I hadn't known better, I would have said was Byron wearing a pair of furry Xmas 'reindeer antlers'.
He waved shyly to me and whispered, 'Hello Mr Wilson's New Dad!'
'Hello!' I replied, 'Are you a... Moose? Or a Reindeer?'
Byron nodded enthusiastically.
'Are you safe to pet?' I continued, and he nodded again.
I reached out to tickle him behind his ear, but his antlers wobbled alarmingly and almost fell off.
Steadying them with his paw, he explained, 'Oh, don't worry — I'm getting ready to shed my antlers ready for next Spring!'
His antlers, although safely restored to his head, began to flash in time to a tinny rendition of 'Jingle Bells'.
'I'm supposed to ask you for £5, but I don't really like to,' he continued, ''Cos although you probably haven't noticed I'm not a REAL reindeer!'
He blushed and waved goodbye, as I moved on the the next attraction...
