In spite of the furore caused by Uncle Zoltan's sudden and baffling disappearance, Wilson has completed the March page of your Free 2017 Anteater Calendar!
This may be because of his sense of public duty to you, his loyal reader, or it may be that he's secretly relieved by Uncle Z's absence because he's no longer subject to constant criticism by the irascible insect!
Whatever, this month's picture shows Wilson relaxing with a bottle of wine at a pavement café in Jersey.
Or it might be Devon.
Or even the Isle of Wight.
Wherever it was, he says it was lovely and warm and relaxing, and he'd like to be back there very soon!
Polly still hasn't returned from Uncle Zoltan's hive, so after breakfast Billi popped round to see what was occurring.
She has just returned, bearing grave news.
The hive is deserted — they have searched it from top to bottom, and there is no sign of Uncle Zoltan.
The only evidence of recent activity is an empty vodka bottle (which is disturbing in itself, as Uncle Z is a lifelong teetotaller) and a letter discarded on the floor.
Polly picked the letter up and read it: it is from Vogue UK Magazine, declining his application for the post of Editor on the grounds that they do not normally employ vespinae for reasons of Health & Safety.
They even spelled his name wrongly, addressing him as Mr Soltan — what more profound insult could there be?
Wilson quickly sorted out a couple of his W Vermilingua OBE — Consulting Detective cards to give to the bees, in case they wish to avail themselves of his professional investigative services...
Wilson has emailed Sky News to ask how much it would cost for him to sponsor something like the Snow Report.
He still hasn't told me exactly what he intends to sponsor — merely hinted that it would be a 'Totes game-changer.'
I suspect their reply will say it will be enormously expensive — I'd hide my VISA card, but W has memorised all the details...
Polly has popped round to see Uncle Zoltan, just to check he's alright following the letter he received a couple of days ago.
Wilson was just finishing a late breakfast of boiled egg and soldiers with ant sprinkles, when he noticed the Sky Snow Report on tv.
He ran out to me and asked whether I knew how much it would cost to sponsor the Sky Snow Report.
I replied by asking him why on earth he'd want to, but he tossed his head in frustration and ran off.
Driving home from the restaurant last night, in a (probably doomed) attempt to persuade Wilson to postpone his Weston Super Mare holiday until later in the year, I reminded him how cold and wet our holidays in Blackpool and Liverpool had been.
He countered my every point by saying how great those holidays had been in spite of the cold, wet and windy weather.
Once he'd said, 'You know, New Dad, wherever we go, we have a brilliant time as long as we're together!' I knew I had lost my case...
This morning Uncle Zoltan received an official-looking letter in the post — he carried it off to his hive, probably in order to read it in private.
Once our main courses had arrived — vegetarian Ravioli for W, Calzone for me (W was initially outraged, thinking I'd ordered Calamari) — Wilson began to outline the many and manifold reasons why mid February would be the ideal time for a seaside holiday: how the beaches wouldn't be crowded, hotels would be cheap, parking would be easy and there wouldn't be crowds of noisy, ill-behaved children shouting 'Ooh — look at that anteater!' and pointing rudely at him.
Then he glanced back over both his shoulders, leaned forward conspiratorially and asked, 'New Dad, in that song Robert de Niro's Waiting — is he a waiter here? 'Cos I'd like his autograph if he is.'
As soon as we'd ordered our food, I took a deep breath and prepared myself to raise the thorny topic of Wilson's illegal FlyPosting, but before I could speak he surprised me by raising one paw and saying, 'It's alright, New Dad, you don't have to say anything — I know why you've brought me here.'
I began to think this difficult discussion might be a lot easier than I'd feared, but before I could say another word, W continued: 'It's about the holiday you promised me before Xmas, isn't it? Our holiday in Weston Super Market!'
For the rest of the journey to the restaurant, Wilson chatted excitedly about the cars we'd just seen, extolling the special virtues of each one.
I expect he's imagining the sort of car he'd like to have when he gets older...
As we entered the restaurant, I straightened my back and steeled myself for the coming unpleasantness: NOTHING was going to stop me discussing W's illegal FlyPosting activities, and how they have to stop!
Wilson was cheerfully unaware of the coming confrontation, however, cheerfully humming Robert De Niro's Waiting, Talking Italian.
As I suggested, today I'm taking Wilson out for a nice meal to get him in a good mood... so I can break the news to him that his FlyPosting activities must cease.
We're going to an out-of-town restaurant to avoid the inevitable embarrassment when W offers to treat me and tries to pay with Uckfield Pounds!
On the way to the restaurant we passed a car dealership, and W asked whether we could stop to take a look round.
It wasn't quite dark yet, so I agreed — though I forbade him from speaking to any salesmen and utterly prohibited him from signing anything!
I've already had a word with Wilson about FlyPosting, but this morning I learned that he'd been out again, sticking up Uckfield Pound Welcome Here stickers on local shop windows.
Over the weekend I think I'll take him out to a nice meal, then when he's in a good mood, sated with food and drink, I'll break it to him that it has got to stop.
In other news, I should like to apologise to the late Sir John Betjeman for the dreadful title of Wednesday's Blog Post. :(
My shower was cut short this morning by Wilson standing outside the bathroom door yelling through the keyhole:
'New Dad! New Dad! Come quick! The ambulance is here! The iMac is back from iMac Hospital!'
Pulling on my bath robe I arrived downstairs in time to see Wilson shaking hands with the 'ambulance' driver and thanking him for returning our iMac so quickly, and for taking such good care of it.
While I signed the driver's receipt Wilson ran off to prepare his 'Welcome Home iMac' party.
Wilson and I would both like to thank the nice people at AppleCare and at AMSYS for taking such good and prompt care of our iMac!
TT's joke for today is:
'The other day my friend was telling me that I didn’t understand what irony meant. … which is ironic, because we were standing at a bus stop.'
Now that the iMac is home, we shouldn't be requiring TT's comedic services again for a while.
Thank goodness!
Uncle Zoltan has prepared a new CV or Resumé to support his appointment as Editor of Vogue UK.
He has said that he is a great Fashion Enthusiast, an admirer of Gok Wan, a regular viewer of "America's Next Top Model" and once lived in a nest in a sweatshop in London’s Rag Trade District in Brick Lane.
If that doesn't swing it for Uncle Z I don't know what will.
[He's putting a brave face on things, but basically, I think he's doomed. :( ]
I doubt he'll be greatly cheered by Tiny Toy’s Joke Of The Day:
’The Pen is Mightier than the Sword — and considerably easier to write with!’
STOP PRESS:
We've just had a phone call from the doctor who's been treating our iMac — she says it is now fully returned to health and will be coming home tomorrow! Yay!
Wilson is planning a party...
Uncle Zoltan has heard from Vogue UK Magazine about his application to be Editor!
They have asked him to send a full CV (Resumé) because just saying ‘I need a good salary so I can afford to buy my own hive and escape this hell-hole' is apparently insufficient reason to appoint him to this prestigious position...
TT's joke for today:
'If a Police Dog is chasing you, try not to dive into a tunnel, then on to a see-saw, then jump through a hoop of fire. They're trained for that!'
No news yet of our iMac…
Wilson is dealing with his separation anxiety by comfort eating Belgian Buns.
In spite of their inherent richness, he prepares them in the way his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, taught him: he cuts the bun in half and covers each piece in slices of butter.
I wonder what they call Belgian Buns in Belgium? Or French Fancies in France? Or Brussels Sprouts in Brussels? Or… well, I expect you get the picture.
TT’s joke for today is:
“A dyslexic man walked into a bra…”
Which at least has the benefit of brevity.
Today’s joke from Tiny Toy is:
“Do you know what the greatest invention EVER is? It’s the Thermos Flask — it keeps hot drinks hot, and it keeps cold drinks cold, but… how does it know?”
Uncle Zoltan rather unkindly declared that this was the worst joke he’d EVER heard, and proceeded to tell an interminable story, interspersed with a lot of chuckling, about a hornet, a wasp and a yellow-jacket who went into a bar together…
Wilson has made a Get-Well-Soon card for our iMac and sent it off to:
The iMac Hospital,
Surrey,
England,
Europe (until we leave),
The World,
Earth,
The Solar System,
The Milky Way Galaxy.
The iMac (let’s not argue about its ownership right now) was collected this morning and is on its way to the iMac Hospital in Surrey. I hope it’s olright and makes a v. swift recovery.
Anyway, here is another of Tiny Toy’s jokes:
“An onion told me a joke the other day. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry!”
Brave try, TT, but we’re all feeling the loss here at Chez New Dad…
Wilson seems to have broken my iMac — or as he prefers to express the same event, I seem to have broken his iMac!
Whatever, the outcome is the same: the service company will be
collecting it tomorrow and its repair will take 'three to five working
days' 
️
This means that there will be no Ant Wars posts for perhaps a week!
However, to keep everyone's spirits up, Tiny Toy has heroically offered to come up with a joke for every day the iMac is out of action!
Today TT's joke is:
"I came home and the phone was ringing. I picked it up and said, 'Who's speaking please?' And a voice said, 'You are!'"
Hmmm. 😕
In the meantime, if you're visiting, remember to use the side door because Uncle Zoltan is still in meltdown...
Hello, we are The Bees, Polly and Billi, and this is our Guest Blog!
Today we had hoped to tell you about something very important which a very clever and wise man said about Bees. That wise and clever man was Mr Albert Einstein, and what he said is:
'If bees disappeared off the surface of the globe, then man would have only four years of life left. No more bees, no more pollination, no more plants, no more animals, no more man.'
That's what we had hoped to tell you, but what we must actually tell you is that Uncle Zoltan seems to have gone rogue, and we've had to stop using the front door. If you come round, please use the door at the side of the house!
We've tried to enrol Uncle Z in an Anger Management programme, but you've no idea how difficult it is to get psychiatric help for hornets. Or insects in general, come to that.
Anyway, we've been The Bees, and we'll see you next month — until then, Beeeeee Happy!
PS What do you think of my new glasses? I think they look well cool, and Polly loves me in them! ❤️
Uncle Zoltan's relentless angry pacing up and down on the front door mat is making everyone uneasy — it's as tense in here as in the Big Brother House after Kim Woodburn went in!
When the postman finally called with a letter, Uncle Z fell on it, ripping it open before he realised with disgust that it had been addressed not to him but to 'That Anteater' as he refers to Wilson.
Matters are made even worse by W constantly humming 'Hey Mr Postman', 'Return To Sender', 'Lightning Strikes the Postman' — even the theme music from 'You've Got M@il'!
If it's his intention to wind Uncle Z up, it is most certainly working...
Wilson went out after dark last night putting up stickers reading UCKFIELD POUND WELCOME HERE on local shop windows.
If your shop has been stickered, please accept my apology, and know that the sticker can be easily removed with soapy water. I shall have a word with W about this later.
Uncle Zoltan has spent the whole day at the front door waiting for the postman to bring a reply to his application for the post of Editor of British Vogue, and railing about the appalling state of the Royal Mail.
This in spite of it being Sunday, when there are no deliveries.
No one is prepared to mention this to Uncle Z for fear of a good stinging!
