Mothers' Day

Before he posted it, Wilson showed me the Mothers' Day card he's made for his mum, Mrs Vermilingua. 

He seems to have a strangely formal relationship with her.

A disappointment for Wilson...

Wilson's eBay horn rimmed glasses have arrived, and he is quite disappointed. Honestly, his head is not the best shape for wearing spectacles and when he did manage to balance them in place he admitted himself that they made him look less Tim Roth, more Jack Duckworth.

He fears that this lack of intellectual improvement may scupper his plans for the robot. 'How can I do my best inventing if my glasses keep falling off?' he grumbled.

Work starts on the Domestic Robot

Wilson has started work on designing his domestic robot, although he is now calling it his teddy bear making robot. His design process is severely hampered by most of the components he needs having not yet been invented. 

He's not too downhearted, though, as he says when his Tim Roth horn rimmed glasses arrive he will look a lot more intellectual and will probably be able to think of work-arounds.

Tim Roth sighting!

Yesterday Wilson was contacted by one of his friends who had actually seen Tim Roth walking along in London. She said he didn't shamble as he walked, and that he was wearing horn rimmed glasses. 

W has bought a pair of horn-rimmed glasses off eBay, but says firmly that 'The shambling walk stays.'

Microgestures

Wilson's all-time hero is Tim Roth, and we've been watching re-runs of the wonderful tv series Lie To Me. 

I don't mind W practicing Dr Lightman's (the Roth character) shambling walk, but when he puts his face right in mine and tilts his head to one side quizzically while he 'reads my face' it does make me feel a little uncomfortable.

W receives an apology... of sorts

A couple of days ago Wilson wrote to the Editor at the Uckfield Examiner asking when their apology to him was going to be printed; he received a letter from him today telling him that the apology had appeared in last Thursday's edition on page 23.

We both went to the recycling bin and finally located the relevant copy. Page 23 was a bit stained by teabags and gravy, but W eventually spotted one of the clues in the crossword puzzle: '7 Down: we done him wrong, 3-5'.

I thought this was pretty paltry, but W thinks it is quite reasonable and feels that his honour has been satisfied.

My spelling is corrected...

Wilson and I took advantage of the lovely weather today to do a little gardening; I did some weeding while W probed the ground for early spring ants. After an hour or so we took a break and sat down in the garden with a cup of tea each, and I mentioned my research concerning the Colon Exchange Rate. 

Wilson was much less excited than I expected, saying that he was born in England and is a British citizen, therefore his savings should be accounted in the currency of this country: Pounds Sterling, no more, no less. Moreover, he reminded me that the money is no longer his prime concern, the welfare of the baby sloths is all that occupies his mind. 

He also pointed out that the correct spelling is Colones!

Result!

I finally got hold of the iPad without Wilson noticing what I was doing, and that nice Mr Google (how does he know so much?) informed me that the currency in Costa Rica is called the Colon, and has an exchange rate of 1 Colon:0.00123 £GB -- only a smidgin over a farthing! So, at today's rate of exchange, 1,000,000 Colon are worth only a little over a grand.  

Later today I will tell Wilson that he need make only £1200 to be a Colon Millionaire and fulfil his promise to his mother.

Currency ponderings...

Wilson was using the iPad all day yesterday, researching the Sloth Orphanage and teddy bear manufacturers, so I've still not had a chance to check out my idea...

When I was a child, I remember working out what it would take to be a Farthing Millionaire. One farthing was a ¼ of an old penny, and there were 240 pennies in a pound, so I would need only… £1041/12/8d. 

Wilson's Great [something] Grandfather Alberto Victor Gutiérrez-López was a millionaire… in Costa Rica. Can you see where I'm going with this thought?

A rare moment of clarity!

In the early hours of this morning I awoke with a start - I had experienced a revelation, an insight, a moment of satori! 

I reached out of bed and groped around for my iPad. Of course, I couldn't find it as Wilson had stowed it in his nest in the tumble dryer, so I'll have to wait until later when I can use it without him noticing. There's something I need to check out before I talk to him - I don't want to raise his hopes in case I'm wrong about this.

A life of philanthropy

Last night we watched a documentary on Animal Planet about an orphanage for sloths in Costa Rica. Wilson was riveted to the screen as he's never actually been to Costa Rica and was desperate to see what his homeland looked like. 

While I cooed over the baby sloths, he waxed lyrical about the countryside… although he did admit that some of the baby sloths were 'quite cute'. 

Each of the baby sloths had a teddy bear to hug, and W has decided that his mission in life will be to raise money to send teddy bears to the Sloth Orphanage, declaring, 'I shall devote my life to philanthropy, to help those less fortunate than myself'. 

'What about the domestic robot you were going to invent?' I asked him. He considered this for a moment, and announced, 'When they are trained, they can assemble teddy bears for the baby sloths. This is now my life's work!'

Wilson plans to restore his reputation

Following his 'exposure' in what he now calls 'the gutter press', Wilson intends to restore his reputation and put everything right by inventing and building a domestic robot. 'It will be a boon to all mankind' he assures me. 

W eventually told me about his problem with the sheep. It seems they were quietly grazing in Hempsted Meadow - the sheep on grass, Wilson hunting unsuccessfully for ants - when they started telling each other jokes. The sheep made the fatal mistake of telling W the 'very rude ant-eater joke', and that finished their relationship. 

It remains now only for me to discover what that joke is...

A disappointment for Wilson

We set off early this National Ant Day heading to the woods and carrying our essential supplies: a gold crown and a jam jar. It was cold and damp, barely light yet, but Wilson assured me that 'it's the early anteater that catches the ant' which is apparently a traditional Costa Rican proverb(!)

We looked under all the rotting tree trunks and other likely places, but without success. 'Of course, National Ant Day is always a lot warmer in Costa Rica,' he remarked. 'It's so cold in your country that the ants are probably still hibernating.'

It appears that Wilson's Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, was crowned Ant Queen three successive years when she was a child, a feat which no anteater in Costa Rica has ever equalled, before or since. 

W was determined to be Ant King this year… all he had to do was find an ant. But sadly it was not to be. 'We'll have much better luck next year' he pronounced, confidently. What a brave little soldier!

We've just arrived home and I'm about to make some hot chocolate to warm us up. I might slip a little Ant Gin into it...

Preparing for a Big Day...

Wilson has written a very stiff letter to the Editor at the Uckfield Examiner, outlining the facts, demanding that a full retraction and an apology be printed in the paper, and threatening him with the PCC and the Leveson Inquiry on Media Ethics.

He then asked me what I was planning for tomorrow. I said that I'd thought about a relaxed day drinking coffee and watching old movies. 'No, no, no!' he replied, 'tomorrow is National Ant Day - we must celebrate it in the traditional way with an Ant Search!' 

W had assumed that I'd known about Ant Day - in Costa Rica it's apparently like Easter but with ants instead of eggs, and celebrated on the first Sunday in March. All the young anteaters go out into the countryside looking for the First Ant of Spring. The first anteater to find an ant is crowned Ant King or Queen and the ant is paraded round the town in a jam jar… before being eaten by the Ant King. Or Queen. 'Everyone knows that!' W said, scathingly.  

Unfair Accusations in the Press...

In today's Uckfield Examiner Wilson has now been accused of stealing sheep! This is blatantly untrue, as he has returned it anyway, telling me that they were 'emotionally incompatible', 'Which makes me only a Sheep Borrower' he explained.
W seems disappointed but otherwise unconcerned about the accusations levelled against him in the paper. 'Most of my ancestors were sheep-rustlers anyway', he says. 'How do you think Great Great […] Grandfather, Alberto Victor Gutiérrez-López got to be a millionaire?' 
When I reminded him of the saying All Publicity is Good Publicity, and a couple of Oscar Wilde quotes he perked up quite a bit. Notwithstanding, he vowed to extract a printed apology from the Uckfield Examiner!


I must say I'm quite curious as to how Wilson and the sheep could be 'emotionally incompatible'. W is tight-lipped… but I'll get it out of him sooner or later.

Bad Press...

Driving his sheep home from Hempstead Meadow, Wilson saw this newspaper hoarding outside the newsagents. He immediately tied his sheep up outside the shop and went in to buy a copy. (He was a little surprised to be charged for the paper, what with having the Freedom of Uckfield etc, but paid up (almost) without argument.)

The paper carried a leader revealing that some of its readers are disappointed ('outraged' is the word they used) by the Mayor honouring Wilson. They have written angry letters pointing out that they contracted food poisoning after W's Haunted Mystery Tour, or had unfulfilled contracts for gardening work and landscaping projects.

W is a little bit brought down, and says he probably won't send cuttings of this to his mum, Mrs Vermilingua.

Possible new vocation?

Wilson, as is his right, has been grazing his sheep on Uckfield's Hempstead Meadow alongside the railway line. I was quite relieved to find it was just a single sheep, but when I questioned him about where he had got it from, he told me not to worry as he had 'just borrowed it from a sheep farmer'. I wonder whether the farmer knows that he's lent Wilson a sheep.

I tried explaining to Wilson that just because he could do a thing didn't mean he had to do it, but he riposted that sheep herding and grazing might be his new vocation. 'It just depends how I get on with the sheep.'

Wilson exercises his citizenship rights...

The police have just phoned me to let me know they've received a report that Wilson is driving sheep across Uckfield Bridge. They are concerned that his sheep might constitute a traffic hazard, while I am more worried about where on earth he has got hold of the sheep!

Sheep may safely graze...

Wilson finally finally got round to asking me, 'What does having the "freedom of the town" actually mean?' I confessed that I didn't really know, so we Googled the term and found out. 

Basically, Wilson can come and go in Uckfield 'without let or hinderance'. Also, he can drive his sheep across Uckfield Bridge and let them graze in the meadow opposite. 'So I don't get any free stuff?' he asked, despondently. 

He sniffed and reflected that a cash prize really would have been more useful, but I cheered him up by pointing out what a unique honour it is, and how proud his family will be.

Lentus in Totus Res

Wilson finally emerged from his nest and triumphantly showed me this daguerrotype of his Great Great […] Grandfather, Alberto Victor Gutiérrez-López, a famous anteater, citizen and millionaire in his home country of Costa Rica. In the photograph he is wearing a very fine top hat and carrying a silver-handled cane which, W explained proudly, is engraved with his family's motto, "lentus in totus res".

Not having had a classical education, I asked W what this means, and he told me it translates as something like, "Take it easy, you're part of the mighty Sloth dynasty". 

The purpose of showing me this, it emerged, is that Wilson thinks he is now an anteater of some substance and standing and would like a daguerrotype of himself wearing a topper and carrying a cane so his mum, Mrs Vermilingua, could have it framed and stand it on the mantlepiece in her parlour. 

(Since our visit the the Mayor's Parlour, W refers to our living room now as The Parlour.)