Ant-related injuries...

Just returned from Casualty at Uckfield Hospital, where I was treated for a number of injuries caused by accidentally treading on cocktail sticks in the garden. Honestly, they're as sharp as punji sticks!

Wilson was very apologetic and, although initially telling me I should have looked where I was putting my feet, is now busily putting a tiny protective cork on the top of each spike. 

On the plus side, though, he says that there is a real buzz in the ant community about the Britain's Got Ants auditions and almost wherever he looks he sees little groups of ants practicing line dancing or acrobatic tricks.

Advance publicity

Before I had a chance to object, Wilson retired to his bed in the tumble drier to think about his new plan. 

About an hour later I found him sitting at the iMac designing a poster. 

Now the garden is filled with minute placards on cocktail sticks, proclaiming:

BRITAIN'S GOT ANTS! Can you dance? Sing? Juggle? Come to the stage in front of the Museum of Old Stuff on Monday and audition for a Wonderful Prize!

I asked W what the prize would be, and he told me there would be a jar of flavoured sugar and the chance to appear on Simon Cowell's Britain's Got Ants tv show. 

'So Simon Cowell has agreed to this?' I asked, incredulously. 

'I'm just waiting for him to return my call' W replied, confidently.

_______________________________________________________

What was Wilson Vermilingua OBE doing last month? Have you missed anything? I've just uploaded the fifth monthly volume of Ant Wars II: MAY 2012. 

This edition contains all the news about his Birthday!

Please tell all your friends, as it is Wilson's stated ambition for his life story to, as he puts it, "Spread like a Very Infectious Thing!". 

I think he means 'Go Viral'.

You can download it or read it online at:

http://issuu.com/friendlydragon/docs/ant_wars_may_2012

Ambitious new plan

I mentioned the Ant Problem to Wilson last night. He apologised for the 45 minute delay in rescuing me from the ants and offered to rub on some of the antihistamine cream I got from my doctor following the attack. He did giggle over the word ant-ihistamine, though, which I thought rather devalued his apology.

This morning, though, he outlined his ambitious new plan to rid the garden of ants: Britain's Got Ants - a talent show for ants. 

He proposes to put up tiny posters all over the garden advertising the event, then hold auditions on a miniature stage he'll set up near the Museum of Old Stuff. 'The most talented ants' he explained, 'will be put in a box and sent off to Simon Cowell.' 

I asked whether Simon Cowell knew about this, or whether receiving a box of live ants through the post would come as a surprise to him. 'I'll give him a call in a minute to arrange a contract and royalties,' W replied. 

So much for the talented ants, but what about the inept, dumb ants? 

'Oh I'll eat those, naturally!' W assured me. 

I am attacked...

Wilson is very busy in the shed preparing the Wilson Vermilingua OBE Museum Of Old Stuff, so it has been left to me to work in the garden removing the weeds that have sprung up while we were away in Devon.

I was getting on with this when I was cruelly subjected to an almost unprovoked attack by thousands of ants, crawling all over me and stinging quite painfully. I called out to W to come immediately to my aid. He called back, 'I'm a bit busy at the moment - try to save some for me'. 

I shall have to try to find a tactful way of reminding him why he came to live with me in the first place.

Cream Tea is served

As promised, Wilson has just served up a Traditional Devonshire Clotted Cream Tea With Ant Jam, made to his mum Mrs Vermilingua's secret recipe. He said that it was her 'signature dish'.

However, I've just seen how the Ant Jam is made: W stands an open pot of strawberry jam in the middle of the lawn and waits until some ants discover it. Once thousands of ants have crowded into the jar, he screws the lid on and shakes it vigorously until it stops moving about on its own. 

W was so proud of his jam that I felt I had to eat a little of it… but I think he might suspect I didn't enjoy it quite as much as I said I did. Maybe my body language gave me away.

Home again...

We've just arrived back home from Devon. Wilson was very sad to leave, though I have to admit I'll be happy to sleep in my own bed tonight. 

We brought a lot of clotted cream and scones home with us, and W has promised to make his speciality Devonshire Clotted Cream Tea With Ant Jam tomorrow. 

Eurovision Song Contest

Last night we watched Eurovision on the communal tv in the hotel lounge. Surprisingly, we were the only people watching it.

Wilson held his head in his paws through most of Englebert's performance, then came out strongly for Romania, declaring it a shoe-in… though he did think the Russian Grannies were quite funny.

By the time the voting started he was fuming about Eastern Bloc countries voting for each other... but I suppose that's the thing about a bloc. 

He was truly shocked when Sweden won, as he was still sure Romania could pull back almost until the last minute. Also, he wants a hat like the Danish singer wore. 

Whatever, we've had a lovely time in Devon, but tomorrow we must head for home.

W's endurance diet

Wow - Wilson certainly knows how to holiday! We've packed a fortnight's activities into just a few days and I'm exhausted; W, on the other hand, fortified by frequent naps and a diet consisting almost exclusively of ants and ice cream, is as fresh as a daisy.

Tonight we'll be watching the Eurovision Song Contest (W has drawn up his complex score-card and brought it with him) then it will be time to return home…

He's got the moves like Gulliver...

We've just got back to the hotel after visiting Kent's Cavern, then on to the Model Village in nearby Babbacombe. 

Wilson was a bit apprehensive in the dark caves, keeping very close to me throughout the tour, but he really loved the model village. He went round pretending to be a giant, and I had quite a hard time keeping him off the grass.

Trains and boats...

Yesterday we journeyed from Paignton to Kingswear by steam train. In the photo you can see that W bagged pole position in the Observation Car, hoping to pretend to drive the train. The train pulled out backwards, so he just pretended to reverse it all the way to Kingswear!

Then on to Dartmouth via passenger ferry. Wilson is a nervous sailor (his New Year Resolution about learning to swim still being unfulfilled) and insisted on donning a life jacket before he'd even set foot on the gangplank. 

Mixed fortunes...

Inevitably, we ended up in an amusement arcade. 

As well as the modern video games and penny-pushers, there were some vintage machines, and I had a reading by a mechanical fortune-teller. A little card popped out telling me that I was well balanced, happy-go-lucky and popular wherever I go. 

I was very pleased with this but Wilson, being a bit of an expert on the psychic readings game, was sceptical of the result, telling me that there were basic errors in the Cold Reading algorithms of the machine, and that one only had to look at me to see that I was a born worrier and I'd never be popular wherever I went. 'I'm sorry, New Dad, but sometimes I have to be cruel to be kind!'

W had a go himself, and his card said that he was cute, cuddly and loveable, enthusiastic and shrewd, a born leader and businessman. He told me that this was a fair and unbiased assessment of his character, and maybe the machine had started working properly by the time he put his 20p in. 

On the way out, W complained to the lady in the Change Kiosk that the instructions on the Automatic Palmistry machine should be changed to read "Hold hand or paw firmly down…" She narrowed her eyes and told W, 'Dogs aren't allowed in the arcade.'

That one, please!

As soon as he had woken and recovered from his nap, Wilson and I headed into Torquay for some Fine Dining. After the long journey I thought a light meal would be best, but W insisted that ice cream was the preeminent antidote for travel fatigue. 

At the first ice cream parlour we came to, W showed me which one he'd like.

Arrival

Here you see us arriving at our hotel. We have a lovely room, and there is a large garden where guests can sit in the evening with a drink. Wilson assures me that this has great ant potential. 

After W has had a brief nap we're heading off to paint Torquay red!

Devon, Glorious Devon

The next morning we set off early for phase two of Wilson's Birthday Treat - a holiday in Devon! 

The weather wasn't great, and it was a long drive. W slept for much of the journey, but I did hear quite a lot of the phrase every parent dreads: 'Are We There Yet?'

Interval refreshments

In this picture you can just make out Wilson fighting through the theatre crowds to buy ice creams during the interval. Naturally there were no ant-flavour ice creams, but he whispered to me that it didn't matter because he'd brought his own ants to sprinkle on. Some of these escaped and caused a measure of discomfort to the woman sitting next to W, but we both pretended not to notice and I think we got away with it.

After the performance, W got to meet Miss Julia the choreographer, ending what was altogether a very exciting day. 

W sang 'That's Your Funeral' and 'As Long As He Needs Me' all the way home in the car. 

ALL the way home.

Oliver!

On the evening of his birthday, after tea, I took Wilson to see a production of Oliver! This was the first time he'd been to any kind of live theatre, and he was completely caught up in the performance. 

At one point he tried to join the cast on stage and I had to restrain him. Once he'd picked up the tunes he sat in his seat clapping his paws in time and singing along, which did draw one or two disapproving glances. But so what - it was his birthday!

Birthday tea

Tea yesterday was a quiet affair attended by Birthday Boy Wilson, Diesel the Goldfish, Antony the Toy Anteater and me. 

After tea, we went to see Oliver! at the theatre - W's first experience of a live performance! Pictures of that tomorrow...

Birthday Boy!

WILSON'S BIRTHDAY!

Up shortly before dawn, woken by a very excited Wilson! His presents included a stripey top, two robot construction kits and a toy electric car. He's wearing his top now, and playing with his car; he's decided to leave the robot kits until he's a bit less overexcited, lest he lose some of the parts.

He received birthday cards from his family (I'd written to Mrs Vermilingua telling her the date of Boo's Official Birthday) … and from the secret admirer who previously sent W a Valentine's Day card. 

Inside this mysterious card, the writer said that she'd really enjoyed the Titanic: The Film red-carpet premier - who can she be?

Antony learns of his past and his future...

Wilson has spent the whole day so far practicing and developing his 'gift' by giving Antony numerous Psychic Readings. He's told him about his previous lives and predicted great things for his future.

Poor Antony - his little kapok-filled head must be spinning!

Séance...

Wilson has just given me a psychic reading. He drew the curtains and sat me in the now semi-darkened living room, welcomed me to the séance then started pacing up and down.

'I'm getting an "S"' he said. 'Does that mean anything to anyone here? Anyone in this [gesturing towards me] part of the room? Anyone at all?' 

He fixed me with a penetrating stare, and reluctantly I raised my hand and said, 'Yes.'

'Your supposed to jump up shout, "Yes, it's my dad!" New Dad - that's how cold reading works!' he admonished me, testily.

'You already know it's my dad. You know everything about him. We've talked about him,' I objected.

'Well he has a message for you,' W continued, unfazed. 'He says he is very happy on the other side. Okay, now I'm getting a "T". Anyone?'

This puzzled me. I don't know anyone starting with a T, so I kept my hand firmly down and said nothing.

W then went down onto all fours, waved his tail in the air and started speaking in a funny voice. At first he miaowed like a cat, then in a squeaky tone he said, 'I apologise for the incident with the goldfish.'

Then he straightened up and staggered around for a bit looking dazed, before asking me, 'What happened? Did I say anything?'

'You crawled on the floor and made cat noises' I told him.

'Ah, my Spirit Guide tells me that I was possessed by your first cat, Timmy. He is very happy in the Spirit Realm, and there are plenty of mice. Please don't worry about him.'

I assured W that I would definitely not worry about the long-dead Timmy.

I really can't see people paying good money to watch this tosh, but W is confident. As always. 

And I have to admit… he's no worse than Derek Acorah!