Twizzy

Yesterday's Wimbledon semifinal was so tense that even Wilson managed to stay awake for (most of) it! He'd suddenly jerk awake and shout, 'Come on Andy!' 

While waiting for Sunday's final, he's gone back to working on his robot. 

Here's another photo of him at the Chelsea Flower Show where, in spite of its silly name, he was very taken by the new Renault Twizzy, and I have a feeling I know what he'll be wanting next Christmas…

D'oh! I can't believe I've just mentioned Christmas!

Hampton Court Flower Show

Phew! Sorry I didn't post yesterday, but Wilson's main birthday present to me was two tickets to Hampton Court Flower Show! 

Had a lovely day, but when we got home we were both exhausted - I carried W out of the car and popped him straight into his bed in the tumble dryer, put the plants we'd bought into the garden then went to bed, where I slept 11 hours straight! 

The tickets were a complete surprise as they hadn't shown up on my VISA statement, but W confessed that he'd been given them by a friend of his, Richard, who is a gardener and had a couple of spares. 

I have to say, Wilson certainly knows how to spend! Almost everything he saw, he HAD to buy for his Charity Garden Open Day… and guess whose plastic he put it all on!

Happy Birthday to Me!

I've had a lovely day so far.

Wilson gave me what I thought was a copy of his novel '50 Sheds of Grey' but when I opened it I found was actually a copy of Dr Brian Cox's 'The Quantum Universe: Everything that Can Happen Does Happen'. I expect we'll read that together, as I might need W's razor-sharp intellect to help me with some of the concepts. 

He also gave me an enormous package which, when opened revealed another package and so on, Russian-Doll style, until I finally opened the tiniest box imaginable which was labelled in W's handwriting, 'Higgs Boson Presentation Gift Set'. W promised me that the box is 'stuffed full of' Higgs Bosons, and I should be careful not to spill them when I open it. I guess I'd need a LHC to see whether it really is full of Higgs Bosons, but at least, as of today, it could be!

Birthday lunch was delicious, with a special Ant-and-Redcurrant Sauce that W has been working to perfect for days. I think he still has a little fine-tuning to go… but the noodles and the mushrooms were perfect!

W says that I will receive my main present tomorrow, and we'll need the car. Mysterious - I hope I can sleep tonight with the anticipation. I also hope Wilson doesn't think he'll be doing any of the driving…

Plot adjustment

I suggest to Wilson that perhaps his novel could do with a little romance, a soupçon of love interest; the original book is, after all, described as 'mummy-porn'. He grumbles about the purity of his plot being spoiled, but grudgingly consents to add a girl anteater to the story. 

'She is poor and ragged, a delicate creature,' he explains, 'befriended by me, um, I mean by the handsome hero, and her gamine beauty gradually emerges as she helps with the painting.'

'Might they get engaged, marry and have a litter of adorable baby anteaters?' I asked.

'Poof! Some chance!' W replies, dismissively. 'There might be a bit of cuddling, but she won't be a major character, and there certainly won't be any babies!'

The Plot

Wilson has just outlined the plot of 'Fifty Sheds of Grey' to me:

A young anteater, poor but exceptionally intelligent and good-looking(!), converts his stepfather's garden shed into a museum. This is such a success that he buys a further 49 garden sheds, all of which form annexes to the museum, and he paints them all grey. 

As plots go it doesn't sound enthralling, but I suppose it's all down to the quality of the writing. Anyway, W's aim is for it to be bought by mistake by embarrassed or confused shoppers hoping to buy '50 Shades of Gray'. 

Who knows? Perhaps it will work. Perhaps it will turn out to be a cult Christmas gift.

50 Sheds of Grey

I half expected to find that Wilson had ordered six tons of Readymix for his Easter Island Head project, but he remained in bed in the tumbledryer until late today. When I went to wake him, I found he was already hard at work with his (ie my) iPad, tapping away at the keyboard.

I asked him how he was, and he said he must not be disturbed as he was working on a 'brilliant idea'. When I pressed him on this, he said he was writing a blockbuster novel that was 'certain to outsell Harry Potter. It's called "Fifty Sheds of Grey". People who are embarrassed about buying the "50 Shades of Gray" book will buy it by mistake!'

'Hmm…' I responded. The original book is a very racy 'Adult' novel - is that what you're writing?'

'Give me a break!' he replied, 'I'm only five! What do I know about that stuff?'

I'm sure he'll tell me what it's about eventually. I'll bring him some coffee and choc-ant cookies in bed and try to get him talking about it…

An idea too far...

Wilson has shown me an article in National Geographic about the giant Easter Island heads… and his 'brilliant idea' is to construct some full-size replica heads in the garden. In time for his Charity Open Day. Full size -- they're enormous! He says he's certain they would draw visitors from all over the country.

When W first came to live with me, his brief was clear: to rid my garden of ants. No more, no less. Funny how things turn out… 

Reason prevails

I've persuaded Wilson not to build his tennis-viewing hill until next year at the earliest because it would disrupt his Charity Garden Open Day: instead of a gorgeous spectacle of flowers the garden would look like a building site.

W agreed that this was a sensible idea, but hurried off to get the National Geographic magazine which arrived yesterday. There's something in it he wants to show me. 

Already I fear the worst...

Wilson's new money-making scheme

Yesterday Wilson noticed Wimbledon's Henman Hill for the first time. He asked me why crowds of people were sitting there just watching the tennis on a big TV, when the real matches were being played only a few feet away. I explained what it was about, and he got the sort of 'thoughtful' look which never bodes well.

This morning he announced that he was going to build a big hill in the garden and nail our plasma screen to a nearby tree. 

I told W that I didn't think people would pay to sit on a hill in our garden when they could sit in the comfort of their own homes and watch the tennis.

'No,' he replied, 'The beauty of the plan is that we let them in for nothing, then sell them delicious ant-based snacks and cocktails. If it rains, we sell them souvenir umbrellas. And if the tennis gets boring, we change the channel and show re-runs of Frasier or The Jeremy Kyle Show or…' he beamed, 'Titanic: The Film: The DVD! It will be like a drive-in. I shall call the hill Vermilingua's Volcano!' 

A painful realisation

Yesterday afternoon, Wilson had a revelation, a satori insight, a light-bulb moment: the Wimbledon singles winner receives £1,000,000. He immediately ran off to the Museum of Old Stuff to look for a tennis racquet. 

An hour later he returned, empty-pawed and wearing a disappointed expression. 'I couldn't stay awake for the length of even a three-set singles match,'  he admitted. 'I couldn't even stay awake long enough to find a tennis racquet in the Museum. I am doomed by my genes never to win a million at Wimbledon.'

I seem to recall we went through exactly the same thing this time a year ago, so I don't think he'll stay downhearted for too long.

Wimbledon fortnight

As a member of the Sloth family, Wilson is not especially athletic. However, he spent most of yesterday afternoon watching (ie dozing in front of) Wimbledon on the tv. 

He's not greatly interested in the tennis, but he does like to see how many 'Wilson' baseball caps and tennis racquets he can spot!

Progress with the robot

Building the robot is proving more difficult than Wilson anticipated. (ANT-icipated - ha ha! Did you see what I did there?!) This morning I found loads of cereal and some frozen tray meals emptied over the kitchen floor. 

W explained that he needed more cardboard boxes and some thin sheet aluminium for the robot. I asked whether he was intending to clear up the mess and he said he was 'quite busy' at the moment, but if I left everything where it was he expected the ants would take care of it.

Bugsy Malone!

Wilson enjoyed Oliver! so much that yesterday I took him to see Bugsy Malone. 

He loved it, but I had the same problem with him slipping out of his seat and climbing on to the stage to join in! 

After the show he met 'Miss Julia' the choreographer outside the theatre, and got her autograph. 

This makes a pleasant change: an autograph he didn't forge to sell on-line! 

During the drive home he confided in me that for Christmas he might like a pair of Tap Shoes. And a striped Zoot Suit. And a gangster's Fedora with a white band. He says his aim is to look 'Cuddly, but Dangerous!'

Antony has mail

Antony has received a letter! 

I gave the letter to Wilson to pass on to Antony, but W announced that, as Antony's guardian he had a duty of care which included vetting his mail. He slit the envelope with a claw, extracted the letter and read through it, a frown spreading across his brow. 

'It's from the hedgehog family that wanted to adopt him, asking whether he'd reconsider,' W announced. 'The handwriting is appalling, and the grammar… Most unsuitable!'

W has decided not to show the letter to Antony.

Third Law of Robotics: More Lego!

Remember the two Robot kits Wilson had for his birthday? He unpacked them both this morning and spent a long time reading through the assembly instructions. 

He concluded that, while neither of them alone was powerful or sophisticated enough to make toy teddy bears for the Sloth Orphanage, if he combined the two kits into a single robot it might just be possible… 

He is envisioning a cross between Sonny in I Robot and Bender from Futurama, but says he will need to order some Lego Technics before he can really get started.

A mystery solved

Ant Wars II:

This morning I found Wilson working in the garden, preparing for his Charity Garden Open Day. 

'Hi Wilson!' I called, 'No more interrogation today?'

'No, that's all sorted out,' he replied casually. 'Antony told me what happened while we were having a midnight feast in bed last night.'

'And?' I asked, intrigued.

'Oh, it was a complicated adventure involving a  short-sighted owl, a crow and a family of hedge hogs who wanted to adopt him. I'm thinking of filming it. I shall call it "Antony's Web" or "Free Antony". Or perhaps "Anteaters on a Train". Although there is only one anteater and he didn't actually go on a train... but it is a good title!'

The interrogation continues...

Today Wilson continued questioning Antony. This is pretty fruitless as Antony is exercising his right to remain silent - which is probably the best, if not the only, option for a stuffed toy.

Suddenly W put his nose right in Antony's face and snarled, 'Are there any ants involved?' Antony slumped and fell off the chair onto the floor, where he lay motionless.  

I think this is because W nudged him with his nose, but Wilson is adamant: 'He's fainted! That is a certain sign of guilt!'

I tried to point out that Antony was in fact the victim, not a suspect, but W has been reading too many US Police Procedurals, and there's no stopping him now. It's as though he's channeling Joseph Wambaugh!

Antony is questioned...

I didn't sleep very well last night, as I was attacked by the remains of yesterday's breakfast of free-range ants.

Putting that aside, though, Wilson is determined to discover the truth about what happened when Antony disappeared. To this end he has drawn the curtains to plunge the spare room into darkness and positioned an Anglepoise lamp to shine into the suspect's eyes. He told me that he plans to use the tried-and-tested Good Cop/Bad Cop technique, and as Antony is his best friend I will have to be the Bad Cop.

Then he brings little Antony into the room and places him on the 'interrogation' chair. 

'Have you Mirandized him?' W asks me. 'We don't have the Miranda Act in this country, we just Caution suspects,' I explained.

'Whatever,' he replies, turning back to Antony and banging his paw on the table. 'Okay, little guy, just tell us the truth and you won't get hurt. Hold back, and there'll be a lot of kapok on the floor! A lot of kapok!'

Ooh-er! If this is W being the Good Cop, what shall I have to do as the Bad Cop?

Fathers' Day

I'd forgotten that today was Fathers' Day until Wilson woke me with the traditional Fathers' Day gift: breakfast in bed. My breakfast consisted of a bowl of W's 'best free-range ants' and a cup of freshly-roasted ant coffee. 

Some of the ants did escape into my bed, but W has promised he'll have cleared them out by the time I retire tonight. 

He also gave me a very nice manicure set. The gift card with it said: 

'Happy Father's Day, New Dad. If you don't like this I could use it as my claws could do with a bit of a groom. From your loving New Son, Wilson Vermilingua OBE. XXX.'

Birthday Honours List

Wilson was up at the crack of eight o'clock to check the Queen's Birthday Honours List to see whether Her Majesty has 'formalised' (as he put it) his OBE. She hasn't. 

'Gary Barlow?!' he ranted, 'What has he ever done? Sing a few songs and organise a party! I can sing! I could organise a party, probably! How hard can it be?'

On the other hand, he does have a soft spot for the lovely Jenny 'It's my Daddy!' Agutter. He loved her in The Railway Children. 'Is she old enough to get an OBE though?' he pondered. 'She can't be a day over twelve! But then, I myself am only five...'