Opening night!

Wilson's nervousness and agitation today reached a crescendo. Since just after breakfast he has been stalking round the house wearing his bow tie ('It's the only suitable attire for a music impresario' he told me) checking on the sTone Brothers, Antony, Tiny Toy and Polly-B every few minutes. 

I was afraid he'd have worn himself (and his performers) out by the time they went to the club, but they're all there now.

The performers are in their dressing rooms (one room for the sTone Bros, another for the more nervous backing singers, with Polly-B keeping an eye on them) while W stands outside, looking very smart, waiting to greet his paying guests. 

I have to say, he really does look the part! 

Nervous...

Tomorrow is opening night for Wilson's pop-up nightclub Au Courant, and he's starting to get nervous! 

To keep himself occupied and distract his mind, he's packing everything in the car today, ticking each item off against a checklist. 

This is a bit of a problem for Antony, Tiny Toy and Polly-B who say they don't want to spend the night in the car. 

sTony and sToneye, being made of sterner stuff, have raised no objection — probably comes of living outdoors by the fish pond. 

A night in the boot of the car will doubtless seem like luxury to them!

The sign goes up!

As opening night draws ever closer, Wilson is making his final preparations at the club. 

While we drove in to the village I asked him if he was confident everything would be okay, and he confessed that he was a little apprehensive about the bands. The rehearsals having been less than an unqualified success, he says there are still a few wrinkles to be ironed out performance-wise. 

I've come down to the club premises with him partly to hold the ladder and pass tools to him while he puts up the nightclub sign, partly to try and keep him out of trouble: if any Security turns up, we're going to have to talk our way out of a tricky situation!

Wilson gets a little bit more famous. And commits criminal damage

In Brighton, all the buses have the name of a famous resident, past or present, painted on the front and Wilson has long thought that he deserved this honour. 

I have lost count of the number of times I've explained to him that, since he has never lived in Brighton, he doesn't qualify, but it falls on deaf ears. 

'You lived in Brighton for years, New Dad, and you're my dad; ergo, I am a Brighton Resident by inheritance. Or adoption. Whatever. QED.'

His argument hasn't convinced the management of the Brighton & Hove Bus and Coach Company (who actually told him he 'wasn't famous enough'!) so this morning he went down to the Uckfield Bus Station and took matters into his own paws. 

He told me that an added bonus will be that it will reassure clubbers coming to his pop-up nightclub, Au Courant, that they've caught the right bus.

I hope there are no repercussions. I'd hate to hear the phrase 'criminal damage'…

Final rehearsals

As opening night draws near, Wilson is in the garden rehearsing the bands. 

The backing singers — Antony, Tiny Toy and Polly B — are inside The Wilson Vermilingua Museum of Old Stuff And A Robot (AKA the garden shed) partly to shelter from the rain and partly because two of them are scared of the sTone Brothers, who are standing outside complaining about getting wet. 

Happily, Polly B is able to provide reassurance as well as harmonic vocals. 

I haven't asked how the rehearsal is going, but Wilson is looking a tiny bit vexed.

Refreshments

Wilson has taken over the kitchen, where he is busy making Ant-and-Quorn sandwiches and rolls. He has also assembled the ingredients for many exotic ant-based snacks and cocktails, and a substantial stock of Cheesy Wotsits. 

I'm worried that the sandwiches may have started to dry out by Saturday, but W says they'll be fine if he wraps them in Clingfilm and puts them in the fridge — 'As long as you don't pinch them, New Dad,' he admonished. 

I think it pretty unlikely that I will be eating them. Or anyone else for that matter.

Stocking the Bar

Wilson's pop-up nightclub, Au Courant, opens next Saturday, so he's in the village Tesco spending the paltry remains of our household food budget on supplies for the Bar. 

I suppose if there's any food left over we'll be able to live on Ant-and-Quorn Sandwiches, Antburgers and Ant Cocktails until the end of the month… 

Oh, I forgot to mention Ant Nibbles!

Flyering — is that even a word?

Having finally sorted out his tenants in the Bee Hotel, Wilson is now busy making preparations for his pop-up nightclub, Au Courant. He's printed hundreds of flyers and he's out now pushing them through letter boxes around Uckfield. 

In other news, we have completely run out of printer ink.

Anyway, the club is scheduled to 'pop up' next Saturday, so W has just one week to get everything ready and to rehearse the band...

A terrible secret is revealed...

When Wilson arrived at the bee hotel early today he caught the woodlice unawares: drunk and rowdy, the father woodlouse wearing a miniature wifebeater and actually doing the terrible thing of which W would not speak. He said he was appalled by their behaviour!

While he was there the father earwig came out to see him, wringing his forceps as a tiny tear emerged from his compound eye and trickled down his mandible, to tell W he was very sorry for what had happened. He repeated that the graffiti had been done by the woodlice, beseeching W to allow his family to stay. He said that as a sign of good faith he and his family had themselves scrubbed off all the graffiti.

Wilson told me that he had reluctantly evicted the woodlice (who had actually sworn at him) and told the earwigs they could stay.

I asked him again what it was the woodlice did that was so awful, which so revolted him. After a moment's consideration he whispered in my ear: 'They drink through their bottoms!' 

Well, I quite see why W would be unwilling to share a cup with them...

Wilson receives a note from the earwigs...

The earwigs have sent round a note to Wilson saying that they didn't commit the graffiti outrage on his bee hotel and the folly, claiming that they were actually framed by the woodlice. 

Wilson read through the note several times, frowning and sighing, before throwing his arms up in the air and shouting, 'I just don't have time for this! These troublesome tenants are SO doing my nut totally in! Here I am, trying to launch a groundbreaking and innovative range of haut couture socks AND open a pop-up nightclub, and all I get is squabbling insects and arthropods!'

He has sought advice from Polly B hoping that she, as an insect, can contribute some insight on woodlouse and earwig behaviour.

Reluctantly he's gone round to the the folly to try to sort this dispute out. For my part, I'm keeping well out of the way...

Graffiti!

This morning Wilson went round to see how the earwigs were getting on and was dismayed to find that the Folly and the Bee Hotel had been graffitied with earwig gang slogans and tags! He has reluctantly threatened to evict all the earwigs unless their teenage sons scrub off the graffiti and leave everything as good as new. 

As for the woodlice, he is greatly impressed by their behaviour — they have been impeccable tenants, and since they have been homeless for some time he's decided to allow them to stay. Rent free. As they have no money. 

W refused their offer of a drink and a snack, but was unable to suppress a shudder of disgust. He still won't tell me what the woodlice's dreadful secret is, but I'll get it out of him sooner or later.

Astronomy, astrology, what's the difference...

Ant Wars II:    

Wilson has had an email from his friend Ron which, he says, proves beyond reasonable doubt that there is a mountain in America named after him. Also a space observatory (although my suspicion is that the observatory was probably named after the mountain on which it stands, rather than a young anteater in another country). 

Now he's threatening to write to the Royal Astronomical Society asking them to publish his book on space exploration, "Anteaters In Space" as a paper in their Proceedings. 

If they decline his generous offer, he says he'll try Russell Grant or (as a last resort) Derek Acorah. 

As he points out, 'Astronomy, Astrology, they're all Ologies! Oh… one of them's an Onomy…'

You can read this 'Groundbreaking piece of research' (Wilson's words, not mine) at: http://issuu.com/friendlydragon/docs/anteaters_in_space_book

Emergency measures!

ODDSIES! an important message:

To sum up the situation, Wilson's entire Oddsies! budget has been spent on advertising and packaging, so he can't afford to source any socks. He has decided to release some stocks of Oddsies! wrappers in order to avert disaster and to create interest in the concept. He says this is 'a totally temporary measure, just until the idea catches on. Please put some top-quality socks in the wrappers and give them as gifts if you've got any birthdays coming up!'

It's a sign!

Wilson spent most of today painting an Au Courant sign for his nightclub. I have to say he's made a very nice job of it. 

One of his friends, Rob, used to be a signwriter, so perhaps he gave W some tips. Anyway, I expect the grass will grow out where the paint has been spilled. Eventually.

In other news, Wilson has been telling everyone I thought his club premises were 'magnificent.' I think the phrase I actually used was 'death-trap.'

_______________

CHECK THIS OUT! 

August has been a very busy month for Wilson Vermilingua OBE!

I've just uploaded the latest monthly volume of Ant Wars II: August 2013 so you can catch up on anything you've missed.

Please tell all your friends, as it is Wilson's stated ambition for his life story to be, as he puts it, "As Popular as a fluffy Bumble Bee on lavender! Who won't sting you, obviously."

You can download it or read it online at:

http://issuu.com/friendlydragon/docs/ant_wars_ii_august_2013

http://issuu.com/friendlydragon

Photographs of the lovely WILSON are by Tamanduagirl at 

http://www.livingwithanteaters.com/ and are used by kind permission.

Dragons' Den

A relative of one of Wilson's friends recently appeared on Dragons' Den, and received £100,000 funding for a 30% interest in his company. As soon as he heard about this W started making plans to apply to Dragons' Den himself — he'd even got as far as downloading an application form from the BBC. He told me he'd offer the Dragons a 100% share in Oddsies! for £1M, as long as he could have the money before his next birthday.

Before this got completely out of control, I suggested to W that he download a couple of episodes of Dragons' Den on the iPlayer to see what actually happens on the programme, as I feared that getting money out of investors probably wasn't as easy as it sounds. 

Once he'd seen grown businessmen and women insulted and reduced to tears by the Dragons, he said that he was reluctantly withdrawing his application. 

I think that is probably for the best.

Psychedelic Light Show

Much against my better judgement, Wilson persuaded me to join him in reconnoitring the club premises. He climbed in through the broken window then unlocked the rear doors to let me into the dark and deserted warehouse.

When he turned on the lights there was an alarming fizzing and crackling noise from the main switch panel, followed by a smell of burning. Eventually, though, the lights came on, flashing and flickering worryingly. 

I asked W if he was sure the lights were safe. He looked up at them for a moment before declaring,  'Don't worry — that's the light show. I'll hand out candles to the patrons, just in case. And I'll see if I can borrow a fire extinguisher.'

Wilson discovers the hard way that you can't unlearn something!

Following his meeting with the woodlouse family yesterday, Wilson has visited the website they recommended and learned a lot of interesting stuff about woodlice. 

He also came across some very disturbing information about their drinking habits, which is apparently SO rude that he refuses to tell me what it is. 

He has vowed never to share a cup with a woodlouse ever again, and strongly advised me to do the same.

Wilson has refreshments with his tenants...

First thing today Wilson popped round to the Bee Hotel to check on the woodlouse family. Their self-effacing calmness and humility is very appealing to W. However, these same qualities are annoying the earwigs and their (illegally sub-let) lodgers, who all want Wilson, as their landlord, to 'do something about them stand-offish  party-poopers downstairs.' 

W again tried, unsuccessfully, to get some rent from the earwigs, but they said they 'aren't paying nuffin until them hoity-toity woodlice is history.'

He then made a proposition to the woodlice, offering to evict the earwigs if they, the woodlice, would pay him rent. The father woodlouse said they would willingly pay except they didn't have any money — although he kindly offered W glass of water and a snack of rotten wood, which is apparently a great woodlouse delicacy. 

In an interesting conversation, the father woodlouse explained to Wilson that they are not in fact insects but arthropods, like crabs, and directed him to a very interesting website on woodlice: http://www.earthlife.net/insects/woodcare.html

In the end, however, everyone has stayed put, and no-one has paid any rent.

Who'd have thought that woodlice had access to the internet, eh?

We're doomed. Doomed...

I probed Wilson about these so-called bands of his, "Rocksy Music" and "The Stones," and he confirmed that both bands would be comprised, just as I feared, of the sTone Brothers with a few soft-toys in support. 

'But there will be a costume change, so nobody will notice that they're the same people in both bands, probably!' he added, as though that would make everything alright.

Then I pressed him about the premises and how much hiring the empty warehouse would cost. He winked and tapped the side of his nose with one claw before whispering, 'There's a broken window round the back!'

We are doomed. Doomed.

The Stones

'The Rolling Stones are appearing at your nightclub?' I asked, stunned. 

'No, no, no! Well, yes. Um, well, no. Not exactly. Not The Rolling Stones, more just "The Stones" — I've been writing some more songs: "Little Red Ant", "Hey, You, Get Off of My Ant", "I'm a King Ant",'

He paused to gauge my reaction before continuing. 

'"As Ants Go By", "Street Fighting Ant", "Walking the Ant", "Under My Ant." Because I've written all the songs myself The Rolling Stones won't get a penny and the Performing Rights Society can't touch us — we'll get to keep ALL the money! Sweet, no?'