At long last dusk began to fall, and Wilson assembled his Warriors of Darkness ready to Trick-or-Treat the neighbourhood into submission.
The event was not without it's problems however, and a full dress rehearsal might have been wise…
• Tiny Toy's hat was WAY too big and completely enveloped him; Antony cut a couple of eye-holes in it and gave him a little torch, and TT was mollified. Somewhat…
• The sTone Brothers couldn't see where they were going… and in any case couldn't actually go anywhere as they were COMPLETELY cocooned in bandages…
• Uncle Zoltan was initially upset that he didn't have a costume but, bizarrely, was quite pleased when everyone said he was quite scary enough without one…
• Diesel's little witches' hat kept falling off and floating to the top of his bowl…
• And everyone (except the Bees) was terrified of Wilson's Vampire Fangs!
They're just heading off now — I shall follow them (inconspicuously) to make sure they don't get into any trouble.
Happy Hallowe'en, everyone!
With only one day left until Hallowe'en, Wilson is in the living room with the boys making final adjustments to his little Hallowe'en Wagon.
Antony and TT are testing the trolley seating for comfort while the Johnson Brothers are in charge of 'Sellotape Dispensating' (J.Maj) and trying to get an old torch from the Museum going again (J.Min).
Wilson has stuck a diorama scene to the side of the wagon, and he thinks if J.Min. can mend the torch to illuminate it, that would increase the 'Terrifyingness Quotient' no end.
Earlier today W asked me whether I thought he should alert the village Hospital A&E Department, in case his visits to the locals caused an epidemic of fainting. Or worse.
I told him I thought it might be best if he didn't…
To support Wilson's stated aim of making this The Best Hallowe'en Uckfield's Ever Seen, Polly and Billi have agreed to participate as well as the children.
They're in the kitchen ordering Hallowe'en Costumes for themselves and their little family — W is helping because the bees have never used PayPal before, and he wants to be certain they don't get scammed.
The costumes being considered are Top Secret… although I have heard the phrase 'Sexy Nurses' whispered once or twice. Also a lot of giggling…
Wilson has been out to his Museum [ie the Garden Shed] and pulled out his little cart.
He says he might need TWO carts this year — one to transport the Hallowe'en Revellers and another to carry all his booty home! He says that he will call this second cart his PlunderWagon!
He's out there now, sticking tiny skulls to the sides...
Wilson arrived at Tesco only to find the pumpkins sealed off behind what he later described as Zombie HazMat Tape, marked 'Caution: Zombie Zone' and 'Haunted: Keep Out.'
Ever circumspect, he found a member of staff and asked her to remove his chosen pumpkins for him. Actually, he asked her to carry them to the checkout for him as well, but she assured him that once the pumpkins were in his shopping trolley they were fully de-zombified and no longer dangerous.
When he arrived home, I had some bad news for him: the insurance company, in spite of my having Fully Comprehensive Cover on the house and its contents, had refused to pay me for the damage caused by the wasps!
I thought this was an outrage, but a little research on Google revealed that it is the standard practice of that Nest of Weasels we call the Insurance Industry — they will pay to have vermin removed, but will not pay for the damage they have caused.
Looks as though I shall be reliant of Wilson to fix the hole in the ceiling after all…
When Wilson rose this morning (a little later than usual because the clocks went back to Winter Time last night) as soon as he'd had his breakfast he ran upstairs to examine the hole in the ceiling. I was a bit unnerved to see that he'd taken his Club Hammer with him.
'Don't worry about this, New Dad!' he told me cheerfully, poking the hole with the hurty end of his hammer, 'I can have this fixed in a jiffy!'
I replied that I'd REALLY rather go down the House Insurance route first, before 'putting him to the trouble' [ie risking the whole ceiling coming down] of effecting a repair himself.
'If you're sure then,' he replied. 'I haven't got time to do it now, anyway — I must go into the village to buy some pumpkins.'
He climbed down the ladder and I helped him off the chest of drawers on which it was balanced precariously.
Once he was safely back on the floor he confided to me, 'This is going to be the BEST Hallowe'en Uckfield's EVER seen!'
While he went down to Tesco, I telephoned the Insurance Company to make a claim for the damage.
It was late by the time we arrived home and everyone had gone to bed except for Polly and Billi. Oh, and Diesel the Goldfish, but he was at least half asleep.
Wilson immediately examined the newly-equipped and -decorated kitchen and announced that it was broadly to his satisfaction, although he'd have to make a few adjustments. Obviously.
He handed the bees what remained of his seaside rock, telling them not to share it with the others because of the risk of diabetes.
Then he gave an immense and protracted yawn before asking for an update on what had happened while we were away. While he was being filled in his eyelids began to droop… and he fell asleep… standing up. I've never seen anyone do that before!
I carried him gently to the tumble dryer and popped him in for the night — there'll be plenty of time for him to catch up on what he's missed in the coming days…
On our last day on the Isle of Wight we drove round the island looking briefly at all the beauty spots we hadn't had time to visit previously, then headed on to Cowes ('Cowes you cannot milk!' as Wilson reminded me) and boarded the ferry back to the mainland.
As we were leaving, another ferry passed us going the other way, and W remarked sadly that he wished we were just arriving instead of departing.
I tried to cheer him up by reminding him of all the exciting things he could do back in Uckfield:
• The new Card Game he's invented,
• The new Kitchen to see,
• Telling everyone else about his holiday,
• Halloween,
• Fireworks Night,
• Xmas…
'Okay, New Dad,' he interrupted me — fortunately, as by then I'd suggested everything I could think of — 'Let's get going!'
We dined once more at a waterfront eatery.
Antony and TT were well overexcited, as it was some time since they'd eaten out at a restaurant, but Wilson had only to threaten them with the 'Brown Paper Bag Of Tranquility' for them to settle down.
W ordered for them — he wanted to be certain they had something he would enjoy finishing up for them, as they have quite small appetites (or, to put it another way, they are slow eaters…)
Tomorrow we shall attempt a lightning tour of the island's beauty spots before catching the ferry back to the mainland. I need to get home to sort out the hole in the ceiling, and everyone else wants to start preparing for Halloween.
Before we left the Mill, since Antony and Tiny Toy don't often get out Wilson thought it would be good to have a souvenir group photograph of everyone.
'Everyone' not including me, obviously — somebody has to press the shutter, after all!
He'd thought it would be funny if everyone leaned to one side, so it looked as though they were in a strong wind — but nobody could agree on which way to lean…
One of the exhibits in the museum was a collection of old-fashioned gas-stoves, and Wilson became dewy-eyed standing by one of them.
'This,' he said, 'is exactly like the stove my Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, had when I was a little cub!' He twiddled the Gas Regulo knob as he gazed into his past…
'In an oven just like this, she'd produce enormous Ant Lasagnes and Rock Buns for the whole family,' he reflected dreamily.
'No-one,' he continued, 'no-one in the whole world could burn the bottom out of a saucepan like Mrs V…'
Part of the Museum was devoted to WW2, and the entrance was mocked up with sandbags and a sign announcing: 'Keep Clear: Unexploded Bomb!'
It took me a few minutes, and the help of one of the Museum Guides, to convince Wilson that this was just pretend — there wasn't really an unexploded bomb.
Once he was convinced of this, he donned a Tin Helmet and entered into the spirit of things, examining all the exhibits with interest.
I'm pretty sure, though, that WW2 is confused in his mind with the Great Ant Wars of 1921 in which his ancestor 'The Blue Baron' was a distinguished fighter pilot…
After leaving the Mill buildings we were heading to the Museum when Wilson darted off down a little passageway.
He was initially attracted by the telescope which, as it was pointing at the ground, he'd assumed was for observing ants, but as he drew closer he noticed the massive structure on the right — the thing that looks like a rusty, disused furnace.
Turns out it is one of the original casings from the Black Knight Rockets, built and tested on the Isle of Wight in the 1950s when Britain was still part of the 'Space Race'.
W had a good look inside, in case there were any old space-suits left lying around, or perhaps some 'Space Food.'
He told me later that it was very dark in there, but as far as he could tell, it was 'Empty. As dark and empty as Deep, Deep Space…'
Wilson seemed lost in thought as we proceeded into the next room of the mill.
'Actually,' he announced, 'a hundred years ago I might have been a Rich (but beneficent) Mill Owner instead of a Poor Worker. My credentials would have been perfect!'
'Credentials?' I asked, 'You know a lot about milling? Or cotton? Or flour?'
'I am ambitious!' he replied, 'I am VERY ambitious!'
He broke off the conversation while he attempted to stop Antony and TT climbing on the machinery — it felt a lot like watching myself trying to stop HIM climbing over the exhibits at the Rochester Naval Dockyards Museum a year or so ago…
Once the children had been apprehended and given a warning, we headed outside to the Museum area, and Wilson told me a joke.
'Okay, New Dad, the Past, the Present and the Future all walked into a bar.' He paused. 'It was… tense!'
His shoulders shook in silent laughter.
Inside the Mill, Wilson confidently explained to Antony and Tiny Toy that, if they'd all been born a hundred years ago, he'd probably have had to work somewhere like this, sleeping under the machines, living on a diet of fluff and getting his tail caught in the Spinning Jenny, while Antony and TT would be on the streets selling flowers and matches respectively.
The Bees, he continued, would have had to take in washing and do minor garment repairs whilst the sTone Brothers, if they were very lucky, might have procured employment as paper weights in a rich household.
The children were greatly impressed by W's knowledge of history, so I didn't like to mention in front of them that this is a flour mill, not a cotton mill.
________
Incidentally, Wilson has asked me to say Hello to all his new readers in Germany, Portugal, Ireland, Australia, France, India, Romania and Russia: so WELCOME, ONE AND ALL, to the WONDERFUL WORLD OF WILSON!
Before we left the railway, Antony and Tiny Toy saw a little coin-operated ride they wanted to have a go on. They've done so little on this holiday that I was more than happy to let them, as long as Wilson went on too, to keep an eye on them.
Wilson rather grandly announced that he was 'a bit too grown-up' for these 'baby rides' but he would 'sacrifice his dignity' in order to keep the children safe.
I fought down a smile as I remembered W not being AT ALL too grown up to go on very similar rides on the pier a few days ago… but I suppose he IS a few days older now!
Anyway, he popped TT on the chimney and Antony behind the steam dome and told them to hold on very tightly, before climbing onto the footplate himself and, with a big grin on his face, inserting the coin.
Wilson sat on a bench spitting sand out of his mouth for a few minutes, pausing only to remark, 'This is what happens when you eat sandwiches for lunch! Hahaha! SANDwiches! Did you see what… oh never mind.'
When he'd finished he said that, as he was right by a phone box, he thought he might telephone his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, to tell her about his holiday.
I suggested that he might like to send her a saucy postcard too, like he'd sent to The Bees.
A shadow passed briefly over W's face and he shuddered. 'I don't think so,' he replied, 'Mrs V is not really a "Saucy Postcard" sort of person…'
Without warning Antony suddenly started giggling uncontrollably. Eventually he got himself under control and gasped, 'SANDwiches! Oh, that's good!'
On our way to the café Wilson happened to glance inside some sand-filled Fire Buckets hanging from the Ticket Office wall. Noticing some ants living in the sand, he plunged his nose in, and came up chewing.
Popping Antony and TT each into a bucket of their own he pointed at his new-found bounty and asked me whether I wanted any. I declined.
As he chewed enthusiastically on a mouthful of ants, he asked me, 'How much more is there to see on Wight Island, New Dad? Have we nearly seen it all?'
I said there was much yet unseen, but if he was feeling homesick we could head back to Uckfield whenever he liked.
'Oh no,' he said, 'I'm having a brill time here… it's just that it's getting quite close to Halloween… and Guy Fawkes Night… and Xmas... and I wondered whether we'd be home in time?'
I promised that we'd be home in good time for Halloween.
Glancing at one of the other Fire Buckets I noticed that TT had built some teeny-weeny sand castles.
'Also,' Wilson continued, pausing to spit out some sand, 'I've invented a top new Family Card Game and I need to get it in production in time to hit the lucrative Xmas Market!'
Once we had all re-detrained (Wilson can be extremely pedantic at times!) W and the children went to the front of the train to thank the Driver and the Guard for a very nice journey and for not crashing the train and killing everyone.
Notwithstanding his recent ice-cream — which was apparently 'medicinal' so didn't actually count as food — W announced that the journey had given him a massive appetite and he was in urgent need of sustenance.
Antony and TT both concurred, saying, 'Yes! Yes! What he said!'
Wilson came down from the footplate rubbing his nose and complaining that he'd singed his sniffer while examining the stoke hole.
'It's not a serious injury, New Dad,' he told me, 'I think if some ice-cream were applied to the scorched area, that might bring some relief.'
A 99 Flake was duly administered and we got on the train (or entrained, or possibly even re-entrained) to return to the main station.
The journey back was a somber affair, what with W's trauma and with Antony and TT constantly complaining that their noses were sore too.
Wilson relented and the children helped him finish off his ice cream, as he explained to them that nobody knows why they're called 99s, but they just are!
One of his favourite jokes is: when I buy a cone for the two of us and ask for 'Two 99s, please,' he ALWAYS shouts, '198! Hahahahaha!'
Oh, simple pleasures…
