Wilson thought today, 'Good Saturday' as he refers to it, was the day he got his chocolate eggs.
To make up for his disappointment, I took him and Antony into the village to meet the Easter Bunny.
I could tell W was shocked as soon as he saw the rabbit's size — his grip on my hand tightened, his eyes widened and he repeatedly told little Antony, 'There's nothing to be scared of, everything will be fine. I hope.'
I tried to reassure them both, but barely a few minutes after arriving Wilson told me that we should be getting back home.
He explained that he had a lot to do what with the start of British Summertime [Daylight Saving] and the University Boat Race all happening tomorrow.
'Also,' he added, 'I must dash off a letter to Father Eastermas to confirm that I've been a very good boy throughout the year, and I don't want to miss the mail collection!'
Wilson is in the kitchen making his 'signature dish' of Easter Fruit Pizza.
He insists that Fruit Pizza is his own invention, though I think he's mistaken in that, and Google confirms my opinion.
However, his recipe probably IS unique to him: the pizza base is generously covered in Cornish Clotted Cream, then smothered with fresh fruit, decorated with Creme Eggs and finally garnished with a (very) generous sprinkling of ants.
Most of the boys are with him, 'helping' with the recipe...
I'd like to apologise for the lateness of this post, which was unavoidably delayed by a catastrophic computer problem.
Thanks to those very nice people at AppleCare I'm now up and running again, and I hope things are back to normal.
Although as Wilson's friend Ms Viv pointed out, in the Wonderful World of Wilson, 'Normality' is a very relative term.
Anyway, Easter rather crept up on W this year, so I had to drive him to the shops so he could choose chocolate eggs for the rest of his family.
And hint to me which one's he'd like to receive himself.
Obviously!
The result of the Australian Grand Prix appears to be that Wilson and the boys all had way too much to drink while watching the race.
Wilson and Antony are sleeping off their overindulgence in the living room, while the sTone Brothers are having a breath of fresh air in the garden.
Meanwhile, The Bees have gathered up all the youngsters and put them to bed with a big dose of Royal Jelly and a bit of a talking-to about underage drinking and being led-on by people who really ought to know better.
I should probably have a word with W about his drinking...
The Australian GP starts about 5am UK time, so Wilson was up very early, together with all the boys, to watch.
He's carried a TV out into the garden so he can see the race while eating snacks at his F1 Racing Engine Coffee Table.
If he gets through all those tinnies of Fosters before the race ends, he'll be wasted for the rest of the day...
Due to the controversial new Qualifying rules, Wilson narrowly failed to make Pole.
He blamed the shambolic new 'elimination' system, but added that his car's aerodynamics also contributed to his lack of success.
He popped in to a nearby DIY store to buy a 'special tool' so he could 'adjust' his wings and spoilers to improve his performance.
I managed to get W and his Pit Crew out of the Mall just before Security arrived.
With the 2016 Grand Prix Season starting Sunday, I had to take Wilson to the Mall this morning so he could put in some practice laps before Qualifying.
He's pretty confident about his driving, but apparently his Pit Crew (Antony) needs to improve his technique — the Coin Changes are losing valuable seconds.
Antony says he's doing his best, but some of the coins are a bit sticky, so difficult to get into the slot...
In the best scientific tradition, Wilson is carrying out an experiment to test his thesis that all food tastes better when eaten at what he still calls (in spite of evidence to the contrary) his 'Formula 1 Racing Engine' picnic table.
He has prepared two identical Brussels Sprouts, one to be eaten in the kitchen, the other at his picnic table in the garden.
His conclusion is that his proposition is: FALSE.
As soon as he'd rinsed his mouth out, he told me that, wherever they were eaten, Brussels Sprouts taste like (to quote the late Paula Yates) The Sperm of the Devil!
Today is very warm and spring-like, so once the engine had been cleaned up a bit Wilson converted it to a (slightly wobbly) coffee table and invited everyone to afternoon tea.
I've made it clear that it must never come into the house, but told him I was happy for it to remain in the garden as a picnic table.
W put a brave face on things, but I think he was disappointed that his Formula 1 Racing Car Coffee Table bore so little resemblance to the sparkling and pristine chrome-plated one in the picture, but he cheered up once he saw the raspberry and cream sponge Uncle Zoltan had baked in honour of the occasion.
'Nobody wants to buy a Formula 1 Racing Car Engine and find it's really a 1950s lorry engine,' Uncle Z whispered to me, 'so I thought this might cheer him up.'
Over tea, W explained that it was much harder than I might imagine finding Marigolds that would fit an anteater's paws, and he was wondering whether to develop a line of anteater-friendly rubber gloves.
I tried to dissuade him, saying I just didn't believe there'd be much demand — he's the only anteater in this village, after all!
'If this conversion goes well, I could start up a business selling them!' Wilson continued, pulling on a pair of Marigold rubber gloves. 'After I've cleaned this one up...'
Uncle Zoltan emerged from his hive and announced sharply: 'There'll be trouble if you splash any of that oil on my house!' then after a moment's thought he asked, 'Are you sure that's an F1 racing engine?'
W replied doubtfully, 'Well, it might have come from a Ford Transit... you can never be quite sure with eBay.'
Uncle Z stated authoritatively, 'This came from a Bedford Van, my boy. Or possibly an old AEC Mammoth Major — there were a lot of those round when I was a pupa!'
With this he disappeared back inside, returning a moment later to say, 'When you've finished that, you can wash my hive! But use clean water, mind, and plenty of soap!'
There was no way this oil-dripping crate was going into the living room — it wasn't even going into the house!
It was also far too heavy for Wilson's little truck, so with the help of a neighbour we carried it round to the back garden, where W opened it.
Gazing at the contents, he seemed a little taken aback.
'I never expected it would be this... oily!' he exclaimed.
I asked him what it even was, and he told me that it was a Formula 1 Racing Car Engine he'd bought on eBay, which he intended to convert into a coffee table.
At this point the bees arrived carrying yard brooms and looking doubtfully at the oily stains spreading over the patio...
I was still eating my breakfast this morning when I heard the sound of a truck reversing onto our front drive.
By the time I got out there I discovered a very large wooden crate with an oil stain spreading out beneath it, and a bemused Wilson regarding it warily.
'Is there something you want to tell me about?' I asked.
'Before I say anything that might incriminate me,' he replied, 'could you help me lift this crate onto my cart and give me a hand wheeling it into the living room?'
Wilson was very upset to wake to the news that 'Fifth Beatle' Sir George Martin has died.
Actually, when he woke up to hear a Beatles song being played on the News he assumed it was Paul McCartney who had shuffled off this mortal coil...
Anyway, he's sitting quietly listening to his MP3 Complete Beatles Collection on his iPad, wearing a black arm band as a mark of respect.
He calls it his Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Black Arm Band.
Wilson spent all day yesterday searching unsuccessfully for his National Ant Day necessities: his Gold Crown, his Anting Net and his Lucky Jam Jar.
Reluctantly, as darkness fell, he agreed to compromise. Standing in for his crown was a paper hat from an Xmas cracker, he substituted a kitchen sieve for his net, and in place of his Lucky Jam Jar he used an as-yet unopened jar of strawberry jam. Armed with these and his Extra-Brite Military Grade LED Torch he headed out into the garden.
'This is hopeless, New Dad!' he complained. 'I shall never be able to see an ant like this, and anyway, they'll all be asleep in their nests!'
'Look! There!' I exclaimed, deftly flicking one of his dried ants in front of him.
He played along, picking up the immobile creature and examining it by torch light.
'Hmmm,' he remarked, suspiciously. 'It appears to be dead.' He sniffed it. 'And lightly coated in chocolate. But needs must, I suppose!'
It's not as though anyone else suffered from this small deceit — after all, he is the only anteater in the village, so no one has been cheated out of the title Ant King of Uckfield 2016.
We adjourned to the kitchen, W wearing his paper crown and chewing disconsolately on the ant while I followed behind carrying the sieve and jam jar.
'This,' he announced, 'has been the worst National Ant Day ever!'
Wilson is in a real state of anxiety today!
He was certain that today was Mothers' Day and next Sunday was National Ant Day... but he was only half right.
They are BOTH today!
National Ant Day falls on the first Sunday in March, and he has lost his accoutrements: his Gold Winner's Crown, Anting Net and Lucky Jam Jar are nowhere to be seen!
On the grounds that it is the room he least often visits, he has decided that they are probably hiding somewhere in the bathroom, and has mobilised the entire household, even Uncle Zoltan, to search for them.
Diesel the Goldfish is on stand-by in case someone has to search down the toilet beyond the S-Bend.
He is understandably not happy about that...
The Bees have now painted over the patches they put up yesterday.
I'm afraid that the finished effect is a lot less 'undetectable' than I'd hoped, but at least they've made the effort.
Unlike Wilson, who fell asleep reading his Rupert the Bear Annual, and had to be woken to admire the completed job.
Tomorrow is Mothers' Day, but W has forgotten to buy a card for his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, so intends to Skype her tomorrow.
I have been given strict instructions not to let him forget!
There was no blog yesterday because I insisted that Wilson repaired the dining room wall, where all the nails he'd hammered into it had caused numerous unsightly cracks.
The Bees, Polly and Billi, both being much more practical than Wilson (which honestly isn't saying a lot) offered to help, and before starting they all sat round discussing the best way to tackle the problem.
For some reason they decided that the best solution would be to stick paper over the cracks, then re-paint the patches to match the original wall colour.
They used pages from one of W's old Rupert the Bear Annuals to paste over the cracks, even though he hadn't finished it — so he sat reading the annual, then tearing out each page as he completed it. The bees would then paste it and stick it on the wall.
All the children were wisely kept well out of the way, lest there be some terrible glue-related incident.
Today the re-painting begins...
Hello, we are The Bees, Polly and Billi, and this is our guest blog.
First of all, let us say how very sorry we are that this is a day late — there was no blog yesterday because Mad Uncle Zoltan had eaten through a computer cable or something, and we had to wait until a new one came this morning from those very nice people at Amazon Prime... [If only they paid their UK Taxes! 😕]
Oh, and we'd forgotten that we don't call Uncle Z 'mad' any more. Sorry.
Today we're very concerned by the mess Wilson has made of the dining room wall by putting up all his PeTA posters with nails. I think we're going to have to help him put the damage to rights, or his New Dad will probably get quite cross. Or sad.
Anyway, our big news this month is that the lovely Pooh Bear — you know, the Bear of Very Little Brain, who lives in the Hundred Acres Wood with piglet and his friends — he's written a book ALL ABOUT BEES! There are lots of lovely paintings in the book, and you can have a look at it here:
http://tinyurl.com/qd6lm8u
Actually, the Hundred Acre Wood isn't very far from where we live here in Uckfield!
Anyway, we've been The Bees and we'll see you next month. 🐝 🐝
Until then, BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE GOOD!
Wilson gathered everyone in the dining room and gave a short speech about the evils of wearing fur that wasn't actually growing out of your own body, announcing, 'I would rather go NAKED than wear another animal's fur!'
After a brief, but dramatic pause, he pulled the cord to part the drapes.
The curtains were rent in two, and the room was filled with the sound as of a rushing, mighty wind as all present gasped.
'But it looks just like you ALWAYS look!' Johnson Major cried...
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Wilson has asked me to point out that there are TWO versions of his photo, because of Facebook's well-known objection to nipples: in the first photo he is COMPLETELY naked, whereas in the second he has concealed his offending parts.
He urges anyone who is easily offended NOT to look at the first picture.
______
Today's FURbruary Task Suggestion: Don't Nag your Anteater to take Showers!
I have succumbed to that scourge of humanity, Man Flu :-(
However, Wilson has been so busy over the last few days that he hasn't had time to even notice. He hasn't had time to mock my symptoms or tell me I'm making a terrible fuss.
Best of all, he hasn't had time to make me any of his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua's Sovereign Cure-All, her secret-recipe (and foul-tasting) Ant Soup with Extra Lumps!
So while I suffer in silence, Wilson is in the dining room nailing up some 'unveiling curtains' behind which his naked photo will remain hidden until it is revealed to a waiting and unsuspecting world tomorrow, the Last Day of FURbruary. It's going to be quite a big event!
And as soon as that's done, he must start his preparations for National Ant Day next Sunday.
It's a busy life he leads — no wonder he doesn't have time to go to school...
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Today's FURbruary Task Suggestion: Romance a Red Lipped Batfish!
