Wilson is addressing a packed and enthusiastic meeting in the Village Hall, where a crowd has gathered to celebrate this year's World Anteater Day*.
I think Wilson has been watching rather too many TV Election Broadcasts, for his oration is liberally sprinkled with anodyne platitudes such as 'For the many anteaters, not the few!' and 'Get the ants done – they're oven ready!'
Before he started speaking I took him to one side and begged him not to use the phrase, 'My Biggest Fault is that I'm Too Honourable!' or anything even remotely like it…
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* I'm not making this up: http://www.paxtag.org/world-anteater-day-details/
The hall is now pretty much filled by two big cardboard boxes, each one far too heavy for even Nërp to move.
According to the delivery note, they are full of Wilson's Xmas CDs, but for the time being they remain unopened, and we are having to carefully pick our way around them.
Wilson says he'll unpack the boxes as soon as he has a spare moment, and once that's done perhaps I wouldn't mind loading them into the car and giving him, Byron and Antony a lift to the village record shop Village Records.
After which he's planned a trip into Brighton to visit HMV, Virgin Records, Rough Trade and Wax Factor, then on to Eastbourne and Crawley…
I had been under the impression that 99% of record sales took place online or via streaming services, but I'm not an expert…
When I was Wilson's age, one of the first Harbingers of Xmas was Ironing Last Year's Wrapping Paper ready to use again. Maybe that was a post-WW2 austerity thing, I don't know.
For Wilson, though, the equivalent activity is Sorting Out the Decorations.
Although I have told him he can't start putting up Xmas Decorations until 1st December, he's got some of the decorations down from the loft so he can dust them off – he's very excited, knowing that Xmas can now be only, as he puts it, 'Days away!'
This will be Pterry's First Xmas with us – he is paying close attention to what's going on, and trying to make some sense of it.
Even Jīqìrén has briefly torn herself away from the tv and is observing the proceedings, although I suspect she is as mystified as Pterry!
I'll ask Wilson to explain Xmas to them both before the Big Day dawns…
Like most successful businessmen, Wilson is very good at Delegating – it's just a shame that the similarity doesn't extend to actually being successful.
He is always happy to delegate tasks which he doesn't want to do, or which might get him into trouble.
This is the reason it's poor Nërp that's been tasked with fly-posting adverts for Wilson's Xmas CD – the recording was only completed last night, but already W's well-oiled Publicity Department (headed by marketing guru Antony) has swung into action.
I reminded Wilson that in the recent past I had categorically forbidden him to do any fly-posting.
He considered for a moment, then told me he had 'Absolutely no recollection' of me ever saying that…
Wilson has noticed a lot of tv adverts for Xmas CDs and, thinking they sound like a bit of a money maker, has liberated my old reel-to-reel tape recorder from his Museum.
The whole family has been assembled in his Library and are singing what W describes as 'All the Old Favourites' while he conducts – or at least, waves his arms in the air in approximate time to the singing.
After a couple of 'takes' he confided to me that it would sound a lot better with the help of the Animatronic Polar Bears from the garden centre singing background harmonies, and asked me whether I'd drive round there to enquire if they'd help out. He told me to say there'd be a Fish Supper in it for them – it appears he has not fully grasped the meaning of the term 'animatronic'.
He also asked me whether I'd any idea how much an Autotune™ Machine might cost.
Here is a taste of what you can expect in the way of Free Decorations this year.
Even Nërp has joined in the… um, fun!
Perhaps I should have warned you to lower your expectations?
I will advise you now, though, that some of the items have been slightly recycled from previous years – but I'm sure we're all agreed that recycling is a good thing?
Following yesterday's incident in the supermarket I've grounded Wilson, Byron and Nërp!
I've given them some crayons and paper, sat them in the dining room and suggested they design some DIY Xmas decorations.
With any luck this will enable us to avoid any extortionately expensive purchases at the Garden Centre and keep them out of mischief…
This morning Wilson popped round to the Supermarket with Byron and Nërp to 'pick up a few essentials'.
A little later I received (yet another) telephone call from the lady in charge of Security, informing me that the boys appeared to be 'performing some sort of funeral ceremony at the fish counter'.
Wilson is both an ordained minister in the Pastafarian Church and a staunch vegetarian, and it appears that he has temporarily sworn-in Nërp and Byron as 'Deputy Priests' for the duration of the funeral service he was performing for the fish on the counter.
By the time I had driven round, parked the car and run in to the store, Wilson was just concluding the service, solemnly intoning:
'Hail Marinara,
Full of Spice,
The Flying Spaghetti Monster is filled with thee.
Tasty art thou amongst sauces,
and blessed is the fruit of thy jar,
tomatoes
(although fools believe they are vegetables).
Holy Marinara,
Chief Amongst Toppings,
Save a plate for us now,
and at about 6 o’clock when dinner is served,
if you would be so kind.
RAmen.'
Then – after raising a mournful toast to the deceased dory, slain sardines and murdered mackerel – prepared to leave… when Byron noticed my presence.
I made Wilson apologise for the disruption and possible lost sales, and the Security Lady kindly directed us to the Vegetarian Food Aisle where I made a sizeable guilt-based purchase.
Once we get home I shall be sure to find something to occupy everyone and keep them out of mischief…
Specially intriguing was a choir of Animatronic Polar Bears singing Xmas Carols.
Byron was initially very nervous, but Wilson (having encountered such creatures before: several years ago as he was leaving a Xmas Grotto he mistakenly thought he was being mugged by an animated model bear) managed to calm him down sufficiently to approach the group.
I didn't mind the lads joining in with the Carols, but I was embarrassed to find them brandishing a Collecting Tin at passing garden centre visitors!
He told the surprised donors that the collection was for a Very Good Cause – but noting the label on the tin, I suspect it's for the Wilson and Byron Vermilingua Xmas Fund…
I managed to distract the boys from buying things by taking them through a tunnel of fairy lights in the Lighting department – they were both enchanted!
But then they returned to browsing – and buying…
Once Hallowe'en and Guy Fawkes Night are out of the way, all young anteaters' fancy lightly turn to thoughts of Christmas.
I tried all the traditional deterrents ('Every time someone mentions Xmas before December, Father Xmas has to execute an Xmas Elf' and so on) but to no avail.
So it is that we find ourselves at a very Xmassy Garden Centre.
I can't help noticing that the price of everything has doubled or tripled since last year, but Wilson is naturally undeterred.
Is the £ Sterling unusually weak against the ¥ Chinese yuan? Whatever the reason, I think we're going to have to cut back on buying new Xmas decorations – maybe Wilson, Byron and the gang can make their own this year…
Wilson, his friends and family had a truly Bumper Hallowe'en Haul this year, which W puts down to the threat of Dalek Extermination.
Today he's made a big pot of Spicy Pumpkin and Ant Soup which he says, together with his massive haul of candy, will sustain us for 'weeks, possibly months' – and since he is in charge of food shopping and cooking I have no choice but to believe him.
At first sight Pumpkin Soup and Candy might look like a high-sugar, high-calorie diet, but I predict that I will lose weight on it – within a couple of days I won't be able to face another Daim™ Bar or KitKat™ and the weight will start to fall away...
[legal disclaimer: always check with your physician or medical adviser before following any diet, especially The Hallowe'en Diet]
Check the Blog Page soon for details on Wilson's all-new Hallowe'en Diet!
[legal disclaimer: check with your physician or medical adviser before following The Hallowe'en Diet]
In a commendable effort to reduce their Hallowe'en Carbon Footprint, everyone has agreed to recycle last year's costumes.
With the exception of Wilson – although contrary to my previous statement his DALEK Suit is made not of metal but re-purposed Amazon cardboard boxes, of which we have many.
The Sink Plunger was a new purchase, but Wilson told me that we'll 'probably' find a use for it, once we work out what it's for.
The Ghastly Group set off as dusk fell, but long after they'd departed I could still hear Wilson's shouts of 'Extermination or Treat!' echoing through the streets.
Along with plaintive pleas to 'Mind what you're doing with that sink plunger!' from Uncle Zoltan…
With Boris' shibbolethic Hallowe'en Brexit now on hold, Wilson has been able to briefly stop worrying about being deported as an Unskilled Alien* and concentrate on the important things in his life: organising his Hallowe'en Costume!
He is in the living room being fitted for his Dalek Outfit, which involves Nërp doing quite a lot of metalwork. I've warned him that if he needs to use his Welding Equipment he must do it in the garden.
W says that although the costume seriously limits his mobility, the threat of EXTERMINATION should sway even the most Trick-or-Treat hating of householders…
Honestly, I'd recommend you to disconnect the door bell, turn off the lights and pretend to be out – that's what I'll be doing!
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* "Unskilled" is defined by the government as anyone earning less than £36k/year ($46,500) – eg almost all NHS nurses.
Wilson has produced a badge for all his friends, extolling the Anteater Way Of Life.
I mentioned to him that I thought the badge should have read, 'Get Rich, Eat Ants' but he said he didn't want to be too obvious about his personal credo… or encourage unnecessary competition.
Wilson is delivering what he calls an Orientation Lecture to Jīqìrén, which he says will help her settle in and feel at home.
The title of his lecture is Things To Do When You're Bored – I wouldn't have thought this would be of much use to Jīqìrén as she won't have time to be bored, what with all the Useful Tasks and Housekeeping she will no doubt be performing, but far be it from me to interfere with Wilson's carefully crafted Induction Programme…
To date there's been little or no sign of Jīqìrén's much-vaunted helpfulness – so far she's just sat in silence watching children's tv with Wilson.
When I asked whether she'd mind if I changed channels to watch The News she said nothing – but made a ominous sound not unlike Phasers On Stun, or perhaps a Light Sabre…
Still, never mind – the News will only be all about Brexit, so I don't really need to see it – in fact, I'm probably happier for NOT having seen it.
Although, I would quite like to see Joanna Lumley's Japan later tonight – maybe Jīqìrén will have gone to bed by then…
Before introducing Jīqìrén to the rest of the family, Nërp took her indoors with Wilson, Byron and me to explain that for a little while this would be her new home and we would be her new family.
For some reason, Nërp coughed as he said 'little while' – he doesn't usually exhibit any vocal tics whatsoever, but I expect he had a fragment of packing material caught in his voice synthesiser.
He went on to tell us how helpful and beneficial Jīqìrén would be around the house, performing housework and small chores without complaint.
Nërp coughed again as he said 'helpful' – perhaps I should get him some cough medicine – or WD40?
Addressing the tiny android in an attempt to draw her into conversation, I said, 'Jīqìrén is a beautiful name – does it mean anything?'
Nërp answered for her, saying, 'Yes, it's a very pretty name, both charming and delightful. It's Chinese for Robot.'
Jīqìrén said nothing, but emitted a faint whirring sound as she raised her arm and inserted her thumb into her mouth.
'Don't suck your thumb, Jīqìrén dear,' Nërp admonished her, 'If you short-circuit you could start a nasty fire!'
