M a yA Journal of my Life with Wilson Vermilingua OBE

Original photographs of Wilson used by kind permission of TamanduaGirl:www.livingwithanteaters.com

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ThursdayWhen the wedding was first announced one of Wilson’s on-line friends, Malicya anne (@misdeed666) offered to bake a honey cake for the wedding. It arrived this morning, and it looks just lovely. Polly and Billi both think it’s exquisite!

Wilson poked a tiny hole in the icing so he could insert his tongue and wiggle it around, ‘strictly for testing purposes!’ he assured me. I assume it passed the test because he declared it to be ‘The Bees’ Knees!’ and he couldn’t say fairer than that.

The first guests are starting to arrive and I’ve already been stung a few times. Of Mad uncle Zortan, however, there is as yet no sign.

frIdayThere is an air of expectation, an undercurrent of excitement about the house today.

The girls have popped into the village to get their fur done, while Wilson tries to memorise the words of the marriage ceremony.

Best Man antony and assistant Best Man/flower Girl Tiny Toy are working on the joke in the Best Man’s speech.

sTony and sToneye are outside rehearsing their role of ushers/security Guards by arranging the guests in straight lines, checking invitations and other usherey tasks.

In keeping with tradition, Polly and Billi will spend the night apart and not see each other until the ceremony.

Everyone involved wants tomorrow to be perfect!

saTurdayBilli surprised everyone by arriving at the ceremony with a new fur-do - she’d had some colour put in. Polly loved Billi’s new look, describing it as ‘tres punk!’

Wilson then intoned, ‘By the Power Vested in me by the Internet and the flying spaghetti Monster Online Theological College, I declare you Bee and Bee!’ The girls kissed each other and all the guests cheered!

after this, everyone retired for a slap-up sit-down meal of vegan jalfrezi kindly supplied by Wilson’s friend Jan. This was very fortuitous since, what with being so busy memorising the words of the ceremony, W had completely forgotten to order any food.

during the meal, large quantities ant-flavoured mead were consumed before antony, aided by Tiny Toy, gave the Best Man’s speech.

In a small, wavering voice, he began, ‘I would like to thank everyone for coming. The brides look lovely. I hope they...’ he paused, whether for dramatic effect or nervousness I couldn’t tell. Tiny Toy began to giggle. antony resumed. ‘I hope they will... BEE... very happy together!’

Tiny Toy collapsed in laughter as antony added, ‘did you see what I did there? did you?’

We all clapped and clapped while antony blushed and smiled, relieved to have discharged his duties successfully.

sundayafter the reception the happy couple climbed into the car and, following Wilson’s directions, I drove them to their honeymoon hotel.

The girls sat on the rear parcel shelf while Wilson sat in front with me - partly to help with navigation but mostly to allow the newlyweds some privacy.

MOndayWhen we arrived at the hotel, Wilson went to check the girls in while they waited in the front garden.

The proprietor was quite surprised when she opened the door to Wilson - partly that he was an anteater, and partly that the guests were bees. Looking at the hotel’s sign, I think I can see how the misunderstanding arose: ‘Bee & Bee’... ‘honey’...

anyway, since the reservation had been paid in advance there was no real problem and Polly and Billi were shown to their room. It had an enormous double bed and a vase of fresh flowers which the girls said was all they could have hoped for!

I think they intend to sleep in the flowers, actually. after they were settled in and we were driving home,

Wilson confided that he was quite glad the wedding was finally over and he could return to his normal life.

as though his life could ever be considered ‘normal’ in any meaningful sense of the word...

TuEsdaynext saturday is the Eurovision song Contest, then the following day is Wilson’s birthday.

his sEVEnTh birthday. The birthday by which he’d promised his Mum, Mrs

Vermilingua, he would be a millionaire.he is manifestly nOT yet a millionaire and agrees

with me that his chances of becoming one within the next five days are vanishingly small.

so, he is distracting himself by drawing up a hugely complex chart on which to score the Eurovision contestants.

as for his birthday, he told me that he doesn’t want to talk about it.

WEdnEsdayas I’m sure you know by now, Wilson never does anything by halves; thoroughness is (or should be) his middle name.

accordingly, he has done quite a bit of research in preparation for the Eurovision song Contest on saturday.

While studying past shows he came across the song ‘Je suis un vrai garçon’ which was the french entry in the dublin Eurovision way back in 1994, sung by nina Morato

Wilson called me in to show me her photo, and she is indeed very pretty - a gamine waif with a cheeky smile. he then announced that he was in love with her.

‘It’s not an inappropriate infatuation like it was with Joni Mitchell, new dad,’ he assured me. ‘This time it’s the real Thing!’

I quickly performed a calculation in my head: 2014 - 1994 -- 20 years.

frIdayWilson has just pinned up a photograph of the lovely nina Morato on his noticeboard, next to his Eurovision Voting Chart.

I’ve done a little research of my own, and Ms Morato is now a serious film star and stage actor. also, she is now almost 50 years old - I can’t accept that she would be a suitable partner for a seven-year-old anteater. I’ve told W this, but he will brook no objections, saying that he will write a formal letter of proposal to her as soon as he can find her email address.

This so reminds me of Pictures Of Lily, the Who song about a young boy infatuated by the long-dead Lily Langtry. It cannot end well.

also on his board I spotted a note headed, ‘What to do about Mrs V.’ I asked him about this and he said he’d had an idea...

Wilson asks me to remind you that today is Lost sock Memorial day - and what better way to celebrate than with a pair of OddsIEs! non-Matching socks?!

saTurdayWilson was sitting in the garden making some last-minute adjustments to his Eurovision scoring chart when the postman called with an envelope addressed to him. I took it out to him and he opened it.

‘It’s a birthday card,’ he announced. ‘I can see that!’ I replied, ‘Who’s it from?’‘It’s signed “from your secret admirer XXX”’ he said. ‘I don’t think this “admirer” person is my Mum, Mrs

Vermilingua, any more, so I reckon I’m still okay!’I asked him what he meant, and he explained that his

plan was not to let his Mum, Mrs V. know it was almost his birthday. That way she wouldn’t know he’d be seven tomorrow, so breaking the promise he’d made to her that he’d be a millionaire by then.

‘Won’t your Mum know it’s your birthday?’ I asked.‘Oh no, she’s very vague about her children.’ he said. I asked him how long he thought he could maintain

this deception.‘as long as necessary!’ he said, confidently. ‘until I’m a

millionaire, anyway!’

sundayWilson is a bit miffed that my Eurovision tip (The netherlands) came second, while his scientifically calculated prediction (france) came last.

however, his ruminations - and indeed his birthday - were disrupted by the unexpected arrival of a large and elderly bee dressed entirely in black. he hovered in front of Wilson and addressed him.

‘Prithee, young sir, canst thou direct me to the wedding of Miss Polly-B and Miss Billi-B?’

W recovered himself and replied, ‘are you Mad unc… um. Oh. That’s to say, are you uncle Zortan?’

‘The same, sir! The very same!’ the bee replied.

MOndayWilson explained to uncle Z that he had missed the wedding by a week, and hinted that in any case he would not have been an altogether welcome guest.

uncle Zortan sighed deeply then proceeded to tell Wilson his life story, which was not a happy tale.

apparently he attends all bee weddings, as Polly and Billi had warned us, but not with the intention of disrupting the ceremony, he just can’t help himself.

It seems that this started when he was a young bee, barely out of his pupa-hood, and engaged to be married. Then at the alter, his fiancee jilted him. since then he has lived alone in a grand but now ruined bee hive, surrounded by the finery and food of the wedding feast… and the un-cut wedding cake.

young bees call his hive havisham house and taunt him when he emerges, calling him Mad Miss havisham.

TuEsdayWilson made a lot of sympathetic noises, then offered uncle Z some left-over wedding cake.

uncle Z declined, saying that he feared in the circumstances that it might choke him, but asked Wilson to pass on his good wishes to Polly and Billi when next he saw them.

W then tried to start a conversation about the Eurovision song Contest, but the old bee said he had no idea what that was, and cared even less… which rather shut down that avenue of small-talk.

Thankfully, Wilson checked himself before asking whether uncle Z would like to see a photo of nina, his would-be fiancee.

WEdnEsdayWilson was sad to see uncle Zortan leave, but life goes on and today is dance Like a Chicken day!

he is in the living room dancing like a chicken on the sofa. I don’t really approve of dancing on the sofa but, as he says, it’s only one day a year and the cushions give him a lot more bounceability.

antony is trying to dance like a chicken too, while Tiny Toy lies on his back gasping for breath like a chicken.

sTony and sTonEye are dancing like, as W puts it, a pair of broody hens.

all in all it’s well funky!

Thursdaynaturally I can’t speak from experience, but apparently dancing Like a Chicken really takes it out of one. Or so I’m advised by Wilson, who called me to his bedroom this morning to announce that he was ‘Totally tapped out!’ and needed me to bring him breakfast in bed.

he justified this by telling me that he would require a lot of extra rest today since sunday is International Museum day for which he needs to spring clean the ‘Wilson Vermilingua OBE Museum of Old stuff and a robot’ in case any visitors should drop by.

frIdayIn preparation for sunday’s International Museum day, WIlson is in the Wilson Vermilingua OBE Museum of Old stuff and a robot sprucing up the displays.

first thing this morning he went in to tidy up and check the exhibits for winter damage.

surveying the heaps of what I can only describe as ‘old junk’ he remarked softly to himself, ‘This is even cooler than I remember! I really should think about increasing the admission price.’

saTurdayToday Wilson made the finishing touches to the outside of his museum by washing the walls, cleaning the signs etc. It doesn’t look too bad now, but I’d think twice about paying actual money to go inside!

Just as he finished there was a ring at the bell. ‘That will be my taxi!’ he said. I asked him where he was going and he told me he was

going to visit his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, for a few days to ‘clear the air’ about his broken promise.

‘so you’re in charge of the Museum, new dad!’ he blithely announced, handing me the keys. ‘Children are half price, but insist on seeing their birth certificates before you let them in!’

and with that he was off.

I’ll start posting again as soon as I hear any news from him... whenever that may be.

frIdayThis morning Wilson returned from his holiday at the zoo with his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua.

his first question was about visitor numbers on national Museums day - and I had to admit that admissions had been low. Lower than expected, anyway.

When he asked me exactly how low I was forced to concede that there had been no visitors whatever. fewer than one. none. Zero.

his face fell, but he philosophically admitted that ‘It’s always the big museums that soak up the visitors - the British Museums and the V&as of the world - while small family-run enterprises suffer!’

Then he added as an afterthought that he blamed himself for leaving me in charge when I clearly wasn’t up to the challenge!

saTurdayWilson has been quite subdued since visiting his mum.

I asked him how his confession had gone and he said that before he’d broached his lack of millionaire-hood with Mrs V. he’d told his Big sister, andrea, what he was about to do.

she took him to one side and advised him, ‘don’t say anything about that to your mother, Mrs Vermilingua … there are things you don’t yet understand.’

‘What don’t I yet understand, new dad?’ he asked me, plaintively.

I said I had no idea and asked whether andrea had elaborated on this?

‘she just said, “When you’re a little older, Boo!” really, I’m seven years old now, and she still calls me by my baby-name!’

This mystery has made him understandably tense.

sundayant Wars II: This morning Wilson and I were sitting in the garden while he ate his breakfast of coffee and croissants with ants, discussing whether his Wilson Vermilingua OBE Museum of Old stuff and a robot would be eligible for a Lottery grant.

he was telling me how a few thousand tax-free would enable him to buy some new exhibits and give the walls a fresh coat of creosote, when suddenly the bees flew in, home from their honeymoon... and they were not alone!

MOndayunder intense questioning by Wilson, Polly and Billi revealed that they have adopted a baby! Their progeny is a young ladybird whom they have named Johnson.

Billi has grown the colour out of her fur and says that she is now ready to renounce her past life of hedonistic clubbing and settle down to a life of devoted motherhood with Polly.

Well, I don’t think any of us were expecting that!

TuEsdayThere was much excitement this morning when the postman brought a big envelope addressed to the bees!

Billi opened it and withdrew their Wedding Group Photograph - everyone crowded round and secretly admired themselves in it while saying how good everyone else looked...

WEdnEsdayWilson has introduced Johnson to diesel the Goldfish, and vice versa.

diesel was very excited by this. he doesn’t get to meet many people...

Thursdaydiesel, who lives a quiet life and doesn’t get out much, got quite overexcited meeting Johnson yesterday.

as an emergency measure Wilson dropped half an ambien into his bowl, then ordered a relaxation tape on eBay for him.

Johnson was a bit put out not to be in his parents’ wedding group photo so Wilson offered to shoot it again with him included.

W propped up the wedding photograph against a bottle of ant gin while little Johnson posed in front; then he loaded his last pack of film into his trusty Polaroid.

frIdayJohnson is delighted with the new group wedding photo with his parents! as he put it to Wilson, ‘you’d never know I wasn’t actually there!’

In other news, it turns out that ladybirds, visually at least, are not immensely sophisticated, but are quite easily pleased.

saTurdayWilson has told the bees about the visit by Mad uncle Zortan, relating to them the tragic circumstances of his early life which have resulted in his current eccentric behaviour.

Everyone agreed that it was very sad and that henceforth he should be referred to only as differently-abled uncle Zortan.

W then caused some offence by asking the bees whether their baby could do any tricks.