JOURNAL October 2012
es entur v d a ’s ilson W w o Foll k at: .co.u t daily o p s log rs2.b a w t n //a http:
Original photographs of Wilson used by kind permission of TamanduaGirl: www.livingwithanteaters.com
YOUR T E O G E: T M A W HO R N E T EA ANT rst i f our y e he ak t t t u yo d pu n it; a e r e m na aft r e t on s a e l i t An s W i e am er! My n t a e ant e h t ha a h HA
MONDAY This morning I asked Wilson how he was getting on with Leonard Cohen. He replied that, while he found him quite lugubrious, his new ambition is to become 'a melancholic minstrel in the manner of Mr Cohen, wandering the world playing my guitar and meeting beautiful, but enigmatic, ladies.' First, though, he says he must master Emin7#5 which he is currently finding very difficult. Apparently the Bert Weedon Play In A Day book fails to properly address the difficulty of playing this chord if you happen to have claws. Well, it sounds like a plan. TUESDAY Wilson's constant practicing of 'Sisters of Mercy' is driving me mad. It's not that he makes a lot of mistakes... it's more that he makes the same mistakes every time. Another string has just snapped, leaving only three. For a little while he just hummed the missing notes, but now he's popped into the village to buy some replacement strings.
WEDNESDAY Yesterday Wilson went into the village to buy some guitar strings. While he was there he popped into WHSmith and bought this week's New Scientist... the 'What Is Reality?' special edition. This morning I came down to find him engrossed in it. I fear the worst.
THURSDAY Last night we watched "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo." We thought it was a good treatment of the first novel of the Dragon Tattoo trilogy, but now Wilson wants not only a tattoo, but also a Honda CL350 motorcycle! That is SO not going to happen!
FRIDAY Wilson, apparently not quite ready to abandon his Dylan roots, has written a 12-bar blues to Diesel, his goldfish. He calls it, "Diesel the Goldfish's Blues", and here it is: Well, I woke up this morning With Diesel on my mind; Yes I woke up this morning Diesel was on my mind; Then I gave him some of my best ants' eggs 'Cos I was feelin' kind of kind. Oh yeah!
SATURDAY Wilson has told me that Antony is now upset that HE hasn't had a blues written about him. He's sitting in his hammock doing his best, but is a bit stuck for a rhyme with 'Antony'. His last resort, he says, will be to write a non-blues song, called Sad-Eyed Antony of the Lowlands. All all the work has already been done for him by Mr Dylan, but I can't help thinking some of the lyrics are not entirely appropriate to be sung for a toy anteater... but I don't suppose Antony will mind. Where is this all going to end? Will sTony demand his own blues song? The Easter Island Heads in the garden?
SUNDAY Even after thinking about it all night, Wilson had still been unable to write a 12-bar blues for Antony, so he woke up this morning, feeling kind of sad. He hugged Antony for a little while, then his face suddenly lit up. Grabbing Antony and his guitar, he ran into the living room, where after a couple of false starts he began to sing: Well, I woke up this morning Feeling kind of sad; Gave Antony a hug Then things weren't quite as bad; He's the best toy anteater That I have ever had. Oh yeah! When he finished singing, little Antony positively glowed with pleasure; I think his cheeks even turned a tiny bit pink. We probably shouldn't mention any of this to sTony. Or to the Easter Island heads in the garden.
MONDAY Ant Wars II: Wilson is on a roll! He burst into my room before I was awake, sat on the bed and sang: Well, I woke up this morning Thinkin' 'bout New Dad He's been my father longer Than any other ever had De-dum de-dum de-dum De-dum de-dum not too bad. Oh yeah! He said this needed a little bit of fine-tuning, but he wanted to let me hear it as a work-in-progress. TUESDAY Last night, fearing another Existential Crisis might be on the way, I asked Wilson how he is getting on with the "What Is Reality?" New Scientist special edition. He replied that it was much more complicated than he'd expected. Over a mug of hot chocolate he explained that there were many contradictory theories: for example the Standard Model, which is all about Quarks and Leptons, Charm and Strangeness and Muon Nutrinos, but which explains... only about... four percent of the... universe... While he was speaking, I noticed his chin sink slowly down onto his chest, his eyes close and a gentle snore emerge. I guess Reality is a complex and tiring concept, and it's just worn him out for today. I took the mug from his paw and carried him off to the tumble dryer, where I put him to bed.
WEDNESDAY Today, Wilson resumed our discussion of Reality: 'Leonard Susskind and Gerard t' Hooft think that everything is a holographic projection from the Event Horizon of a Black Hole, while the Copenhagen Interpretation says that things are only real while you're looking at them!' he explained. 'That means that as soon as you leave the room, New Dad, you cease to exist because I can't see you. And I cease to exist, because you can't see me.' 'Really?' I asked, 'Is that REALLY what it means?' 'Absolutely' W confirmed. 'So when you leave the room, will you keep talking to me so I know you still exist? I'm keeping Antony with me all the time too, so he doesn't stop existing!' I had to agree to keep talking or singing or making some kind of noise whenever I was out of Wilson's sight, to reassure him that I still existed. This is EXACTLY why I try to keep W away from articles on philosophy!
THURSDAY Wilson insisted on sleeping in my bed last night, to be sure I wouldn't wink out of existence while he wasn't looking. As soon as he awoke this morning, he started to explain about Descartes' theory that we are dreaming Reality and it's really all in our heads, and Willard Van Orman Quine's theory that Everything is Made of All Our Minds. Made OF our Minds? WHAT?? Finally, he outlined Nick Bostrom's theory that Reality is just a computer simulation, and we are all just characters in some vast video game. I'm guessing it's Lemmings. This makes little or no sense to me, and all it seems to achieve is worrying Wilson that he's not real. I'd SO hoped we'd put all that behind us after the 'Moon' incident. I asked W why he was so interested in all this paradoxical metaphysics, and his reply surprised me: 'I was expecting to be able to read about my Great Uncle Kenneth's Theory of Reality, but New Scientist didn't even mention it!'
FRIDAY Yesterday afternoon over tea Wilson explained his Great Uncle Kenneth's Theory of Reality (or The Kenneth Vermilingua Unified Theory of Reality, as his Great Uncle Kenneth always referred to it). (I wonder, is Kenneth even a Costa Rican name? W assures me that it is the 29th most popular boy's name in Costa Rica, and he knows about these things!) According to this theory, everything is made of tiny sub-microscopic, indivisible hard particles manufactured by the ants. These fundamental particles his Great Uncle called 'Antoms.' There are also some sub-antomic particles, he conjectured, but these were mostly detached bits of ants' legs etc which fall off during the antom manufacturing process. None of this makes any sense to me whatsoever but honestly, is Wilson's Uncle Ken's theory any less likely that that everything comes into existence only when you look at it? As John Lennon said, 'The more real you get, the more unreal the world gets.' If that's not a Theory of Reality I don't know what is. But then, I've never actually seen John Lennon, so perhaps he never existed...
SATURDAY Late yesterday evening, as I tucked Wilson up in the tumble dryer for the night, he asked me, 'New Dad – I am real, aren't I?' 'Of course you are! I replied, in my most reassuring, confident and Dad-like tone of voice. 'And you're real too, aren't you?' he then asked. I thought for a moment, then told him, 'Yes. I think so. I think I'm real.' Believing he was asleep, I crept out of the laundry room, but he called after me: 'You think, so, therefore you are! I made a philosophy joke! Ha ha!'
SUNDAY Wilson has been on a fundraising visit to Toys 'n' Bears, a local toy megastore, hoping they would donate some teddy-bears for him to send the the Costa Rican Sloth Orphanage. They refused, and when he started calling them names ('rotten meanies') they asked him to leave. W immediately went outside with his guitar and sang antiToys 'n' Bears protest songs. I think his protest would have carried more weight if he hadn't popped back inside to buy the "Hot Wheels" wellingtons he's wearing in the picture, but he said he couldn't live without them, and he'd never seen them anywhere else!
MONDAY Readers of the National Geographic Magazine may have noticed a brief article this month called The Glory of Leaves. Wilson enjoyed this item because it related to the world immediately around him rather than somewhere far-away and exotic, and now he has decided to make a leaf collection for himself. This seems to me a ideal hobby for W; it will get him out into the countryside, he will enjoy the fresh air, it will be good exercise for him and it will distract him from thoughts and doubts about 'Reality'. Moreover, Autumn is the ideal time of year to start a leaf collection. He has pulled on his new boots and gone off to the local woods on a leaf hunt. I'll pop out later and buy him a scrapbook to stick them in and a tube of glue.
TUESDAY Wilson returned from his leaf-hunting expedition with less of a leaf collection, more of an indoor compost heap. There are creepy things coming out of it and crawling under the sofa! I tried to protest, but he said each leaf had some special character or quality that he needed to study. I have insisted that it be moved from the living room and into the Wilson Vermilingua OBE Museum of Old Stuff and A Robot, but W says it will be too cold for him to work out there. He went off muttering about how he's certain Richard Attenborough never had to put up with this when he was a child... I expect he means David.
WEDNESDAY It's only a couple of weeks until Halloween, so once Wilson had cleared away (most of) his leaf collection we all went to the Garden Centre so he and Antony could choose their Halloween Pumpkin.
THURSDAY Before Wilson starts carving his pumpkin, I've insisted he finish clearing his leaf collection out of the living room. I'm hoping he manages to remove all the insects that have crawled out of it and are now living under the sofa too. W is not in a very good mood - he keeps sighing and saying how instead of doing menial housework I should be letting him get on with his groundbreaking Leaf Research. I'd like to point out that the mop cap is not my idea - W put that on just to make me feel guilty!
FRIDAY Wilson made a pretty good job of tidying up the living room yesterday, so today he's carving his pumpkin with Antony. I sense that Antony is not completely at ease around sharp knives, but W has no such reservations and is wielding his knife like Zorro. It's made quite a mess, but W has promised me a Pumpkinand-Ant Pie for dinner tonight. And Pumpkin-and-Ant Soup for most of next week...
SATURDAY I've just discovered where Wilson's leaf collection has been tidied away to. It's going to have to go, either in "The Wilson Vermilingua Museum of Old Stuff and A Robot" or on the Guy Fawkes bonfire. I was afraid he'd make a mess carving his pumpkin, but this is way beyond 'mess'! W said he was 'astonished' to find the leaves beside his bed, and suggested that Antony might have put them there...
SUNDAY I got up very early this morning... or so I thought. It turned out that Wilson had put all the clocks back by an hour. 'The hour doesn't change until next Sunday,' I told him. 'I know that,' he replied, 'but it's always such a shock to my system that I thought I'd do it a week early, to give us a chance to get used to it gradually.' Who knows? Perhaps I'll be grateful next Sunday. After a week of getting everywhere an hour early.
MONDAY Now that Wilson's pumpkin is carved we're at the Garden Centre choosing his Halloween outfit and any other stuff he can talk me into. They've got their Guy Fawkes Night fireworks on display too, plus a load of Xmas stuff. This could turn out to be an expensive trip... TUESDAY Wilson was working on my iMac and he accidentally turned on iTunes' Home Sharing. Now he's got access to EVERYTHING on his iPad: to Death of a Ladies' Man and my entire Joni Mitchell collection. I hope this doesn't have any repercussions...
WEDNESDAY The 'repercussion' I feared yesterday was that Wilson would listen to Cohen's Death of a Ladies' Man, but I should have been worrying about something else: W has been listening to Joni Mitchell. Michael from Mountains, Sisotowbell Lane, songs I've not listened to in decades... such a different, innocent time in my life. And now, it seems, in Wilson's life too. THURSDAY It's worse than I thought. Far worse: Wilson wants to marry Joni Mitchell. This is a tragic situation, not unlike that in The Who song, Pictures of Lily... He'll be so disappointed when he finds out Joni is no longer the lovely young girl in the photos but will in fact be 69 in a few days time. And lives half a world away. I shall have to be very careful how I break the news to him...
FRIDAY Well, that was quite a harrowing morning. I've broken the news to Wilson, and he didn't take it well. He's gone into a bit of a decline, sitting morosely in his box and refusing to come out. I tucked Antony in with him, but even he can't cheer W up. Lost love is a terrible thing. Lost first love is even worse. SATURDAY Wilson is still in his bed, brooding about Joni. I tried to console him by telling him that she too despises Bob Dylan; W replied she had 'probably heard his Xmas Album.' What with Halloween, Guy Fawkes Night and Xmas there is so much for W to look forward to in the coming weeks. I'll try to snap him out of his desolation by taking him firework shopping later.
SUNDAY In order to cheer him up and to distract him from Joni, I took Wilson to the fireworks shop today. I'd only intended to get some Golden Rain and a couple of packets of sparklers... but he managed to talk me into some Roman Candles too. And some rockets. And a big box of Bangers. Listening to a Gold station on the radio driving home and Pictures of Lily by The Who happened to come on; I was very encouraged to see W tapping his feet to it. Perhaps his crisis has passed.
MONDAY This morning Wilson looked up his surname, Vermilingua, on the internet, hoping to track down some unknown famous ancestors. Wikipedia and three Dictionary sites claimed that 'Vermilingua' means 'wormtongue'. W said he had never been so insulted in his life, and that this was a slur on his entire family and all his ancestors. He is now writing a very strongly-worded letter of complaint to Wikipedia and three Dictionary sites.
TUESDAY Wilson and I went out for dinner last night, and I was very surprised when he offered to pay. He brought out what I thought was a 10 pound note but which, when I examined it, turned out to be a V10,000 note. 'What's this?' I asked him. 'I've been researching currency online,' he replied, 'and lots of places, Bristol for instance, have issued their own currency. It's quite legal! So I've designed the "Vermilingua"!' 'And you think this restaurant will accept it?' I asked, incredulously. 'I certainly hope so!' he replied, 'and I'm hoping they give me the change in UK Pounds Sterling – if they do, I should show a profit of about 9,960 pounds. I'll leave an generous tip, of course.' I couldn't enjoy the meal for worrying what would happen when Wilson tried to pay with his homemade currency, but when the waitress said she couldn't accept it I paid with my plastic and there was no unpleasantness. Wilson left the V10,000 note as a tip. 'I know it's overgenerous, but the waitress was very pretty. And I can print plenty more.'
WEDNESDAY HALLOWEEN! Here's Wilson setting off to Trick-or-Treat. He's convinced that he's going to get a mountain of treats this year. I hope he's not too disappointed; Trick-orTreat isn't very popular in this country.