Wilson is searching in his room...

What with having the Freedom of Uckfield and being in the paper, Wilson says his mother, Mrs Vermilingua, will be very proud of him, and he really will write to her 'some time soon' and tell her all about it. 

After reading and re-reading the paper about thirty times, he spent the rest of the afternoon rummaging around in his bedroom looking for something.

Wilson is in the paper! Again!

I heard the Uckfield Examiner being delivered this morning, then Wilson picking it up from the doormat. A moment later he came running in to me with it, shouting, 'New Dad! New Dad! I'm front page news!' 

And indeed, he was… this time, thank goodness, not due to being apprehended by a security guard.

Something blue...

After a few minutes in the mayormobile we found ourselves approaching home. As we turned the corner, we noticed some workmen standing around outside the house, then Wilson saw that something had been fixed to the front wall...

What happens next...

We were whisked off in the mayoral limo to the outskirts of Uckfield and stopped in the middle of nowhere. The chauffeur got out and opened the rear door so the Mayor and we could get out. Wilson whispered to me nervously, 'Is this a gangland hit? Will I ever see my mum, Mrs Vermilingua, again?'

The Mayor led us a little way along the country lane in which we'd parked, then turned Wilson round so he could see the sign at the side of the road. 

I took a photo of W standing proudly in front of the sign, as you can see. Then we all got back into the limo (which W has started calling the Mayormobile) and were driven off again. 

While I'm emailing this, W is telling the Mayor all about his goldfish, Diesel, and the Mayor is nodding and smiling. 

We meet the Mayor! In his parlour!

We've just met the mayor in his parlour! Brilliant! He shook hands with Wilson and congratulated him on his Cultural Mystery Tour of Uckfield and the work he has done to promote Uckfield on the world stage in the fields of catering, philosophy and medicine. 

Wilson thanked him gravely, then told him the anteater joke he'd told me -- but happily without the embarrassing after-effects. The Mayor laughed appreciatively and put his arm round W's shoulders. Then Wilson asked whether there was a cash prize at all? 

What could have been an awkward moment was defused when the Mayor laughed again and told him what he had for Wilson was something money couldn't buy.

We were then ushered by the Mayor into the Mayoral Limousine. The three of us sat together in the back (where I'm emailing this from now) and were driven off…

I'll let you know what happens next as soon as I can.

Wilson plans a book

Wilson has just told me that he's going to write a book of anteater jokes for after-dinner speakers; this is, apparently, a completely untapped market and will make him rich. I asked him if he knows a lot of anteater jokes, he confessed that he only knows two -- and one of them is very rude. Hmmm -- this has the makings of a extremely slim volume.

Still, we're off to the Mayor's Parlour tomorrow, that should give W something else to think about. I think I'll warn W not to tell the Mayor his rude anteater joke. Or his clean one, if he's going to roll around on the floor laughing at it himself, as he did yesterday. 

Wilson tells me a joke

Wow, what a beautiful sunny morning today! In response to the psychiatrist's advice, we've been for a walk in the country. Wilson agreed as soon as I suggested it, which is a bit of a surprise; whenever I suggest doing something he doesn't want to do, like stacking the dish washer, he turns slowly to face me, raises his eyebrows and says, 'Hmmm, that doesn't sound like very anteaterly behaviour!' Today, though, we both put on our wooly hats and our scarves and set off to the woods.

It was lovely out, but very cold, and we were both glad to get back. We sat in front of the fire drinking hot chocolate with whipped cream and toasted ants sprinkles. 

While we were sitting there, Wilson announced that he was going to tell me a joke. After a number of false starts and forgetting of the punchline (it seems that he's not a natural joke-teller, or maybe it was just performance anxiety) he finally asked me: 

"Why don't anteaters get ill?"

Me: "I don't know; why don't anteaters get ill?"

W: "Because they're full of... antybodies!" He could hardly tell me the punchline for laughing - a bit of hot chocolate actually came out of his nose, and he slid out of his chair on to the floor, helpless with laughter. 

He thinks this is the funniest joke in the world, ever. Hours later and he is still giggling quietly to himself, his shoulders shaking as he tries to suppress his mirth.