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...
