In the quiet English village of Shalott, sunken amongst the greenery is the faded red frame of an erstwhile telephone box. Inside, rather than the usual phone machinery and dubious calling cards of old, there are a series of jars filled with a modest array of bugs. A rustic cardboard sign overlays the old letters spelling ‘Telephone’. Written on the new sign are the words ‘Pat Wilson’s World Famous Insect Zoo!’.

Pat Wilson was born and bred in Shalott. He tells me all about his childhood growing up in the village. He got in trouble a few times at school, got a toy air rifle one Christmas, chased a Swan, you get the picture. Now a fully grown man, he has fallen on hard times after the local industrial estate bakery he worked at downsized. Pat now keeps himself busy running the village telephone box.

Several years ago, Shalott Parish Council adopted all the old red telephone kiosks within its constituent wards of Shalott, Pudding Hill, Tapwater, Little Frump (incorporating Big Frump) and Beeftit. The intention was to create novel and cost effective venues that could be put to public use and potentially even increase the area’s notoriety and boost tourism.

This initiative was also to make amends with the electorate for the Dog Waste Bin Debacle of 2018. This infamous event saw the unveiling of three new dog waste bins in Pudding Hill without adequate waste bag dispensers. One of the waste bins was also a slightly different colour to the other two, heightening the outrage and adding to a general sense of malaise amongst the public.

Local people were asked to volunteer and run exhibitions and services from the old telephone boxes. Pat Wilson was one of those who stepped up and came forward.

“Some people give blood or kidneys”, Pat explains, chewing on some kind of hard mint sweet.

“I give my time. When you put your name down, you’re asked what you want to do with the phone box. You can’t just run a bookies or sell meat, it’s got to be something that helps people.”

As he talks, the sweet almost escapes from Pat’s mouth but he manages to gravitate it back inside before any catastrophe occurs.

Pat carries on and describes how he bought bundle of old Robertson’s jam jars in an online auction, scrubbed off the racism, and used them to house his many insects.

“I thought I’d do something for the kids. Not a lot of zoos around here. The nearest zoo is over an hour away. But, I’m not exactly flush with tigers though so I got what I could.”

“I had some insects in storage already”, he said mid-reach for another mint. “But not enough. I needed more”.”

He tells me that he spent the best part of a week scouring the undergrowth of his neighbour’s allotment for more insects, jars in tow, to put in his telephone box zoo. He would take a lunch everyday consisting of the surplus pastries and cakes that were given to him in lieu of redundancy following his departure from the bakery. I tell him that this practice by the bakery seems irregular and that he should report it. He laughs at first but then his eyes retreat upwards in thought. For a moment or two, all that can be heard is the pensive chewing and caressing of boiled sweet by Pat’s tongue.  

Pat’s Insect Zoo consists of several lengths of sporadic shelving fitted within the hollowed out phone box. Each shelf contains about five or six jars of insects with a set of Christmas lights wrangled around to illuminate the display. Pat has also added further character to the jars by adding token elements of the insect’s habitat. For example, in the Bee Jar there is a flower and a small piece of honeycomb, the Ladybird jar has a small gathering of leaves, and the Fly Jar has a picture of Jeff Goldblum stuck to the back with masking tape.

But, do the kids appreciate Pat’s zoo? In an age where children have instant access to a seeming infinity of digital entertainment, is a selection of jarred insects enough to enthral them?

A few months ago, the Parish Council decided to improve its youth engagement by sending out a so called ‘Cool Census’ to all the kids in the area. The Kids were asked to write down five things that they found cool. After several weeks of surveying, the Cool Census produce a sample of fourteen. Ranking the results by the frequency of their appearance, Pat’s Insect Zoo came 32nd out of the 33 items listed (no. 33 being ‘Noah’s Mum‘).

Top of the Cool Census was the online video game ‘Fox Hunt‘, a casual simulation of British foxhunting where players are able to upgrade their tweed jacket and breeches through microtransactions. Its bold cartoon graphics and madcap demeanour have made it one of the triumphs of the British gaming industry. A unequivocal success for Global Britain.

If children aren’t all flocking to Pat’s zoo, does this mean that the council’s adoption of the telephone boxes has been a boondoggle rather than a boon?