Sleepless in Ironbridge...

Wilson is very tired today - he had a disturbed night last night because Antony had nightmares about the Tar Tunnel and kept waking him up.

Had to return to Blists Hill again first thing today, so Wilson could say goodbye to the shire horses. In the photo you can see W talking to one of the horses, while keeping a very firm grip on a still-nervous Antony. W has formed quite an attachment to them. But he's still not having a pony.

However, the holiday is not quite over yet - on the way home I hope to visit the RAF Museum at Cosford. I know W likes that sort of thing, what with his ancestral connection to flying and so on...

Inside... The Tunnel!

Well, I have to admit that The Tar Tunnel was a great success. 

As the guide leaflet said, it is a low-ceilinged, brick-lined tunnel with tar oozing out of the walls - no more, no less - but Wilson seemed to love it, pointing out all the specially-gooey oozy bits to Antony. 

W did get a bit of tar in his fur, but the nice lady in reception said that happened all the time and cleaned it off. 

W was a bit disappointed that he couldn't buy a souvenir bottle of tar (or Bottle-o-Tar as he insists on calling it) in the gift shop, but he bought some postcards, a stick of rock and a badge instead.

For myself, I thought it was alright. But then, I had banged my head on the ceiling a lot more often than W had!

Wilson poses with Antony inside The Tar Tunnel

A dream comes true...

At last, we get to visit The Tar Tunnel! 

After so much anticipation I can't see how this can be anything but a huge anticlimax, but Wilson is so excited to finally be going. 

'I've dreamed of this day' he said, as we went through the entrance...

"I've dreamed of this day"

Wilson has his likeness taken

In the Victorian High Street we noticed a photographer's shop, and Wilson has had his portrait taken in the formal style of his ancestor, Great Great […] Grandfather, Alberto Victor Gutiérrez-López. 

The top hat was a bit on the large size, but the photographer fixed that with some kitchen-towel padding and some Gaffer Tape. Ouch ­— small bald patch in fur!

W says that his portrait is 'his proudest possession'. After Antony. And his OBE (which, he confesses to me, he seems to have mislaid). And his Polaroid of him with his mum, Mrs. Vermilingua. And, it gradually emerges, quite a lot of other stuff… 

When we get home, he says he will frame it and put it in pride of place on the mantelpiece.

'Horses are the Way Forward!'

While waiting for the beer delivery to be completed we spent some time at the Victorian Fairground. Wilson said none of the rides compared to The Big One at Blackpool… though I thought he looked a bit shaken as I lifted him out of the chair-o-plane!

Then back into the village for Wilson's horse and cart ride. W declared that this was 'the best thing ever' and that 'horses are definitely the way forward.' 

I can read Wilson's mind

We've had a brilliant day at the Blists Hill Victorian Village Museum in Ironbridge. In the picture you can see Wilson talking to the lady who looked after the shire horses. She told him he could have a ride on the cart if he came back later, after she and the horses had delivered the beer barrels to The New Inn pub round the corner.

W really liked the horses, and since meeting them has talked about them almost constantly. 

I know W quite well now, and I'm pretty sure I know what he's thinking. He's thinking that he should have held out for a pony, instead of getting bargained down to a goldfish!

Wilson is excited by a local attraction...

Wilson is still in a bit of a sulk that we've not come on a beach holiday, but last night he was sitting up in his bed reading some of the Ironbridge Attractions leaflets he picked up in Reception. Suddenly he called out to me, 'New Dad! Are you awake?'

'Um… yes,' I replied, waking with a start. 'What's wrong?'

'Look at this! They've got a Tar Tunnel! I want to go to the Tar Tunnel!'

He has developed an inexplicable desire to visit what is, even according to the promotional leaflet, an old, low-ceilinged, brick-lined tunnel with tar 'oozing out of the walls.' 

Who can predict what will float an anteater's boat? Anyway, I've promised W that we will visit, but I think we should leave it until later in the week, to give him something to look forward to.

Today we went to take a look at Ironbridge's eponymous Iron Bridge. W was a little bit underwhelmed, especially when I refused to let him climb up the girders, but he perked up once we'd visited the local souvenir shops and he'd bought himself an Ironbridge T-shirt and some Cheesy Wotsits.