Vandalism!

Wilson has just returned from handing out some more of his Uckfield Bridge Tour leaflets in town. 

While he was out, he noticed that a few of his posters had been vandalised: someone had written an "F" in front of the word Uckfield on one of them and scrawled "RUBISH!" across another. Someone had even drawn a pair of glasses on W's face! 

He thought that the poster with the "F" on was too rude to ignore, so he changed the "F" into a "D". Sweet.

W was surprised by this 'mindless vandalism,' concluding that 'it's probably the parents' fault!' 

He has now returned to researching the history of the bridge online. 

Publicity drive

Wilson has begun his publicity campaign to promote his Uckfield Bridge tours. He has fly-posted several buildings in town (which he knows I don't approve of) and also been handing out leaflets to passers-by.

Now he's home again, researching what there is to say about a relatively unremarkable small-town bridge. Good luck with that!

World Heritage Site campaign

Wilson has just explained his new scheme to me. He intends to turn the Uckfield Bridge into a World Heritage Site and run tours of it, the money raised being donated to the Elderly Elephants' home. He has already produced a brochure to promote his tours.

This sounds to me like another doomed venture, like the 'Haunted Uckfield' tour… but who knows? I hope I'm wrong and it's a great success. 

Caution: Anteater At Work

Wilson has shut himself away on the iMac all day today – he wouldn't even come out for coffee, saying that he was 'too busy' and asking me to leave it on a tray outside the door. 

He won't tell me what he's doing, so I can but fear the worst: another doomed money-making scheme.

PS. I've just received a confirmation email for a huge order of printer ink. W must be planning to do a LOT of printing! 

Wilson reconsiders

I have discussed with Wilson what I think are the problems with his plan. Principal among these is my fear that families might turn up for the Grand Charity Garden Open Day, intending to visit the Wilson Vermilingua OBE Museum of Old Stuff And A Robot, but at the last minute the children refuse to part with their teddy-bears. I foresee a lot of harrowing scenes and bad publicity.

W grudgingly agreed and said he would think of another plan… but without the benefit of chemical aid this time, as he has sworn off Cheesy Wotsits. He says he just can't handle the come-down. 

I don't know what he's up to, but he's borrowed my camera and popped in to town for an hour. 

Wilson ODs

Wilson finally emerged, his mouth and paws stained orange and clearly on a Cheesy Wotsits high, with what he claimed was a solution to his elephants/sloths dilemma. 

He proposes that admission to the Grand Charity Garden Open Day be by cash, which will be donated to the Elderly Elephants sanctuary, while admission to the Wilson Vermilingua OBE Museum of Old Stuff And A Robot should be by donation of teddy bears, which will be sent off to the Sloth Orphanage.

This seems both over-complicated and fraught with problems, but W is in no mood to hear that right now - he is totally spaced out in a Cheesy Wotsit-induced world of illusion… in fact, he's gone back to bed to sleep it off.

A three-bag problem for Wilson

One of Wilson's friends, Sheila, emailed him to say she thinks the elephants are a more deserving case than the sloths… but W is not an anteater who makes decisions lightly, nor does he yield to public opinion.

Sherlock Holmes, one of W's all-time heroes, described really intractable conundrums as 'three pipe' problems. Wilson retired to the living room, settled himself into the arm chair with a caterers' pack of Cheesy Wotsits, and announced, 'It is quite a three bag problem, and I beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes.'

Eventually he emerged, declaring that he had formulated a solution which would benefit both the sloths and the elephants.

I don't mind Wilson using Holmes' methods, but I'm pretty sure that he thinks of me as his Watson - good-hearted but bumbling, a sincere but dim sidekick.

Incidentally, here's another photo of W at the RAF Museum. Just out of frame there was a security person telling Wilson to 'get out of that plane NOW!'

Wilson's dilemma

Wilson was watching Sky News this morning and saw an item about a retirement home for elderly elephants in Thailand. 

W has a soft spot for elephants, and now he's in a dilemma about whether the proceeds from his Grand Charity Garden Open Day and the ticket sales from the Wilson Vermilingua OBE Museum of Old Stuff should go to the elephant retirement home or, as originally planned, to the Sloth Orphanage...

sTONY

Wilson has just finished installing the Easter Island Heads in the garden. Against all expectations, they don't actually look quite as bad as I expected… except that the grinning rock has been positioned in pride of place. Ugh! 

Wilson says the rock's name is sTONY, and he keeps asking my advice about sTONY's dental hygiene: should W brush his teeth, take him to the dentist etc. He says that he's asked sTONY, but he won't reply(!) He stonewalled him! Ha ha!

We strike a bargain

Before Wilson would promise to cancel his Readymix order, he asked me to agree to buy him one more garden ornament. 

I asked him what it was, and he scuttled off to the Stoneware section, reappearing a few minutes later carrying what I thought was the ugliest and most repellent thing I had ever seen in my life. It was a rock... with false teeth. My face fell.

'If I can have this, the Readymix is toast!' Wilson announced cheerfully. 

Well, it's horrific and it's ugly… it's hideous, horrible, frightful, awful, ghastly, vile, revolting, repellent, repulsive and repugnant. It's grotesque, disgusting, monstrous, misshapen, deformed and disfigured… but it's cheaper and smaller that six tons of concrete, and W likes it. I reluctantly nodded to the woman on the check-out and she rang it up. 

'Oh, thanks, New Dad!' W exclaimed as we pushed the trolley back to the car, 'This is well funny!'

Head time

To stave off the ennui and anticlimax following our holiday, we visited a garden centre for a look round and a cup of coffee. While we were there, Wilson spotted some very small Easter Island Heads. 

He examined them closely, while I held my breath, hardly daring to hope…

'These are cool!' W suddenly announced, 'and we'll be able to afford lots of them!' 

I wasted no time in loading several of the heads onto a trolley and whisking them off to the checkout. 

Before I paid, I extracted a promise from Wilson that as soon as we got the heads home, he would telephone Readymix and cancel the six tons of concrete. He agreed, on one condition…

Home again...

Home again, at last. Throughout the journey home, Wilson pretended he was flying a GAW (Great Ant Wars) fighter plane. Harmless, but the constant engine noises and Gatling Gun sound effects did get a little tiresome after a few hours.

W said he really loved the holiday, although he's a bit miffed he missed the Olympic Pillow Fighting finals, and he can't even find out who won.

I let him stay up to see the Olympic Closing Ceremony last night, so now he's still sound asleep in the tumble dryer, snoring gently.

Wilson's "I've Been To..." flag collection is growing nicely. He's very proud of them!

'Flying - it's in my blood!'

We visited the Cosford RAF Museum on the way home, and Wilson loved it! 

All the exhibits were protected by barriers and "Do Not Touch" signs, but whatever I said W just ignored them, shouting 'Flying - it's in my blood!' all the time. In the end I just pretended we weren't together and hoped Security wouldn't ask us to leave.

In the photo you can see W explaining to Antony all about his Great, Great … Grandfather, the legendary "Blue Baron", and his heroic exploits during the Great Ant Wars of 1921…

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.