Once inside the museum we came across a reconstruction of a garage/filling station from the mid-20th Century.
Wilson was very surprised to see it selling petrol for 1/7d (~£0.08) per gallon – around one eightieth of the price I'm paying at the pump now!
Spotting a large empty can, he whispered to me that we should fill it with gas, leave £1 on the office desk and creep out unobserved…
I told him that when I started driving, gas cost only 7/6d (£0.38) per gallon, but although his idea was a good one – and technically wouldn't constitute theft – I suspected that the pump no longer worked.
Upon entering the grounds of the National Motor Museum, the first thing we did was take a trip on the Monorail, so we could get an overview of what was there.
As the little train appeared, high above the ground on its single, narrow track, Wilson grew apprehensive.
'You know what, New Dad,' he asked me, 'In the past I've always thought TWO was the ideal number of rails for a train – you know, just so it doesn't tip over and plunge to the ground, killing all its young and innocent passengers…'
However, when he saw all the happy travellers smiling and laughing as they disembarked (and he had cross-examined an attendant as to its safety record) he finally consented to ride with me.
The trip gave us an ideal opportunity to see all the attractions and to plan where we wanted to go first.
While the hotel Wi-Fi was down, Wilson refused to go out anywhere – he said it would be unfair of him to be enjoying himself when you, his loyal friends, couldn't share his adventures with him.
So he passed the time in the Bar, chatting with the barman and inventing new Gin-based cocktails…
Now that Wi-Fi is restored, though, we are back on track: tomorrow I shall take Wilson to the National Motor Museum at Beaulieu – I think he'll like it there!
On returning to the hotel, Wilson headed straight to the bar in search of something to calm his nerves after a trying experience at sea.
What he found there did not calm his nerves: he found a board warning guests that the Hotel Wi-Fi Network would be unavailable for a few days!
'This is a violation of my Human Rights, New Dad!' he raged. 'Well, my Anteater Rights anyway – I would compose an email to the Home Secretary, except that without Wi-Fi I can't send it! I am well vexed!'
He stormed off to confront the Hotel Manager, who told him that there was a 'technical fault' which was beyond his control. Everyone was trying to fix it, but the network could be down until the middle of next week, at the earliest.
Wilson returned, somewhat mollified, with a voucher for a free G&T, which the manager had given him by way of an apology – he must have encountered irate anteater guests before, and learned the best way to deal with them ;o)…
Once we had returned to the quay and the boat was moored, Wilson jumped up and ran down the gangway.
'Ahhh…' he sighed, 'safely back once more on terra cotta!'
With this, he crouched down on the quay for a moment.
'What's up? I asked him, 'Seen some ants?'
'Excuse me, I am kissing the ground.' he replied.
'Why?' I asked, and he told me, 'Well, I saw a Pope do it once on tv – and just because I'm a Pastafarian, not a Roman Catholic, I didn't see why that should stop me giving it a try!'
As we walked away from the harbour together, he remarked, 'Although actually there were one or two lightly-salted ants there, and it seemed rude not to… well, you know – eat them.'
It's called a Pleasure Boat Cruise, but honestly I question how much actual pleasure is to be had when one's travelling companion is constantly worried about falling overboard or the boat sinking.
However, since his spell in the wheelhouse and a chat with the captain, Wilson has been far more relaxed.
He has even relinquished his grip on the life belt and is enjoying the cruise in a much more laid-back way – which in turn means that I am able to do the same…
Once we'd entered open water, the captain left the controls and came over to ask Wilson if he's like to drive the boat for a little – W glanced at me, I nodded, and he ran in to the little wheelhouse and grabbed the ship's wheel firmly in both paws.
At first the captain sat on his seat behind him, saying things like, 'Starboard a little… mind that seagull… don't hit that wave…' but after a few minutes he came out to speak to me, explaining that it often helps nervous passengers if they understand what's going on and feel like they're in control.
For myself, I have to admit I hadn't been feeling at all nervous – until a pre-adolescent anteater with no seafaring experience or ability took over the steering…
Wilson returned from the bar clutching a glass of gin-based seasickness cure, and grabbed a lifebelt for himself before returning to his seat.
'Okay, New Dad,' he said, 'you can tell the Captain he may now Cast Off – but advise him he's got a Nervous Passenger on board, so not to drive too fast!'
With that, the engine noise increased and we pulled slowly away from the quay…
Once all of Wilson's safety concerns had been fully addressed, his questions about the choice of brands and flavours of gin answered and his Bar Tab opened, he nervously climbed the gangplank on to the boat.
Or Walked The Plank, as he referred to it.
Then, having secured a seat adjacent to a lifebelt, he went downstairs ('It's called belowdecks, New Dad!') to the Bar, for a dose of Mr Hendrick's medicinal sea-sickness preventative and Tonic…
To save time, I had purchased our tickets for the boat trip on-line in advance.
However, before he would consent to board the vessel, Wilson had a number of searching questions for the lady in the Ticket Booth.
Questions concerning the number and location of life belts and life jackets, how long the captain had been qualified, how long since his last accident etc.
Then he moved on to ask about the brands and flavours of gin stocked in the on-board bar, and whether they would accept his Boarding Pass in payment for drinks.
This last question was almost a deal-breaker, but I reminded W that his Boarding Pass is now several years old, and was issued by an entirely different cruise line.
Eventually he (grudgingly) agreed to embark – as long as I opened a Bar Tab for him, just in case he had a medical emergency requiring the immediate administration of a Gin Sling or even – in a major emergency – an East India Gimlet…
Today we're heading to Pool, in Dorset.
It's a lovely little town on the coast and, although we've been there before, I've got something exciting planned for us – a boat trip round the harbour.
On our way there, though, we passed a Waterstone's Bookshop, and Wilson noticed their logo.
'That Waterstone's logo – it's exactly like my Wilson logo!'
'Oh yes,' I replied, 'so it is!'
'No, New Dad, I mean it's EXACTLY THE SAME as my Wilson logo!'
'Waterstone's is quite an old company,' I pointed out, 'they would have their logo long before you had yours.'
'Ah yes,' he replied, 'but it sows the seed of doubt. When we get back to the hotel I shall Google for a good No-Win No-Fee solicitor…'
'You'll never win though,' I said.
'Maybe not, but Intellectual Property Rights is a VERY grey area – they'll probably give me a load of free books, just to keep me quiet!'
Back in our room at the hotel, Wilson opened the MiniBar fridge for a gin and was very surprised to find Antony and TT inside.
'Hi, guys!' Wilson said, 'What are you doing in there?'
'You put us here,' Antony replied, rather testily, ''to keep us cool during the heatwave.'
'Really? I don't remember. So, are we cool?'
'We're not cool – we're frozen!' TT said.
I thought I could hear his teeth chattering, but of course, anteaters don't have teeth.
Especially plush toy anteaters.
'Anyway,' Wilson continued breezily, 'there's something I've been meaning to ask you – do you know any jokes about helicopters?'
TT thought for a moment, then said, 'As far as I know, there are two helicopter jokes; one is completely stupid, one is too rude for me to repeat, and neither of them is the least bit funny.'
Wilson hurried off to get his iPad to Google the rude joke…
Just before we left the Museum, Wilson decided not to send a postcard to his brother, Byron, in case it made him feel left out.
I told him that I thought it was a very thoughtful decision.
Once we entered the Gift Shop, I began to regret that remark, as W had assumed I would want to reward his 'Very Thoughtfulness' by buying him many expensive souvenirs.
I finally talked him down to a single purchase, but you might be as surprised as I was to learn how much a scale model of Concorde can cost!
Afterwards W went in the playground while I had an iced coffee in the restaurant.
The playground is cleverly designed to look like an aircraft carrier, and W had a great time there.
So great that his cries of, 'Look at me! New Dad: LOOK AT ME!' became a constant soundtrack to my coffee, to the amusement of some of the other diners…
Just before we left, we came across this board with a hole you stick your head through to be photographed – I don't think they've got a real name, but Wilson calls them Peek-a-Boards.
After taking his photo I showed it to him on the back of the camera and asked whether he'd like it printed as a postcard to send to his brother Byron.
He said it might make 'Biro' feel a bit left out, what with us being on holiday and him stuck in the zoo.
I thought that was very kind and considerate of W…
I was quite relieved that our visit to Concorde's Flight Deck passed without incident – the controls looked hugely complex, but I've learned never to underestimate an anteater!
I think Wilson was quite impressed by the plane – as he disembarked he posed for a photograph, having first borrowed a briefcase from another visitor so he would look like he'd travelled Business Class!
'Make sure that picture comes out well, New Dad,' he admonished me, 'Cos it's going on the Fan Club page and on my CV*!'
___________
*Resumé
This being essentially an R&D aircraft (or A&R, as Wilson inexplicably insisted on calling it), there was no passenger seating.
Even so the Concorde fuselage seemed very narrow – cramped, even – with barely room to stand upright.
While we were admiring the plane, a NewsFlash pinged on my phone.
Taking it from my pocket, I read that a man in Seattle has stolen a large passenger aircraft, performed loops and barrel-rolls then crashed it into an island, killing himself!
Accordingly, I kept a VERY close eye on Wilson – especially as we neared the Flight Deck…
Speaking as someone who clearly remembers Concorde's maiden flight, I can barely contain my excitement as we enter Hall 4, home of CONCORDE!
I can still recall building an Airfix® model of the plane, a historic vehicle ushering in (as we then thought) a new era of commercial supersonic flight…
Moreover, of all the Concordes built, this isn't just ANY Concorde – this is Concorde 002, the first British-built version and the prototype model used as a test and development aircraft for the fleet of planes that followed!
Now I would be close enough to touch the first passenger aircraft to fly at Mach 2.05 (1350 mph or 2172 kph)…
We continued to make our way through the Fleet Air Arm Museum.
Progress was slow, as Wilson insisted on giving almost every exhibit a very close examination and asking questions I couldn't hope to answer.
Gradually, though, we neared Hall 4 which housed what, for me at least, would be the highlight of our visit…
Scrambling down from the fighter cockpit, Wilson remarked, 'Bang-on – Wizard Show, ND!'
Taking my hand, he led me towards a helicopter, remarking that an interesting fact about helicopters is that there's only one joke about them.
'Really?' I replied, quite surprised.
'There are variations – usually just a change in the nationality of the pilot – but they're all the same joke.' W said, 'And it's rubbish!'
What is this one joke then?' I asked.
'It's so bad you won't like it – but anyway: There's this helicopter pilot who is very naïve – or in my opinion, criminally stupid – he gets into this helicopter, flies it up to 200 feet, then it suddenly crashes to the ground!'
'Have we reached the funny part yet?' I enquired. W gave me a stern look, and continued.
'An Air Accident Investigator rushes up to the chopper wreck and asks the pilot what went wrong. The pilot replies, "Nothing went wrong – but it was so cold in the cockpit that I just turned the fan off." That's it.'
'That is truly terrible' I replied, 'and it's the ONLY helicopter joke there is?'
'Yes,' W said, 'it is – you can Google it if you don't believe me!'
We had by now reached the steps that lead inside, and W began to ascend them…
