ROBOT RECONNAISSANCE

DAY THREE of the siege, and supplies are running low – we have already exhausted our supplies of ice-cream!

Wilson is starting to worry about inadvertently eating Zombie Ants and becoming infected with what he calls the Zombie Lurgy…

Eventually, Nërp bravely volunteered to go outside to see whether the zombies were still at large – he reasoned that since his brain was electro-mechanical the Zombies were unlikely to eat it, and unless they were also equipped with antique Philips DIN plugs and leads would not even be able to access it.

Everyone, including Uncle Z, Cheered enthusiastically, but Nërp hushed them, saying, 'Shhh – the zombies will hear you!'

Uncle Zoltan suggested that Nërp should take with him a crucifix and a clove of garlic, but Wilson Googled this and found that Uncle Z was confusing Zombies with Vampires – an easy mistake to make, in the circumstances.

As dusk fell, Wilson silently unlocked and opened the front door so that Nërp could slip out unobserved into the darkness. As he left, he gave Wilson a brave smile, but his tuneless humming betrayed his nervousness.

I can't help feeling that there would be less chance of him drawing attention to himself if he turned off the flashing message announcing 'Top Secret Mission' on his display screens, but I'm no expert in these matters…

SECRET SURVEILLANCE

Since the siege began there has been much discussion about who will be brave enough to step outside and check whether the threat has passed.

All the children were obviously excluded, but Wilson felt strongly that Uncle Zoltan would be the ideal volunteer.

'He could slip out through the letterbox, unobserved, make a stealthy reconnoitre of the area, then secretly return through the gap under the front door to report back!'

Uncle Z, while pleased to be the centre of attention, was understandably less keen on this plan, pointing out that the buzzing of his wings would draw the Zombies' attention to him.

'Moreover,' he added, 'while I would happily sacrifice my life to save all of your lives, (well, most of you, anyway) I fear that I might alert the Zombie Hordes to your presence here…'

Wilson peered out through the letterbox, and intoned in a sombre voice: 'They're still there – the zombies are still among us!'

He considered for a moment, before adding, 'Or should that be "amongst" us? I'm never sure…'

BARRICADE

Until this moment it had never occurred to me that Zombies were actually a thing… but everyone else seemed to be taking the matter very seriously.

Wilson and Nërp ran back to the house and moved many of the cardboard boxes littering the garden onto the front path to form a barricade, then locked and deadlocked the door.

While Nërp went to ensure the security of the rear entrance and check on the sTone Brothers' safety, Wilson stood nervously inside the front door, peering through the patterned glass and trying to make out what was going on. 

Occasionally he would shout through the letterbox, 'Go away! We're not in!'

ZOMBIE INVASION

I slept surprisingly well last night – considering that I was sharing my bed with several dozen large cardboard boxes – although I was roused from my convalescent slumber by Nërp tapping at the bedroom door.

He entered without waiting, apologised for the intrusion, then told me that Wilson needed me downstairs, 'On a matter of some urgency!'

I pulled on some clothes and rushed downstairs, where I found Nërp waiting by the front door. 'This way!' he called, 'And please hurry!'

He accompanied me out into the street where I found Wilson regarding a strange white van.

Whatever I had been expecting, I can honestly say this was at the bottom of my list…

NOT THE REST I'D HOPED FOR

By the time I reached the bedroom, I was not altogether surprised to find my bed also covered in boxes.

'If it's a bit crowed in here, New Dad, you can share with me in the Tumble Dryer!' Wilson offered, generously.

I'm not altogether certain this is what the Hospital meant when they told me to take it easy for a few days, be sure to get plenty of rest…

AND SO TO BED

After a trying day at the hospital and an irritating homecoming, I thought it was time to follow my surgeon's advice and take it easy. 

Thinking I'd lie down on the bed, I clambered over some boxes and fought my way upstairs to the bedroom in search of tranquility...

Peace...

Rest...

Relaxation...

Wilson called after me, 'Watch your step, New Dad – there's one or two things on the stairs. What with you not being able to see properly, I wouldn't want you to trip and damage them, 'cos the insurance isn't in place yet!'

SELF STORAGE

Entering the living room, in spite of my hospital eye patch, I'm afraid my face may have betrayed my feelings.

'Who does all this… stuff… belong to?' I asked, a trifle testily. 

Wilson shrugged and said, 'Well, customers. Obviously.'

'Can you tell who owns what?' I persisted. 'Have you kept proper records?'

'They'll be able to recognise their own stuff!' W replied. Shrugging again, he said,  'It stands to reason! And if they don't, we'll sell it off by auction, just like on Storage Wars – it'll be brilliant, and we'll be rich! And famous!'

I opened my mouth to protest, but Wilson raised his paw and cut me off. 

'I know what you're going to say, New Dad – you're going to ask how I can possibly run a top-flight professional operation like this without a logotype. Well don't worry, I'm working on it.' 

He looked round. 'Just as soon as I can find my iMac under all these boxes…'

HOSPITAL DISCHARGE

When I arrived home from the hospital, I stepped out of my taxi and found my entrance to the house blocked by mountains of cardboard boxes.

Wilson came out to greet me, rubbing his paws together and said, 'Welcome home, New Dad. As you can see – business is brisk!'

'Business?' I asked.

'Well', Wilson replied, 'while you were in hospital we didn't know whether you'd ever be coming home again, so I thought we should raise some money… in case we, you know, had to, well… fend for ourselves. You do hear such terrible stories, and I didn't want to be an orphan and get adopted again…'

He waved his arm inclusively towards the buff-coloured mountain, and announced, 'So, behold: WV Self Storage!'

'What terrible Stories have you heard?' I asked, 'And who told them to you – was it Uncle Zoltan?'

Wilson shifted a few boxes and cleared a narrow path to the front door…

YO HO HO AND A BOTTLE OF MALIBU – YARR! ☠️

Ahoy, me hearties, it be Wilson's New Dad 'ere – I be back an' no mistake – Wilson made full certain of that!

W shook me out o' me hammock before break o' day wi' a breakfast o' Cackle Fruit wi' Toasted Revenue Men an' a beaker o' Cow Juice, saying. 'Here be some grub fer t' slake yer hunger. Shake yer stumps, ye Scurvy Lubber!' 

He continued, 'We've a busy day ahead o' Lootin' an' Pillagin', so make like a Sea Dog or meet the Cat o' Many Tails!'

Well, today do rightly be a big day in t' life o' an anteater, an' fer Pastafarians all o'er th' world, so I be a-thinkin' I shud enter int' th' spirit o' th' thing if only fer me Shipmate Wilson's sake –  'tis only one day o' the year, when all's said n' done.

'Twill seem like a mighty long day, tho, an' no mistake, so pass me a tot o' th' Malibu Grog, afore th' sun tops th' yardarm – an' put some ice an' one o' them tiny umbrellas in it while yer at it!

Belay there, me Jolly Buckos! Yarr!

CORRECTION

«Hi there!

This is Wilson Vermilingua, Anteater Extraordinaire, again.

I have to tell you that I got a bit overexcited yesterday and gave you the wrong information – I said that International Talk Like a Pirate Day is tomorrow.

But it isn't: International Talk Like a Pirate Day is actually tomorrow. 

I know – that's what I said yesterday, and it was wrong because yesterday tomorrow meant today. 🤔

I know I'm not explaining this very well, but now I'm saying it's tomorrow again and it's right this time. But it wasn't right before.

This is probably why I leave the Blogging up to New Dad – he doesn't get so easily confused as me.

Anyway, International Talk Like a Pirate Day is on 19 September (just like it is every other year) and that is tomorrow!

I'm really sorry for the confusion…»

Here's a FREE BADGE by way of an apology!

TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY

«Hi there!

This is Wilson Vermilingua, Anteater Extraordinaire writing to you today, as my New Dad is still indisposed following his operation.

I wouldn't ordinarily bother you, but for the fact that tomorrow is one of the most important days in the Anteater Almanac, and I wouldn't want you to miss it: INTERNATIONAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY!

This is also an important day to all Pastafarians, so there's another reason for you to celebrate it!

I've got my Pirate Eye Patch all ready to go; New Dad was given a free Eye Patch by the hospital – lucky or what?!

If my New Dad still can't see to work the computer tomorrow I'll be back to give you a Piratical Reminder.

If I have time, that is – I might be too busy talking like a pirate myself – oh, and drinking Pirate Grog (Malibu) obviously…»

TETANUS

In recent years, Wilson has declared several totally unsuitable and/or plain weird cars to be the Best Car In The World.

A WWI armoured car and a half-track Robin Reliant spring to mind, to name just two.

Now, however, he has chosen a vehicle we can both agree is possibly the Coolest Car In The World: Anthrax.

It so happens that our visit to the Beaulieu National Motor Museum coincided with an exhibition by car artist extraordinaire Andy Saunders, The Art of Kustom, and among many of his fantastic hand-made cars was one called Tetanus.

Is this wonderful or what?!

Wilson says we should sell our Nissan Juke and buy Anthrax instead… but I really don't think we could afford it. ☹️

You can see more of these amazing Andy Saunders' vehicles here:
https://www.beaulieu.co.uk/the-art-of-kustom/
________
Just a reminder that there will be no more posts until I've recovered from tomorrow's eye operation!
 

A MORE SUITABLE CAR

After the Formula 1 racing car and Bluebird, I thought Wilson would have set his sights pretty high, but in fact the vehicle he fell in love with was quite modest.

Actually, it was VERY modest – so modest, in fact, that I initially thought it was powered like Fred Flintstone's car: by putting one's feet through the floor and running – although closer examination revealed that it did in fact have an engine of sorts.

I can only imagine Wilson likes this so much because he thinks he could realistically own one himself, using it for trips into the village and so on.
When I was his age, I used to crave  a Bubble Car, for much the same reason…
_________
As I mentioned yesterday, we're having to cut this holiday short so I can return home to have an operation on my eye.
There will be a post tomorrow, as usual,  then nothing until I have recovered enough to see what I'm doing.
I don't know how long that will take, so please keep checking back.
Thank you!

BLUEBIRD

Moving on we came across Donald Campbell's Bluebird car, in which he attempted to break the world Land Speed Record.

Looking much more futuristic than the vintage racing car we'd just seen, Wilson was deeply impressed by its sleek lines and almost spaceship-like appearance.

However, in spite of my previous admonitions, no sooner had I turned my back than W had climbed into the cockpit. 

I'm really afraid he's going to get us thrown out of here!
______________
You can read the sad story of Bluebell's Land Speed Record Attempts here:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donald_Campbell#Land_speed_record_attempt
______________
I've had a telephone call from the hospital, and I'm afraid we're going to have to cut this holiday short so I can go home for an operation.
I know Wilson will be disappointed, but I'll have to find a way to make it up to him.
More details tomorrow.

 

THE GOLDEN AGE OF MOTOR RACING

Were it not for the dummy racing car he's just been photographed in, I don't think Wilson would have believed this was a real Formula 1 Racing Car!

Brought up on 21st Century F1 cars with their ground-effect aerofoils, halos and HUGE tyres, he didn't know what to make of this quaint vintage model – although when I was his age ALL racing cars looked like this.

I started to tell him about Jim Clark, Graham Hill, Jackie Stewart and other luminaries of days gone by when, before I could stop him, he jumped into the cockpit, grasped the steering wheel and started making loud Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmm racing car noises.

One or two visitors looked over and smiled at my discomfort, but I don't think any of the Security Staff have noticed.

Yet.

PHOTO OPPORTUNITY

When I spotted a wooden cut-out racing car I encouraged Wilson to let me photograph him sitting in it pretending to drive.

I know what he's like – as soon as we encounter some real racing cars (and there's some pretty special ones on display here) he'll be ignoring the Do Not Touch signs and be all over them, getting us both in trouble. 

I hope that with this photo safely in the bag I can persuade him NOT to touch any of the real cars…

That's what I'm hoping. But only time will tell…

WEIRD DUDE

Next we came upon a life sized cut-out of Elvis standing next to his Caddy.

Wilson asked me, 'Who's this weird dude almost wearing a Onesie? And should he be on display like that – there are children present!'

I tried to explain that this was a representation of Elvis 'The King' Presley with his 1976 Cadillac Seville, but W was unimpressed.

'I don't suppose they've got Bob Dylan's car here, have they? Or Leonard Cohen's? Did Peter Dawson drive?' he enquired. 

As we walked away, Wilson shook his head, saying, 'That Onesie, though – positively indecent! Perhaps I should have a word with the management about it…'

'Oh!' he suddenly exclaimed, 'What about ABBA – I bet their Tour Bus is here!'

FILLING STATION

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.

BEAULIEU MOTOR MUSEUM

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.

WE'RE BACK

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!