Island Paradise

Wilson removed his medal from its box and examined it closely. 

'All your suggestions are excellent,' I said, 'but rather more costly than I'd hoped. What do you think of a holiday on the Isle of Wight?'

'The Isle of Wight?' he asked, 'I've never heard of it — is it abroad?'

'Oh, pretty much,' I replied, trying to sound casual rather than evasive. 'We'd get there by boat, they mostly speak English and we could take the car. It's a lot like Jersey…'

I waited anxiously for his response, but he seemed engrossed by his medal.

Polly arrived with a mug of coffee for him, and he asked her whether she'd ever heard of the Isle of Wight.

'Oh yes,' she said, 'it's lovely there!'

'Okay then,' he decided, 'The Isle of Wight it is!'

I turned to leave, but he called me back.

'New Dad, this medal seems to smell of, well... chocolate.'

'Oh yes,' I replied, 'it's not solid gold, it's chocolate on the inside. I wouldn't leave it lying in the sun.'

'I shall keep it in the fridge,' he said, 'when I'm not actually wearing it.'

Holiday plans

Wilson sat opposite me in the kitchen, gazing at his medal… but I've known him long enough to know he had something on his mind. I asked him what he was thinking, and he looked a little uncomfortable.

'Look, New Dad,' he started, 'My Medal, my BDC, is wonderful, and I feel really honoured…'

'But?' I encouraged him.

'But, you did promise me a holiday if my Report from the Digital Detox Clinic was good! And in many ways, it was good! Quite good.' he continued.

'You're right,' I agreed, 'I did promise that, and your Report was pretty good. Considering.'

'Well, I've made a list!' he said, pushing a note towards me.

I read it aloud. 'New York… Venice… Paris… Costa Rica…'

He nodded enthusiastically.

Acceptance speech

By the time the applause and cheering had died down, Wilson's cheeks were scarlet. 

He wiped his eyes with the backs of his paws, took a deep breath and said, in a voice choked with emotion, 'Thank you everybody — this is the best day of my life! Although I am still quite young, so I may experience even better days in the future, I don't even know.'

He thought for a few moments before continuing, 'This Medal, awarded to me for Extreme Bravery in Difficult Circumstances, which I shall call my BDC Medal, it means even more to me than my OBE (which The Queen has still not ratified) because it comes from my friends and family! That being so, I hereby revoke my OBE!'

His audience fell into a stunned silence. Uncle Zoltan coughed; his hat fell off, rolled across the table and fell to the floor.

'I shall return it to Buckingham Palace, if I can remember where I put it, and I shall henceforward be known as Wilson Vermilingua, BDC, nOBE!'

He sat down, still blushing, to more applause and everyone crowded round to congratulate him and get a closer look at his BDC medal.

A young anteater is honoured!

'Wilson,' I began, 'Since I have known you, you have had many business enterprises, projects, inventions, get-rich-quick schemes — call them what you will — and they have all failed! They have all failed dismally!'

Wilson hung his head and stared at his feet.

'But they have been magnificent failures, and you have put them behind you and tried again!' I continued. 'In the words of John Kennedy, "Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly!" You have failed greatly, and having put those failures so successfully behind you and moved on, I believe that one day you will achieve your dream, you will fulfil the childhood promise you made to your Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, you will be a millionaire!'

Everyone clapped and cheered wildly. After a moment I held up my hand for quiet, before proceeding.

It is for this reason that your friends in the Wilson Vermilingua Appreciation Society* and on Twitter** have asked me to present you with this, the Wilson Vermilingua Medal for Extreme Bravery in Difficult Circumstances!' 

At this point I pulled his medal out of my pocket and stuck it to his chest with masking tape.

There was more tumultuous applause and calls of 'Speech! Speech!'

* https://www.facebook.com/groups/wilsonvermilinguaappreciation/

** @WVermilingua

A sense of anticipation!

I gathered the entire household together in the living room, in preparation for presenting Wilson with Something Special. There was a great sense of excitement — or ANTicipation, as Wilson put it with a nervous giggle. 

The major topics of discussion were, 'Why is the TV switched off?' and 'Who's in trouble?' but I tried to allay any anxiety by my naturally cheerful and sunny disposition. 

Ha ha — okay, that bit's a joke!

Anyway, once everyone had settled down, I asked Wilson to come to the front of the room. 

Uncle Zoltan, who was standing perilously close to a can of Fly Spray, whispered loudly to W, 'Hah! Now you're for it my boy, and not a moment too soon!'

________

In case you don't know, you can support Wilson by joining the TOTALLY FREE Wilson Vermilingua Appreciation Society — he'd love that!
https://www.facebook.com/groups/wilsonvermilinguaappreciation/

A bit of a disappointment…

Wilson has just shown me the fruits of his labours: he held up a crispy, drooping and somewhat garishly-coloured twig that had once possibly been a rose.

'What do you think, New Dad?' he asked morosely.

'What do you think?' I returned, playing it safe.

'Well… it's not as good as I'd hoped,' he confessed with a sigh.

I asked him, 'What about all the other flowers you painted?' and he told be that all the petals had fallen off them while he was shaking them about to remove the smell of acetone paint.

I consoled him that it had been a brilliant and ground-breaking idea, let down by the current state of technology.

He smiled bravely, then asked whether I'd like him to get rid of the paint-marks all over the lawn by spraying the whole garden green? 

I replied that it might be best to just let it all grow out… but that I thought I had something which might cheer him up...

Remember you can join in the conversation and chat with Wilson over at Twitter: @WVermilingua

Test Run

Wilson assembled his tools in the garden — spray paint, after-shave and a vase of dead flowers — then banished everyone else to the house, 'Just on the off-chance of some paint-driftage' as he put it, before he commenced spraying.

I was grateful he had agreed to do this in the garden, rather his first-choice location of the kitchen, as the paint went everywhere… except, remarkably, on himself! 

He took extra care not to get paint on his fur since I'd promised him a bath if he got into a mess, and his dislike of water is almost legendary.

Now he's finished and is waiting for the flowers to dry (and to stop reeking of cellulose paint) to see how his rejuvenated bouquet has turned out…