Since this day be Speak Like A Scurvy Pirate Day, Wilson has insisted that we taalk like band 'o scurvy freebooters…
'Tis dinner th' hour 'n we've come to this galley on th' waterfront fer grub to slake our hunger.
We chose a table wit' a fair view o' th' ocean, 'n Wilson asked me whether, in th' circumstances, he should address th' waitresses as serving wenches or lasses — I suggested that to err on the side of caution it might be better if he did neither. Yarr!
I wonder if I might ease up on the Piratical Lingo myself yet?
When the food arrived, the portions were ENORMOUS, but W, as usual, had little difficulty packing it all away.
While we waited for our desserts to arrive, he pointed out that the new Doctor Who series begins this very evening, and as soon as we've finished eating we must rush straight back to the hotel, so as not to miss the beginning.
He even offered to eat my pud for me, 'Just to save time…'
So, farewell fer now, me jolly buckos!
We were both feeling pretty hungry after our long day out, so while Wilson navigated using his sand-filled souvenir map of the island I drove to us to a restaurant in Shanklin.
Glancing out of the window, W noticed a field full of young bulls.
'Ah!' he cried, 'I've got it — these must be the "Cows You Cannot Milk" in the riddle! They haven't got any of those… um, milky-bits...'
'Bullocks,' I remarked.
'New Dad, I am SHOCKED!' he exclaimed.
'No,' I replied, 'they're called "bullocks" — young bulls; they're not cows!'
I drew his attention to the town of Cowes at the northern tip of his map, and explained, 'THAT is the Cow(e)s you Cannot Milk.'
We were both starting to feel peckish by now, so instead of filling up with coffee and cake at the café I suggested we head off for dinner.
Wilson agreed, but said I must take a last photograph of him at The Needles first.
He hurried off and struck a pose in front of a huge hoarding showing a panorama of The Needles, raising his souvenir map proudly aloft…
Here you can see Wilson's Souvenir of Alum Bay and The Needles after he filled it with coloured sands. It looks great, doesn't it — he is delighted with how it turned out!
He says that apart from it's value as a treasured souvenir of a great and momentous day, it will be useful when telling everyone at home where he'd been during his holiday adventures.
He even asked me whether I'd like to keep it in the car while we're here, to help me navigate around the island — I told him that I was honoured, but that such a valuable artefact would probably be safer if we left it back at the hotel.
His only disappointment was not finding any ants in the trays of sand. 'I expect the staff check them out before the visitors arrive and pick out all the best ants for themselves!' he confided in a knowing whisper…
The traditional souvenirs sold at Alum Bay are clear glass or plastic bottles in various shapes, which visitors fill with coloured sand from the bay.
In Victorian times, and even late into the 20th Century, people clambered over the cliffs to gather their coloured sands themselves, but due to erosion (not to mention Health and Safety!) this is no longer allowed — now you fill your bottles with coloured sands responsibly collected from cliff-falls and laid out in the souvenir shop.
Wilson chose a hollow map of the Isle of Wight which, by coincidence, is exactly the same as the one I bought when I first visited the Isle of Wight at about Wilson's age!
Wilson rolled around in his Zorb ball, he jumped up and down, he pretended to be walking on water — he really seemed to be having a great time, in spite of his very close proximity to the water.
I mentioned to the attendant that W hated water, so this was quite a big deal; he smiled and said, 'He'll be wet enough when he comes out — it gets very humid in there!'
I asked him how long W could stay in the ball before he ran out of oxygen, and he assured me that he would be exhausted long before he suffocated.
This indeed proved to be the case, as it was not long until Wilson 'walked' the ball over to the side of the pool and shouted, 'Can you help me out of this? I'm totes Jacob's'
When he emerged from the plastic cocoon he was drained but happy, telling me, 'I did it, New Dad, I did it! I went on the water by myself!'
I congratulated him sincerely, but unable to control my curiosity, asked him, 'Jacob's? What does that even mean?'
After a moment's thought he replied, 'Oh, I probably meant "Cream Crackered"…'
As soon as he'd cooled off and stopped panting, we went to the Souvenir Shop to find a fitting memento of the day Wilson Conquered His Fear Of Water…
