Tony Robinson’s wife stood in the living room, staring through the slightly cloudy glass at her mad husband, who was scratching like a cat at the damp earth, shouting intermittently into the air and swinging a fist at a heavy cloud. He had not found a new fossil in years, and was going slowly mad.
Tony was burying Ipods, spark plugs and mobile phones. Playstations, watches and copies of “Windows for Dummies” while howling in desperate belief at his own actions, actions that were fooling nobody.
“Tony. Tony, please. Stop it. These are not fossils. You have to face it, Tony. There are no fossils left. They have all been found.” pleaded his wife on their wedding anniversary, as she wept after finding Tony attempting to force a Kinder egg into a hillock.
“These are fossils! THESE ARE OLD!” yelled Tony in futile protest, as he held up a Spectrum 48k that was smeared in clods of mud. “THIS IS FROM A MILLION BC!”
“No, Tony. It is from 1982. It was invented by Clive Sinclair. It is thirty years old. Not millions. Please listen to me.”
Tony stared through her and into the distance, all reality gone, his eyes wild and feral. Tony continued to paw the earth. His wife left him two days later.