A sharp object was resting up against his forehead. He opened his eyes to find a slew of spears pointed at him. He was no longer in the slow age of the dinosaurs, and was instead lying in a dry, rock-filled ditch to the side of a particularly straight road. Judging by the sandals of the men who were holding him at spear-point, and the lack of corners on the road, he was now in what was usually known as ‘Roman times’.
After a good deal of spear-pointing, he was hoiked out of the ditch and carried away. He had always thought Ancient Rome seemed like a decent place and time to live. Grapes were draped lazily into greedy mouths, wine splashed from bloated goatskins and olive-skinned beauties lounged provocatively. Was this the life he was destined to lead?
His daydreaming was cut short by a harsh, throaty roar. He’d been hauled to the centre of what looked to be some sort of stadium and was now face to face with a lion. As he stumbled around the ground the crowd laughed and cheered. A swipe from the animal’s paw knocked him to the floor. As it approached he gritted his teeth and grimaced, feeling once again the firm feeling that he was in the wrong era.