There are common misconceptions about archaeologists – not least that we’re all good earthy people with strong West Country accents.
But just like Jeremy Beadle, hated by the entire nation until he died (and we discovered he was in fact one of the most selfless, charitable and kind amongst us) archaeologists are all bona fide shitbags.
Ladies and Gentleman of jury, we present exhibit ‘A’. The sad case of Big George.
Just bring me that line level will ya George – yep that’s right pal, the one on top of the section there right under that shallow puddle where we didn’t just dig a metre deep section. Good lad!
Via Tea Club, those site assistant dunking scoundrals!
About 30 years ago,a young lad of my aquaintance, was flexing and preening in front of some nubiles on a training excavation. Oh how he impressed them with his seasoned bare chest – until he slipped headfirst into the elsan pit he had just dug!
Happy days indeed.
I remember working/skiving in Canturbury and was told to build a barrow run across a site which resembled Somme like conditions. I was appointed a guy AKA ‘Spanky’, from the Isle of Sheppy (strange lad). Scaffold boards duelly collected and a trackway to rival anything Brunel could cobble up was created. Only one problem…we were 3 metres short of the spoil heap, no problem let’s scavange some wood from somewhere on site. Five minutes of rummaging around and Spanky spots a suitable bit of Plywood laying on the ground ‘Found it!’ he proclaimed lifting said ply and immediately vanishing from view down a 2 metre deep Victorian cesspit! The machine driver literally fell out of his cab laughing, I ran over lifted the ply to see a shite covered Spanky, glasses comedically askew and attempting to climb out. The machine driver proclaimed ‘I don’t care if that c*** was dead, that was the f***ing funniest thing I have ever seen!’. I politely agreed……
Spanky by name, spanky by nature!