Don’t let me waste your TIME!




Concluding the further adventures of the visionary inventor of time Sir Martin Marion Hilary. Starting from where we left off (which seems a good a place as any) and having established a life of amnesia, Cotswold towns, and death by horse drawn carriage, that never actually happened – we suddenly find ourselves back on track and Sir Martin about to change the way we look at the world. Forever.

Having successfully papered over the means with which Sir Martin stumbled across his theory of time, it was now up to him to implement it. There was some initial resistance, some skepticism even.

People by this point had of course been using numbers for quite some ????, but nobody really knew what they were for, using them instead to varnish the underside of ships and catch small rodents – certainly nobody had considered they would prove to be the perfect vehicle for measuring and recording time. Sir Martin himself initially overlooked their use instead trying to categorize time with animals, and for a while different types of wood. All proved to be disastrous.

It was only when sat back at his work bench, pouring over his notes and scribbles once more, wondering how he could nail this remarkable new concept, that he caught, out of the corner of his eye, a rat tussling in the corner of the room with a number eight. That was it he thought. But of course rodents proved an equally ineffective way to mark definitions of time, and so he settled for numbers instead.

Happy that he finally had a workable model with which to present to the world, he only needed to know what to name it. What was it that he had invented? Marions? As it happens he came upon the name quite by accident. Up until this point Time was a small secluded Hamlet within Greenwich. The residents were known for their remarkable punctuality, even though no concept of time had existed up until this point. Duely however they were hounded from their homes and said residences were raised to the ground to make way for the Observatory and a celebration of Sir Martin’s genius. Any sense of guilt on his behalf assured by naming his invention after the hamlet, it’s inhabitants were never seen again (ironic in that they had been so punctual before).

And so named, soon enough this thing called ‘Time’ caught on like the proverbial wild fire with the definitions coming thick and fast. Minutes, hours, days, years. Everyone was assigned a birthday on a lottery basis, to stop the ‘popular’ dates from being hogged – suddenly some old people were surprised to find they weren’t actually all that old at all.

Sir Martin was an overnight celebrity. Bought before King George I he was duely made SIR Sir Martin Marion Hilary. Inevitably though his invention would come to overshadow all his other work in later years – even when presenting his concept for a box powered by lightening that could perform complex mathmatical ‘compu’tations, people would dismiss them wanting to hear more about ‘Time’ and what the next ‘Time’ would be!

History hasn’t in the intervening years been kind to Sir Martin, long forgotten, even to him his invention proved to be a great irritant in later years when suddenly his wife would demand to know what ‘time’ he was coming home. He died in bed, at his home, in  Denmark Hill, South East London, only a stones throw from his greatest achievement. He was surrounded by his wife and other people’s children, nobody was entirely sure how they got in….


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