Tony Robinson, be my Valentine
On a day when most of the other blogs in my Favourites are getting all cynical and talking about how Valentine's day is just an excuse to sell cards and pink helium balloons, I would like to talk about Tony Robinson.
Throughout my life, Tony has been a guiding force. As a child I would fall asleep every night to his gentle voice reading audiobook stories, and Saturday mornings were brightened by that weird program where he told tales from the Bible. And now, as a student, there is nothing more comforting on a Sunday afternoon than to sit down with a cup of tea and watch Time Team (at least until someone comes into the kitchen and asks "You watching this?", at which point I have to feign apathy).
Sure, there have been other pseudo-scientist TV presenters over the years. And yes, there were a few shameful years when Adam Hart-Davis and that ghastly bicycle of his had pride of place in my heart. But, like that thing with Peter Snow, he was just a fling, Tony. I'll always come back to you in the end. After all, who wants to know what the bloody Victorians did for us, when we can watch your loveable gnome-like self getting overly excited about a piece of rock that may have once been an arrow head? Not me.
So, Mr. Robinson, whilst I may well spend tonight alone in my room watching depressing films, listening to Nick Cave, and drinking whiskey until I'm sick – my heart will be in a field somewhere in Wiltshire, sitting in a trench containing the remains of an Anglo-Saxon roundhouse, watching the stars with you.