January 15. Rod Stewart joins King for time capsule ceremony

“Wake up, I think we’ve overslept and missed it.” 

We see an elegant Elizabethan courtier, prodding a pile of rags next to him, in reply something underneath snorts and coughs before the cloth bundles back into itself, resembling a fabric armadillo.

On the left-hand side as we look, there is a large stained glass, a broken pane where a peasant’s face would be is about halfway up, in the middle, and through that we can see bright sunshine, and a hint of rolling hills.

The courtier is slim and as he moves towards the window, he seems almost liquid, it’s hard to tell if he’s overly concerned despite his outburst. The cloth meanwhile unravels into a man, folded into himself, a head full of features and clearly wealthy by the look of the jewels that fall from the folds.  

“What time is it?”

The second man takes his place in front of a smaller window on the other side of the room, each of them now are in silhouette, blocking out much of the light, empathising the human element of this particular story.

“1592.”

“It’s getting late.”

In the distance, behind them, and behind us, we can hear animals, a dog, possibly cattle and what sounds like a large cat.

The second man, who we now see is taller and burlier than the first, holds himself tall, chin raised. He walks towards us, and winks, breaking the fourth wall, before turning and blotting out the light.

“I’ve had a dream.”

Cue ticker tape and a lighting change, the front row leaves for ice cream and we check our phones and let our eyes adjust, looking down, we’re standing on straw, and our feet are dirty and calloused.