20/08/2026
’Twas the eve of The Big Dig, and all through the land. Detectorists waited, machines close at hand. The batteries charging, the spades by the door, While everyone dreamed of the treasures in store. The tents had been packed and wellies thrown in. Hopes of a hammered, a Roman or ring. Finds pouches empty, but hopefully not long. And somewhere a detectorist is packing his thong. Some checked their batteries for the hundredth time, While others were practising karaoke lines. Stood in mirrors, hairbrushes clenched in hand. Convinced by tomorrow they’ll be fronting a band. Someone’s doing Sweet Caroline loud and clear, while their neighbours wish they were nowhere near. Elvis impressions, hips all a sway. Mate, save it for The Big Dig karaoke day. For months it’s been planning through sweat, stress and strife, and now The Big Dig is finally bursting to life. Fields lie waiting, soil unexplored, and within ten minutes someone will holler, “Is this a hammered?” Nah mate, it’s a bloody bottle top. Will it be gold? Silver? A buckle? Or ring? Saxon surprise or some medieval thing? Maybe a Roman that’s waited centuries for you… Or a ring pull from 1982. Because that’s detecting’s mischievous way. Heart thumping in the soil you dig, “This is it, first gold at The Big Dig!” And nestled sweetly inside the hole, congratulations pal, another ring pull. So double-check your kit, check it again twice, bring suncream, bring waterproofs – British weather’s not nice. Get detector, phone and torch light too, because this time tomorrow, it’ll all be new. Tonight, excitement, butterflies and cheer, because that weekend we’ve waited for is finally here. Just one more sleep, if sleep even comes. Tomorrow it all starts, detectors at the ready, thumbs. And please… put that hairbrush down, karaoke royalty – your neighbours need peace tonight. Go on, lights out. Tomorrow, the Big Dig begins. Let’s go find history… or another ring pull.
