Primitive man.

Can we ever imagine now, what it was like to be closer to the start of this?
To wake up in the cold, on an English plain, walk to France over a year and then come back again? To wear the fur of an animal that you yourself killed? To know your first few children would probably not survive, or it would be a miracle if they did?
Primitive man is standing behind us, looking over our shoulders at our electronic keyboards, staring in wonder at our mobile phones, touching a radiator and getting burned.
Not even Primitive man though, even me from my childhood. A teenage Tony Peek sits in the chair beside me wondering what a DVD player is, or how Sky+ can go back in time, or where things go when I make the arrow on this screen move to the word "Publish" and click...