Mr Woolly's Fossil shop will close unless he can compete with online suppliers. Mr Woolly is not a man of action but a man of dreams and big mugs of tea. A hooded stranger darkens his doorway with a steaming Tyrannosaurus poo. Could this be the answer to his problem?
“Turn the sign to ‘closed’ on the way out will you?” said Mr Woolly to his only customer that day. He watched Mr Shark dart between the dusty cabinets and out the door clutching his prize. If business wasn’t so bad I wouldn’t deal with you, you haggler! But it was, so he did. Mr Woolly clicked open the till and began to count out the money. He curled a rubber band around a thin roll of 10 pound notes. “That’s not even going to cover this month’s rent.” He sighed. Then he pulled out the tray and felt around underneath in the hope that something might have got caught there. Nothing.