Since Drib Drab has less friends than an alarm clock, I would've felt bad if I didn't invite him along too, so off we all went into the twilight, three doinks in search of our fortunes. Things started well enough, we had a few gulps of sloe gin from our hip flasks and set about our quest.
Peelhead, accomplished expert that he is, went off in a strictly mathematical fashion, patiently combing the land in straight lines like a Zen master. Drib Drab and I took a different approach, and perambulated about the field like a pair of drunken three-legged dogs. Hours passed and patience grew thin. I couldn't feel my feet and began to long for my warm bed. But no, I thought. What if I gave in and that smug sod found some treasure? I'd never hear the end of it, so I bravely rambled on.
Yet more hours passed, the sky was black as ink, and the only thing guiding me was a faint signal telling me I was getting closer to something potentially worth digging up. Beep. Beeep. Beeeeep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Unbeknownst to me, Drib Drab was getting the exact same signal and heading straight for me. We Inevitably crashed into each other, exchanging threats and curses while simultaneously diving to the ground and digging frantically with our bare hands. After a few minutes we found it. It was beautiful, glinting invitingly in the cold earth. Drib Drab went to grab it but was just too slow for this punter. I moved in quick and snatched the thing from under his nose.
We inspected our find and got Peelhead's learned opinion (incidentally, he found a mouldy old jock strap). According to him it was a Byzantine idol, encrusted with jewels and probably priceless.
When we got back to London, we phoned the Museum of Priceless Mythical Junk, and they told us that they'd pay us a zillion-squillion pounds for us to part with it. Not bad for a nights work. A problem has arisen, however. I'll be damned if that beady-eyed Judas gets a share of my loot, and he thinks it's his because he spotted it first, so Peelhead confiscated the flipping thing until we sort out our differences. Anyway, he's not getting a bloody penny.