The Sheriff of Knottingham couldn't remember.

The Sheriff of Knottingham couldn't remember. He was having a senior moment. He looked around the forest and the others and said,

'Who were we looking for again?' A monk stepped forward, but the Sheriff couldn't remember his name. 'We're looking for Robin Hood, sir' the monk said gingerly. Some of the others

ran home to protect their silver farthing towers at the mere mention of Robin Hood. The foxy redistributor cast a magnetic lure in the direction of the Sheriff's riches, reeling in

a steady spiraling stream of magnetic coins. His tokamak attracted only the rarer coinage of the realm made of nickel cobalt and samarium. Robin Hood's numismatic fetish irritated

Maid Marion as he OCDishly lined up his coins in date order in their tent & he'd get peevish if she knocked one out of line. She was relieved when a raid's booty was pigs or jewels

for a cup of earl grey tea. He flipped the first coin hoping it would be heads. It landed on tails and he just knew it could not be a good thing. In just a flash

half his stack was gone. With a dry swallow, he flipped the second coin. Tails again; the remainder of his savings whisked away by the croupier. He stood up, shell-shocked, and

was almost sick. He'd lost everything; his very world may have just ended, but all around him the casino kept rumbling like a whirlwind cosmos, the croupier ignoring his "wounds".

But then suddenly the Doctor appeared out of his TARDIS. He dragged him in to the smaller outside bigger inside thing and said "Where do you want to go?"