Bone idol

After reading of Richard III’s disinterment from a car park in Leicester (well, the skeletal remains of Richard III, at least. It would have been surprising for him to have leapt up, whispering "Have Henry’s mob with the halberds buggered off yet?" or, "Where is that bloody horse I asked for five hundred years ago?" Then again, it would have been a nice touch to have brought along two horses for the pleasure of exclaiming to the former King, "you wait half a millennium for one horse and then two turn up at once."), I speculated how several centuries hence, an economic historian specialising in say, the structural decline of liberalised capital markets at the beginning of the third millennium, might feel about finding my corpse.