I am a timelord
Like Dr Who, Marty McFly, Hiro Nakamura, Henry Detamble and Sam Tyler before me I gained access to a time long forgotten and joined the ranks of the Time Travellers.
‘Cept they are fake made up ones and I am the real deal.
It’s only happened the once, but I look forward to it happening again, and am preparing myself to be transported back and forwards in time like nobody’s business. I am also particularly pleased to one of the world’s first female time travellers.
Let me tell you what happened.
I was filming on a diving vessel yesterday. After having my safety induction I was led downstairs past the diving capsules where the divers were in SAT. All very high tech, computery and interesting. There was no mistaking it; I was firmly in the 21st century.
“That’s the Tea-shack over there,” my companion said as he left me to find my own way to the rest of my film crew who had come on board an hour before me.
On reflection, I wonder if the accompanying safety guy knew what would happen to me, or whether I have been a time traveller all along and this is the first massive manifestation of my talents. Whatever it was, it hit me like a thunderbolt.
I opened the door which may have been, in actual fact a WORMHOLE to the 1970s….
Once inside I knew something weird had happened, that something wasn’t quite right.
I looked around me. There were kitsch antique porno calendars on every wall; the like I hadn’t seen since I went to visit my Dad’s work as a schoolchild in a shipbuilding company in Glasgow. Gosh, they took me back. The hair! The unfeasibly large and pendulous boobies! The industry standard on-all-fours-on-wet-sand position!
Three men were in the room. One used the unmistakable vernacular of the past, “Hello, Doll”.
Wow! Where was I?
The banter between the three was like something out of a British television show that I might have watched as a child, if my parents let me stay up late. Something like the “Sweeney” mixed with “On the Buses”, but with men in their late fifties instead of Denis Waterman or John Thaw when he was a bit sexy and shouty. Mind you one bloke did look a bit like Blaikie so the “On the Buses” thing actually does work. But without Olive. No ladies present, y’see. It’s the Seventies; they ain’t allowed. Except me, I was there, but I was from the future, so I don’t count.
Anyway, as my head was whirling round trying to come to terms with what on earth had happened to me, I spotted a fantastic piece of antique retro art that confirmed the era for me straight away.
It was a table, handmade with such craftsmanship and loving attention to detail that it made me weep for the future Ikea flatpack, mass-produced grip on the 21st century. How had we gone from one-off pieces of genius like this magnificent item, to a world where every office looks the same, every home a copy of the one next door.
“You like wor table, lass?”
Ooh… more vernacular!
“Yes, I do”
“Lorra work went into that”, they laughed.”Lotta time at sea…”
The table top was an intricate collage of naked women. Page three girls, favourite soft porn stars, busty ladies, jugs akimbo…every pose imaginable. I believe they call this art “decoupage” and this was an exceedingly fine example from history. Would I go back to the future and see the son or daughter of one of these men present it on “Antiques Roadshow”? How thrilling!
Or would this piece of Seventies memorabilia end its days in a landfill never to be seen again like so many works of art from the decade that time tried to forget.
Except that here I was, looking at it, touching it; a rogue visitor to the past unable to snatch it away back to the future as a memento to prove my time-traveling abilities to any doubters, for fear of ruining the time/space continuum.
It would be the ideal piece of evidence to say, “I was there! I traveled back in time!”
But you all believe me, don’t you?
