It had been just like the movies; turning the dial followed by the spiralling, the falling and the inevitable landing. Everything I had imagined about time machines had come true… pretty much.
Unfortunately, something had gone wrong with the dial on the first trip and instead of landing in 1604 in Sussex, I had landed in 200 BC Athens. Needless to say the clothing function on the machine was useless. You haven’t experienced derision until you’ve happened upon Socrates in a toga and you’re in tunic with hose and a bejewelled codpiece.
Let’s just say Socrates doesn’t hold back on his opinions.
Sort of explains the whole hemlock thing; I reckon people had had enough. I know I had enough of him within 5 minutes of his fashion critique and I was distracted by trying to turn the dial again.
I did manage to turn it after 20 minutes and didn’t really pay attention to the date or the place.
I probably should have.
Landing in 441 AD just 20 miles from Constantinople in hose and a bejewelled codpiece smack bang in the middle of the camp of Attila the Hun and he’s losing his campaign is… well… let’s just say that compared to Attila, Socrates was a perfect gentlemen.
Dialling this time was compromised by my shaking hands, and the tears of panic meant I couldn’t see where I was headed even if I had wanted to.
The third time, I landed in Musgrave Park, Brisbane 1997. Fortunately, the annual Medieval Fair was on and the locals enthusiastically accepted me and my attire as, to them, I was just another avid fan of the sanitised version of their Middle Ages. One of the ‘maids’ was struggling serving the 20th century version of mead to the tourists and so I offered to help. By the end of the day, I had a new ‘flatmate’ (20th century medieval maids are surprisingly friendly when they are saved from hoards of thirsty tourists by a man in hose and a bejewelled codpiece) and an offer for work at the local pub where my maid also worked.
So, I stayed.
Sure, it was a 100 years before I was born but there was no way I was going to twirl that bloody time dial again and put myself in mortal danger.
Attila the Hun wielding a sword and screaming at your bejewelled codpiece while you try desperately not to soil your hose is nightmare inducing stuff.
Besides, my maid ‘really’ likes my hose and bejewelled codpiece, especially after a couple of mugs of mead.