Back To The Future
1/1/15-2/1/15
1 JANUARY 2015 - BACK TO THE FUTURE
Following the deep and enduring friendship I struck up yesterday with the ageing eccentric who jiggles and whinnies in the doorway of the local Subway, I have time travelled to the space year 2015AD in his magic, time-travelling Ka (it looks like a normal Ka, except there are scraps of tinfoil stuck all over the outside, and the footwells are littered with muddy, inflated, prophylactics and chicken bones).
Since we arrived, he has been showing me all of the wonders of this future era. At first I thought he'd offered to demonstrate a "hoverboard", which I assumed to be some sort of futuristic floating skateboard, but he'd actually threatened to push me "overboard".
This he subsequently did, after taking me out to sea on a futuristic dinghy (like a normal dinghy, except there are lengths of old wire sellotaped to the outside, and the floor is littered with thick globs of futuristic Vick's vapour rub and futuristic soiled eggshells), and not before he'd cracked me against the side of the head with the knuckles of his left hand, and a futuristic branch (very similar to a normal branch, but in the future).
Fortunately, I was saved from drowning by my excellent swimming skills, and futuristic passerby called Jason Royd.
2 JANUARY 2015 - BACK TO THE FUTURE
It's been a lot of fun visiting the future with my time-travelling companion. He has been teaching me all about the customs of the space year 2015AD. For instance, when you post a letter you must first rub the envelope all over a friend's bare torso and coccyx, while mumbling about nuclear war and petri dishes.
We spent several hours doing this earlier today, while I stood shivering, topless, in the freezer aisle of a futuristic Morrisons. I would have complained, but who am I to argue with the way things are done in the future?
Unfortunately, the people who work in the futuristic Morrisons must also be time-travellers from the past, as they weren't aware of these futuristic customs, and threw us out when we started inexplicably and furiously stomping on bags of frozen veg.
Diary Index | Previous | Next
