The Time Machine

I wrote my Friday blog entry at home, but forgot to upload it, so I'm all out of sync.

I'll load it up into blogger later, so the below makes more sense. As a bonus, it will allow us to take part in a little bit of harmless time travel ala Back to the Future, Terminator and countless other top cheesy sci-fi films.

So fish out your cardboard boxes and marker pens and join Hobbes and I as we travel back in time to September the 21st, 2002...

[A freaky Steven Hawkins style wormhole appears. Electricity cackles. Purple pyroclasmic clouds rage overhead. Ghostly clocks appear from the aether, their hands racing backwards at crazy speeds. Random images of a man, a teenage boy, a baby and then a monkey flash across our collective consciousness. The sound of something cardboardy getting stuck in the spokes of a moving bicycle reverberates. Our bodies and cardboard box time machine are stretched Mr. Fantastic like into the wormhole. White screen. Silence]

Welcome to the Kassam Stadium, Oxford. The date is 21st September 2002. The time is 14:40.

Your hair is smouldering - put it out - and whatever you do, DO NOT bump into yourself: The Timecop rules of time travel suggest that both of YOU will implode and turn into strawberry jelly.

As a quick aside here, it's worth pointing out that this "rule" is of course complete tosh: if you kill your present-past self, then your present-future self will not exist in the future and therefore your future self will not be around to travel back in time, and won't then be able to kill your present-past self. A Catch 22 situation then arises where your present-past self survives so your future self IS able to travel back in time to kill your present-past self. Oops, we're in a loop. Search the net if you really want to know what is likely to happen, but I reckon instead of you and you turning into jelly, the whole universe will unravel and it'll be game over for everyone and everything. For ever. No pressure then.

So if we (ie. my present-future self and you) see me (my present-past self), please don't do a comedy "let me accidently bump you into yourself" move...

And speaking of me, there I am, sitting in my car with Gramp Y, patiently awaiting the start of Oxford United versus Hull City.

We have already been sat there for an hour: we needed to get to the ground early to ensure a disabled parking space, so that Gramp would only have a short hobble into the stadium. With the car journey as well, we have enjoyed an hour and a half of chat, and as promised in my Friday blog [Time Travel Jelly Warning!], I have indeed asked him about Monte Cassino. Turns out he wasn't there: the MoD pulled his unit out of Italy just before Monte Cassino and shipped them back to Blighty ready for the Normandy invasion. With some gentle probing and questioning on my part, Gramp tells me a few decent stories I haven't heard before. Very interesting and enjoyable.

Our quality time together continues into the big match itself, with just a brief break before the kick-off, where I pop into the bar to have a stiff pint with Scott [Careful Scott, don't touch yourself!]. Gramp and I sit together to watch the U's totally dominate a very entertaining match.

Final score: A nil - nil draw that Oxford should have won by a large margin.

On the way home Gramp states that he's really enjoyed it, and the afternoon has made him forget all about his myriad of aches and pains. He's a sweety.

Time to power-up your cardboard box...