I’m not sure I should bother others with weird dreams because they’re usually meaningless, but this one was, well…

Background: in, er, 1990 I moved to London (Golder’s Green, for accuracy) on what looked like a whim, because some bloke I knew off a BBS offered me bed, board and a learn yourself up some coding job.

On the first day, we all pissed off out to some new estate out by Plumstead to race rubber ducks up and down the drainage channel out the back of some dodgy-spod wideboy’s house (or ‘gaff’, I understand), which was filmed by some crew from Ch.9 in Australia.

There was also beer and mucking around with Amigademos and the sort of wholesale geekery which was very much not celebrated at all back then. A jolly time was had by most people.

Out front of yer man’s ‘gaff’ was a 3.0 Granada auto coupe which had run ‘in the last year or so’. I was persuaded to buy the thing because of reasons.

About a fortnight later, when time came to travel from Golder’s Green to Plumstead to get the thing running and drive it back, it was a different story, and I was persuaded that it would be a pain in the arse. So that was the end of that.

I guess I regret being that easily persuaded out of something, but that’s been true for quite a few things. One of the more interesting things about having come out is that ‘easily persuaded out of something’ is a lot less likely to happen. Well, unless it’s time to hand over to my audience for the innuendo…

So anyway. Last night I dreamed that I had a spot of time travel and went back to 1990 to take myself by the scruff of the neck down to the motor factors to buy tools and bits to get the bastard Granada running, got the bastard Granada running, bought it for ten bob and thrashed it back across London with one arm out the window and something unpleasant on the wireless. Banging acid house, given 1990.

Also not-even-sub-text about it slowly dawning on old JHR who and what this force-of-nature was/will be/could be/wioll haven be.

Also fucking hell it was 1990 and none of my modern cash or cards would work how the hell do I get out of that, plot-brain?

The thing that has stuck in my head all day is… If I were to turn that into a story, how the hell would you categorise it on AO3?

Timetravel/Roadkill/Essex V6/Tax in post/Causal loop/Trans malarkey.