And only by an hour. And I don’t have a glamorous assistant. Other than that, it’s exactly the same.
I discovered this amazing ability recently, when attempting to watch some TV programmes I’d recorded a few weeks ago. At first, I wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. Everything looked the same, and even my cappuccino was still pleasantly hot (not to mention pleasingly frothsome).
But something was definitely different. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Bewildered, I began to wonder if I had inadvertently triggered a rip in the space-time continuum, possibly by eating all those mushy peas. But, unlike a particularly daft episode of Star Trek, no strangely bearded version of me stared back from my mirror. Unless you count the fact that I am strangely bearded - in which case, I fully expect to find the evil version of Spock hiding in my underwear drawer, next time I need fresh pants.
And then it struck me, like something very strikey indeed (a particular well-aimed baseball bat, for example) – the programme I was watching WASN’T THE ONE I’D TAPED. It was, in fact (and there should probably be a long pause here, and some dramatic music), the one BEFORE it in the schedule. Or to be specific, whatever was on precisely one hour before.
The final part of zombies-a-go-go trilogy ‘In The Flesh’? Nope – episodes of ‘Family Guy’. First part of fairytale-gone-mad ‘Once Upon A Time’? Nah.
I began to panic. On and on it went – things I’d recorded weren’t there. Replaced, in a seemingly sinister and baffling experiment, by whatever was on 60 minutes beforehand. Was I going mad? Or madder than I already am? (Which is fairly mad, really). Were aliens messing with me? (The staring through windows I can handle – it’s the probing without warning that really upsets me.)
Applying my reserve of analytical skill and scientific knowledge (it’s surprising what you remember from old episodes of ‘Tomorrow’s World’ and ‘How?’ when you need it), I narrowed it down, like my Mum used to do with her eyes when I asked her if a specific vase was special, whilst holding a football in the living room and looking uncomfortable - It was only for a week. And it only affected the programmes I’d recorded whilst on holiday.
Sure, the clocks went back an hour whilst I was luxuriating in the tropical climes of Yorkshire, but the recordybox thing auto-updates. Doesn’t it? Yes. It’s showing the right time. It’s modern. Modern stuff does that by itself (unless it’s Time Fairies). And then, like a magical Digestive, the biscuit of realisation sprinkled it’s crumbly understanding into my brain. I’d set the recorder BEFORE the clocks went back. So it thought I’d set it to record something at one time, updated it’s own clock at the appropriate moment, and then recorded everything based on the original time.
Let’s see how it copes recording the inside of our wheelie bin.
This post first appeared in my 'Thank grumpy it's Friday' column in the North West Evening Mail on the 26th of April. You can view the edited version used by the paper here
The column was slightly retitled by the NWEM as 'Time travel has a few problems'. They also edited out 46 words, including the mention of missing TV shows, the bit about alien probing and mention of the Time Fairies. Those items alone have the making of a whole column by themselves.
This was my 52nd column for the paper, so I'm about to embark on my second year as a columnist. This is, frankly, quite baffling. I am clearly a rambling half-wit, and I continue to be amazed that the editors haven't realised this and had me immediately replaced by something topical, local and sane.
Despite it not making their website, last week's school trip to the future article did make the paper, and something really rather strange occurred. I normally chug along with a moderate amount of daily views on this blog (presumably from people who are lost) but after posting it last week, the article received 282 hits on Sunday, 80 on Sunday, and a further 192 on Monday. Maybe it was the combined might of Amazon, Tesco, Costa, Starbucks, and all the other big corporations whose names I mangled checking me out to see if I was worth suing, before realising I'm a relatively harmless buffoon, who deserves help, rather than litigation.
The thought that real people might actually have passed on a link because they enjoyed it crossed my mind, before I realised that my ego was inflating so much, I'd floated upwards and my head was bumping the season. Or it could have been that out-of-date cheese I found in the fridge.
(More Quo today, this time the brilliantly titled 'In Search Of The Fourth Chord' from 2007.)
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