If there’s one thing that the Victorians were really good at then that was photographing pornography.
If there’s two things that the Victorians were really good at then that was photographing pornography and building time machines.
The Victorians really liked their time machines and history was filled with thrilling incidents of their many excursions into the far flung tomorrows (some of which were our yesterdays) and distantly removed yesterdays of their todays (all of which were our yesterdays too) right up until the point when one of the Victorians altered the then-present timeline, uninventing the various Chrono-Perambulators and Time-Velocipedes of the, er, time bringing most of the temporal shenanigans to an end.
Most. But not all. Time is a difficult beast to tame and quantum fluctuations in the sub-nucleonic furry membrane of the Transdimensional Penguinope‘s Chronoflippers has a way of leaking memories of things that once will-beens and will-be were to-comes across space-time.
I’m a collector of such things.
I don’t know much about this lady other than what I assume to be her name written with a flourish across the rear of the photo: Winifred Thorpe-Sputum. No record exists – to the best of my searching ability – in our current historical records as to her place of residence or family. What I can tell you about her, though, is that she was immensely proud to have gotten her hands upon one of the first Atari 2600 video console systems. Quite how she plugged such a system in is not clear and it may be that Mrs Thorpe-Sputum simply appreciated the aesthetic qualities of the device.
Fans of Victorian music know that after you’ve heard a few chamber quartets perform their repertoires a couple of hundred times it all starts to get a bit samey. No surprise then to find modern (if you’re reading this in the late 1980s) music travelling the time helter skelter back to the nineteenth century to liven up the entertainment somewhat. I wish I could tell you just what this Victorian girl was listening to on her ghetto blaster but I’m not privy to such information. I’d like to think, however, that it’s the Sugarhill Gang.
It doesn’t take a Chronoforensicist like me to see that this is clearly a woman displeased with her iPad and who can blame her? Apps would have been nigh impossible to find in Victorian Britain and the one app she might possibly have wanted – the app that makes the thing useful to anybody except fanbois – simply didn’t or won’t exist back then, now, or in the future.
The Victorians learnt to their cost that time travelling was fraught with danger that could not necessarily be seen. Paradoxes aside, repeated trips across the interdimensional vortex increased the chances that travellers would eventually go mad. Spare a thought then for poor Mel Gibson who it would seem was the trophy of many a visit to our temporal environs and who – it must be assumed – still carries with him traces of that chronomadness even though those trips now never happened at all.