Stuck 200 years ago from now

…3281 ni pu dedne I woh s’taht os dnA

Oh… hi there! Don’t mind me. I’m just applying my Aunt Talullah’s Advice for Finding Lost Things: “Retrace your steps, boyo. Go backwards until you find where you left it…”

As you may remember, I’m currently stuck 200 years ago from now. And when I say “now” I mean your now. 200 years ago from my now would mean Shakespeare’s era do not thou knoweth.

Anyway, it looks like reading backwards hasn’t worked. To be quite honest, I think Aunt Talullah never really considered that going backwards might not be the best tactic if all you want to do is go forwards!

Now, I’m sure 1823 is a nice year and all, but I just want to get home. I’m starting to ration my supply of on-board cookies. I’m losing my Christmas cheer faster than Ebenezer Scrooge at his works’ Christmas party.

Wait a second! [easy for a time traveler to say, I know] Hold that thought! 

The fuel that my Tremendous Toboggan needs runs on is Christmas cheer. It positively drinks the stuff by the gallon. And I just looked… I’m on empty! All I need to do is somehow point the Fuel Detector in the general direction of some generosity, joviality or general jolliness and I’ll be good to go. 

If only Nabil was here. Nabil lives in Cairo and I know that this year (that’s your “this year”, not mine!) he has done an amazing job being a good example to his young sister. Stick your fist out, Nabil, and let me offer you something not many people have had before, - a quantum fist bump across the centuries from a hungry elf stuck in 1823.

Now, where can I point this Fuel Detector? Since I last wrote, the house I landed next to is beginning to take shape. Now it’s the turn of the carpenters to make all the windows and doors. They don’t look full of Christmas cheer… Nor does the foreman in the top hat. What about those posh-looking ladies riding past in that pony and trap? Maybe th…

“Hallo?!”

[it’s hard to record this on-screen, but that wasn’t me…]

“Hallo?!”

Hmmm… OK. Problem incoming. Got to go… Part of my job description is that it’s best if I’m seen and not heard (which admittedly is difficult when jingly boots are part of the uniform). But it seems someone has spotted me and there’s about to be a Human/Elf Past/Future Convention… I may have a little explaining to do… Like why a tiny guy in a green elf suit is sitting behind a brick wall talking to himself. And why on earth his stomach is rumbling like a bag of angry frogs…

Time to go. Will speak again two hundred years ago…

I remain, dear Reader,

Most hungrily yours,

Toomer

PS. I was going to end with a joke about carpenters, but I haven’t nailed it yet [truth be told, it’s still under construction]