Every era has its plagues, its politics, its peculiar hairstyles.
A friend recently asked if we could travel back in time to escape 2026, where would we go, and why?
This question made all the ladies put down paintbrushes and reach for wineglasses.
If time travel were available at a reasonable monthly subscription, with a family discount and no hidden fees, I would consider fleeing 2026. Not permanently. Just … until things calm down.
The obvious romantic answer would be the Victorian era. 1886, perhaps. Dramatic hats. Handwritten letters. The comforting absence of push notifications.
But then I remember: no antibiotics, no air-conditioning and bathing was apparently optional. I enjoy nostalgia, but I also enjoy plumbing.
The Renaissance sounds promising. Florence! Art! Intellectual ferment! I could lean casually against a marble column and nod while Leonardo da Vinci sketches flying machines.
The only problem is I cannot churn butter, tan leather, or survive without fresh milk. I would last about six hours.
Ancient Rome? Tempting. Togas look forgiving after December desserts.
But between gladiators, emperors with anger issues and zero concept of personal space, I suspect my modern habit of “needing boundaries” would not end well.
The 1920s? Now we’re talking. Jazz, optimism, excellent hats again. I could sip something mysterious in a smoky club and pretend I understand the stock market before it collapses.
However, I would need to explain why I speak like someone who’s swallowed the internet. Also, I’m not sure how I’d cope without GPS.
Perhaps the 1980s. Big hair, bold colours, no one documenting every sandwich online. I could attend a concert by Queen and genuinely believe the future will be shiny and efficient.
Of course, I’d have to use a landline and accept that “streaming” involves water.
Then again, maybe I wouldn’t go backward at all. Maybe I’d jump forward – just a little – to a time when 2026 is remembered fondly as “that chaotic but character-building year”.
A time when historians say, “Ah yes, the turbulence of the mid-20s,” while comfortably seated in ergonomic chairs that adjust to your mood.
The truth is, I realise, every era has its plagues, its politics, its peculiar hairstyles. Escaping 2026 might only land me in a different flavour of complicated.
So, if I could travel back in time? I might go to last Tuesday. Before that awkward WhatsApp. Before that third slice of cake.
Because sometimes the most urgent time-travel fantasy isn’t about centuries. It’s about undoing lunch.
