Time after time

I have often wondered about having been born in another era. If it would be better or worse than now. If my personality would suit an era better than the modern day. Let me go on record and say that fair enough, medicine, technology and quality of life are undoubtedly vastly superior in the twenty-first century to any time previous. But personality-wise...

I don't think I'd be a very good medieval peasant. There seems to be a lot of farming involved, and I can't even keep a houseplant alive for more than a year. Plus giving a tenth of my stuff to the church would really piss me off.

I don't think I'd have been much good in the Renaissance. Changing from Protestantism to Catholicism and back again would be taxing for an athiest. I would probably have been burned at the stake.

What about in the times of Jane Austen? Napoleonic wars and gossiping about the neighbours? Well, mostly I think I'd be all right here. I would play the harpsichord to entertain our gentleman callers; I would be good at moralising and putting a serious face on when the vicar came round. I rather suspect the neighbours might call me a "horrid freckled thing", but that would be OK. However, my shit sewing skills would definitely let me down. Having to sew sampler after sodding sampler would do my head in. Each "Cleanliness is next to Godliness" cross-stitch would undoubtedly be covered in a mixture of blood, and tiny stitched swear words all around the border. This would make me rather less marriageable and, in the times of Jane Austen, I rather suspect I'd become a scary spinster. Or a fallen woman. Both sound fun.

Skipping ahead to Victorian times, you know, I actually think I'd have made quite a good Victorian. Again, I could entertain our visitors on the pianoforte, though my sketching and sampling would yet again let me down. I would be very good at entertaining and ensure the cook made exquisite feasts for our guests. Crinoline would suit me. I think I would make an excellent Victorian lady. Except for my predisposition to use the word "cunt" rather a lot.

Couldn't exist in the 1920s. Those flapper dresses are rubbish if you've got big boobs, and photographic evidence exists to prove short hair doesn't suit me.

No thank you on the 1940s. Brown tweed skirts are not for me.

The 1960s would be disappointing. All of my friends would be practising free love and doing drugs. I would be staying inside with a good novel, and wondering how to get the stench of henna out of my flat.

All in all, many thanks to the Doctor for his offer of a time machine, but I think I'll stay put where I can give my sewing to my dry-cleaner, say "cunt" as much as I want (though perhaps less often in business meetings might be advisable) and play on Facebook Scrabble.