I don't suppose I should complain - I mean, the office wasn't what I was used to, but that didn't make it bad. My doctor had said I needed more fresh air, as well as more Zotepine. He was a tall, balding man though, with a scar down his left cheek. Apparently, he'd served in a Panzer company during the war, before being captured. It was safe to assume he'd liked Britain, since he stayed after the war. This story did seem a plausible explanation for why he prescribed German drugs. It did not explain the fact that he was about 50 and American.
But I digress. The office was not conventional, I'd been told. It was however rather roomy. 17 acres, I'd been told. After some searching via horse and carriage, I found my seat - a rather old-fashioned Iron bench. I sat down at it and opened my laptop case. It then occurred to me that there was no-where to plug my laptop in. I set off for help.
"Ah, I say my good man"
The man, who we shall continue to assume is good, turned to look at me. He was not, as I had first thought, a janitor. In fact, he looked rather well-off. Well dressed in an elegant suit, and with giant sideburns.
"I say." I continued, "Do you know where the nearest plug is?"
"Plug?" He asked, "Plug? This is late 19th Century England my friend. Electricity is a mere dream of the future. Now get off my land!"
I must stop time travilling by accident. It is not good for the libido.