Where are you going on holiday this year? We thought we might go to 1967.
Wouldn't that be great. Sigh. Imagine if you could go on holiday to say, London in 1967, taking in the full swinging scene, shopping your head off for stuff to bring back that would be worth a fortune now, going to the grooviest of hangouts in your Carnaby Street wardrobe and generally immersing yourself.
To me, that's the holiday of a lifetime.
The only proviso would be that you couldn't change the course of history, otherwise, the world is your oyster. So where shall we go?
How about joining the jet set in St Moritz, 1969, where you'd be swigging kirsch as you dipped your fork into yet another cheese fondue in front of a roaring log fire in a place very much the one George Lazenby goes to in On Her Majesty's Secret Service, complete with international babes, naturally.
Or how about Hawaii, 1960, when everything South Seas is all the rage, and you spend your evenings sipping elaborate cocktails in an open-air tiki lounge against a backdrop of fake Easter Island statues while Yma Sumac wails her exotica in the background.
Or let's go to New York, 1975, at it's scuzziest, most Taxi Driver/CBGBish best. Or what about a country house hotel in 1950, or perhaps a motoring holiday in the Italian lakes in 1963. You might like to catch what's on at the Cavern in 1962, or make your way to Woodstock, or do some go-go dancing by a Hollywood pool in 1966 - you know, the list is endless.
If Fantasy Island was real, this is what it would do. Perhaps I'll invent it.
