Dear Wigleaf,

I keep a list of all the places this time machine takes me, ranked from worst to best. The best was Mardi Gras, 1857, when the Mistick Krewe of Comus gave me a magic bean and let me ride on their float, purple, green, gold. The worst was January, 536 AD, Constantinople. Don't ask.

I keep a list of postcards I've sent you, ranked from best to worst. The worst is that one from Cleethorpes Pier, where I finally confessed that I worked as a What-the-Butler-Saw mutoscope machine and one penny would reveal my deepest secrets. The best is this one. I think you know why!

Wish you were here — this time machine is so much bigger on the inside.
Kate