– – – – – – – – PART ONE – – – – – – – –
In 1950, I went on holiday to Wales. I lodged in Tintern village. It was steeped in history, with stone pubs and the evocative ruins of Tintern Abbey, dating back to the 12th century.  With its Devil’s Pulpit legend, a local myth about the Devil tempting monks from a rocky outcrop above the abbey ruins, to sin, debauch & have a good time. 
This fable interested me, and on the first morning, instead of going fishing, I ventured up the rock-strewn precipice up to the Abbey Grounds and into a large wooded area. Where, the locals told me, many poachers had been found with their throats cut. With the Devil tempting monks from a rocky outcrop above the abbey ruins, to sin, debauch & have a good time… I wondered if he was still in there…

I came across a very old wishing well and casually threw in a penny, wishing I could see the Devil’s Pulpit. Well, you would have, wouldn’t you? As an afterthought, I lobbed in a threepenny bit, and asked to be given the power of time travel – I turned my head and all around me was devastation, no plants, animals or people. Then, right next to me, a sort of spaceship appeared from nowhere. Out of the ship came three men in uniforms with some kind of weapons, and they dragged me into their craft. 
No one spoke to me; they clouted me around the head and kicked me in the goolie occasionally, but no one spoke. I thought I must be dreaming. Then realised the blood coming from my newly acquired wounds was real. Within a couple of minutes, I was put in a large room and hung up on the wall. It looked very hygienic and clean, so I wouldn’t have been at the old Abbey. 
An hour passed, and I took a glance at the police officers of some sort, by looking at their uniforms. They cut me down. Then pointed to the open door, still not speaking to me. They had floating on air vehicles. I was put alone in one of the seats, and it took me through several walls, rooms, out over some turfing, and into what was obviously a court of some sort. Whatever they were in this massive room, they spoke to me in good English.
I can’t recall the exact words, but it went along these lines: James Timothy Gerald Algernoon Chambers, also known as Inchie, is charged with operating a time machine in a careless, uncontrolled fashion, causing damage to the flora and fungi in Sector 114/TT in the Republic of Wales this day, Thursday, 324th of Junnock 4025. How do you plead?
“I haven’t got a time machine!”
“Liar! His Lordship, the Devil’s Pulpit, issued you with one in 1951, that’s how you go here!”
“Well, I was the wishing well and…”
“Hold it, more evidence coming in…”
“It seems to have attempted to bribe the Wishing Well with extra funds to get time-travel, according to our records.” 
“You know full well that each time machine operates differently, I mean, you wouldn’t drive a Sinclair 5013688014956BEX the same as you would a TREX05, now would you? That’s obvious to anyone!”.
The man with three eyes interrupted the four-eyed judge: “Are you saying you are operating a Time-Machine without a Licence?”
“Well… yes!”
There was an aghast sound from the gallery, with the odd, “Hang-Him! Cut-of-his-goolies! Give him life!.
A spoke up in protest, “That’s not fair!”
“It’s the law, Inchie. You will be beheaded on the guillotine in…”
A bald man rose and pleaded for mercy for me.
“M’Lord, can we not show mercy? At least make an appeal to our barrister-minded Saviour, His Everythingness Head Wallah, for mercy – naturally throwing in a decent backhander for Starmer?

Hahaha!
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There’s more to come on this!