Corbyn World 1

My mother advised me to get the teleport to Brighton for the job interview.  It would be so much cheaper than the bus or the train and considerably quicker.  I went to the teleport building at Newcastle Airport.  There was a long queue waiting to use the six black plastic mats that were on the floor.  There were also armed policemen and soldiers outside it.  People were nervous of the teleport.  People traffickers could use it to smuggle immigrants into the country.  Terrorists could use it to transmit bombs.  There were all sorts of horror stories about it on all the news channels, so teleports were restricted.  They existed only in airports and a few strategically positioned railway stations and were carefully guarded.  Each pad had a machine  in front of it that looked like a ticket machine.  People inserted their credit cards into the machine, pushed some buttons, removed their card, and then disappeared into thin air with the card still in their hand.  I felt a little nervous when I saw this, but thought also of the terrific full day's coach and train journey that was usually required to get to Brighton from Newcastle.  No, this was the easiest way.  The two hours it had taken to get to Newcastle airport by bus and metro would still allow me enough time to have lunch on Brighton sea front before going to the interview that afternoon.  I would be able to return to Newcastle to catch the last bus to the village from Eldon Square at half past five.

As I stood in the queue I started thinking.  Why was I unemployed, even though I had such good qualifications?  Why was the world such a terrible place?  There were some places where the unions had never brought the whole country to a standstill with crippling strikes and had never been castrated as they were under Lady Thatcher.  Why did the unions have to be so unreasonable in the 1970s?  They spoilt everything.  Socialism had had to be abolished.  Why did British people always have to have this feeling of being badly done to, no how much money they actually had?  Why couldn't people be peaceful and contented?  Why wasn't Jeremy Corbyn Prime Minister?  The man in front of me noticed that I looked a bit nervous.
"Where are you going today?" he asked.
"Brighton."
"It's easier than the bus or the train.  There aren't any budget airlines that fly to Brighton.  They don't even have an airport.  Teleports are good for places like that.  Have you not teleported before?"
"No."
"It's not so bad.  You'll feel yourself fade away, it's like going into a tunnel.  It's only for a moment.  Then you'll appear where you want to be.  It's easy.  You go before me."  I stood on the platform and inserted my card.  I pressed the touch sensitive screen and selected Brighton railway station.  "Please remove your card," appeared on the screen.  I removed it.  The room disappeared.  I had a feeling as if I was standing, holding my credit card, in a dark tunnel and was no longer able to see anything, even my hand.  In a few seconds another room appeared.  I was in Brighton station.  

I went outside.  Why were there no soldiers and armed police?  I walked down the sea front in Brighton and found a cafe.  There was a sign in the window that said, 'Help Needed, Apply Within.'  I bought a mug of coffee and sat down next to a young lady.
"I've just used the teleport," I said.  "It's my first time.  A very strange experience.  Like going through a dark tunnel.  I was holding my credit card in my hand and it all went dark.  I just couldn't see my hand anymore."
"I use it all the time," she said.  "I have family in Scotland.  I go there every weekend."
"I noticed something strange about Brighton.  There's no soldiers or police outside the teleport building."
"Why should there be?"
"Terrorists in the Middle East, Theresa May being horrible about immigration."
"Who's Theresa May?"
"The Prime Minister."
"Jeremy Corbyn?"
"Jeremy Corbyn is Prime Minister?"
"He's been Prime Minister since 1997.  Haven't you ever heard of the Golden Dawn?"
"Tony Blair was Prime Minister in 1997."
"Who's Tony Blair?"
"I must be disorientated after my first transporter trip," I lied.  
"Indeed you must," said the lady, looking puzzled.  "You're not drunk, are you?"
"Certainly not.  I've got a job interview here this afternoon.  It's not easy to get a job nowadays.  It's 30 years since I left university."
"Keep taking those cannabis tablets," shouted a young man at the next table, laughing.
"That's terrible," said the lady.  "I've never met anyone who's been unemployed for more than a few days.  There's jobs advertised everywhere."

I left the cafe and continued my walk down the sea front.  The young lady had a point.  In every shop or business there was a sign in the window, 'Help Needed, Apply Within,' exactly the same sign, black writing on a picture of the sky with the sun shining, as if printed in millions by the government.  I looked at the map on my mobile phone.  I soon found Telcon engineering, the company where I had come to be interviewed.  It was a few hours before the interview but I decided to go inside.  There was a huge canteen on the ground floor.  I bought chile con carne and rice for £2.  I ate in silence, not wanting to draw any attention to myself.  I had an idea what had happened to me.  I had read in a book that there were an infinite number of dimensions.  Anything you could imagine existed in one of those dimensions.  Somehow I must have crossed the dimensional divide into something I had always imagined and longed for.  I was in a socialist world.  I finished my lunch and went up to the man at the reception desk.
"Mr. Lisle," I said.  "I'm here about the job for a Computer Engineer."   He pressed a button on the intercom.
"John, Mr. Lisle's here."
"I'm on my way," said the voice.  A middle aged man in a suit appeared.  "Hello Mr. Lisle," he said.  "You've come about the job, have you?"
"Yes."
"When can you start?"
"Aren't you going to ask me what I know about computers and electronics?"
"I'm sure you don't know more than we do," said John, smiling.  "You have a good enough degree.  Whatever you don't know, you'll learn."  I did not want to go back to the village in County Durham where I lived with my parents.  I wanted to stay in Brighton, in this dimension.  I did not wish to use the teleport again in case I returned to Theresa May's world.
"I could start this afternoon, if you want me to."
"Enthusiasm Malcolm, I admire it.  But I really don't think we can start you this afternoon.  Wouldn't you like a few days off to visit your family, register with a doctor and a dentist and find a council flat?"
"Is it that easy to get a council flat?"
"There's  housing offices on every street corner," said John, looking puzzled.  "Come back here on Monday at 9 o' clock.  Take a few days off, to get everything sorted out."

I walked down the sea front.  I looked in the window of the Housing Office.  There were large 2 bedroom flats for £200 a month rent.  I went inside.
"I want to rent a flat," I said to the woman behind the counter.
"Sit down.  We'll have look on the computer.  Where do you work?"
"Telcon Electronics," I said.
"Do you want to be in this block, about half a mile away on the sea front, next to the pier?"
"Yes please," I said, too enthusiastic.  The woman laughed.
"This flat is vacant.  Have a look at the rooms inside."
"Wonderful," I said.  The woman opened a drawer and produced a set of keys.
"Can I have your credit card?" she asked.  I paid for the flat, took the keys, and went straight there.  I sat in the lounge, looking over a tremendous view of the sea on one side and a harbour with boats on the other.  I'd better let my mother know I was all right.  Then I thought.  What would happen to my mother in the other dimension?  Had I disappeared?  Would there be a story in the local newspapers, fifty year old man disappears in transporter accident?  What would they be saying about me?  Would my parents, in that other dimension, be mourning their loss?  Had I simply changed places with another Malcolm Lisle in a different dimension?  Would the original Malcolm from Jeremy Corbyn's world be having dinner with my parents in Theresa May's dimension tonight?  Poor fellow.  I remembered an incident when it had been pouring with rain and I had had been wearing my favourite plastic mac. A man was sitting on the road side and someone was giving him change for him to put in a large paper cup.  He had no coat.  I had a strong urge to take off my favourite rain mac and give it to him.  I did not.  I would have been soaked to the skin.  I was also poorly with asthma.  Even the Bible said let him who has two coats give to the one who has none.  It didn't tell you to give someone your coat if you would become cold, wet and ill.  But who was more important, the tramp or me?  Was he not soaking wet?  Did he not feel unwell?  I now experienced a similar feeling of guilt and rationalisation, a feeling of concern about what my parents and the original Malcolm from this dimension, and then a concrete decision to do absolutely nothing about it.  This dimension was just too good.  Whatever pain they were feeling was nothing compared to the hell of being an unemployed university graduate for 30 years.  Yes, that was a good reason never to get into the transporter again.  I phoned my mother.
"Hello Mam.  I'm not coming home for tea tonight."
"I didn't expect you to.  You've got the job, haven't you?  You're moving to Brighton."
"I told you I was going to be on the last bus that arrives at half past six."  
"The last bus doesn't come at half past six.  It comes at half past eleven.  Why would you want to come home, anyway?  Do you not like it there?"
"I love it here, Mum, I've got a beautiful flat overlooking the sea.  I'll come up for a holiday some time.  Goodbye."