The time machine...

Tidying my drawers with a view to a mass clearance and visits to the local dump, I come across piles of old papers, writings and jottings from decades ago. Diary entries. Comments on Socialism. Short stories. Countless extracts from unfinished (barely started) novels. Can I throw them out? A no-brainer (a phrase the writer of those jottings wouldn't even begin to understand). I start to browse through. Thus ends my attempt to set up a tidy office. I am transported back to my fifties, then my thirties, my twenties and to my teens. I have discovered a time machine just sitting in my room, waiting, ready to beam me back. I am on a coach, travelling to Glasgow, in 1962...