I think we're starting to understand what happened back in Husborne Crawley in the future.
After we'd flogged off the Great House to those blokes with the Lithuanian accents, the plan was to clear off with as many belongings as we could pack in the Cayenne and head for the coast.
But unfortunately in amongst the stuff we shoved in the car, we had the drained-out remains of that Black Hole from the Science service. When we hit 88 miles an hour going down School Lane, the black hole interacted with the Thomas Hardy Plot Generator and catapulted us back in time, but also shifted us sideways into a slightly different universe. String theory or something, I don't doubt.
Hence although this looks rather like Dorset, it's called South Wessex. And many of the people round here are vaguely familiar.
But the irony is we have half a million quid in readies, thanks to our dodgy sale of the Great House. And it's going to be worth nothing until the late 1990s at the earliest.
So Young Keith - if you're reading this - we've buried it under the Nether Moynton crossroads - or, as you would see it, the Owermoigne Roundabout. We know there's the slight problem that you're in a different thread of space-time quantum reality, but you never know your luck. We've also put all the valuables from the Community in there. They're not much use to us here, and if anyone mucks around with the Ipad we're liable to be burnt as witches. I know that's not the law anymore, even in 1858, but you try telling the people round here that. Most of them still won't catch the train in case they suffocate.