The Mecury's Jeff Dunn goes back in time to Milford's early days.

"Oi ... fish face! I want you to do something different this Christmas."

The boss's voice thundered out, reverberating round my dingy dungeon desk like a Stentorian actor, determined that all those in the back row would hear his every syllable.

"Like what?" I replied, feeling a bit miffed at being roused from the pleasant little daydream I'd been nurturing for the last hour.

"Like something exciting in that pathetic column of yours. It's about as dynamic as a bucketful of last year's manure."

"But it's a nostalgia column," I stammered, "that's as exciting as I get nowadays."

"Well, it's just not good enough, big ears. Look at Suzy. This year she's been ghost hunting, speed dating, helicopter hopping... She's been a real life Anelka Rice.

I wanted to tell him that Anelka is a Bolton Wanderers footballer, but even the thick, bushy hairs on the back of his hands looked angry, so I decided to keep schtum'.

"Think of something", he growled, "I'm off to play Santa Claus at the Pembrokeshire CC's Lodge Christmas party".

As he waddled out, he cuffed the back of my neck, giggling. "And that's your Christmas box!"

Let me tell you friends, this piece was nearly entitled The Slow, Gruesome Murder of a Toady Newsboss', but once my blood pressure had subsided to what usually passes for normal, I got to thinking, maybe the moth-eaten old bath-tub was right.

The following day, during a regular visit to my shrink, I mentioned my dilemma, asking for suggestions.

Without pausing, Dr Strangehead replied "Regression, my boy, regression." He explained that, under deep hypnosis, he could send me back in time, to experience first hand, some of the things I write about in my TRM column.

"Not that I read it out of choice", he added quickly, "but it helps to build up a picture of your unusual, and abnormally complex personality".

Two days and three regression sessions later, I had the material for my Magical History Tour.' Somehow, the tapes got mixed up, and none of the time leaps are in sequence but they're all from the late 1800s and early 1900s. So here's the account of my mysterious journey back to Milford's early days...

I open my eyes and, to my amazement, everything is in black and white Justfor a second I wonder if I'm in Pandaland, but no, I'm in Charles Street, and, in my hand is a list of shopping me mam wants me to get. A Milford Telegraph from Ormond's the paper shop; pick up me dad's boots from Cole the cobbler; a loaf of bread from Mr. Prickett; some baccy from Mr. John's, and a bag o'nails from Francis the Ironmonger. Me mam writes everything down cos she says I gotta head like a leaky bucket. Out of all me 12 brothers and sisters, me mam loves me the best. Now I'm heading down to the water cos there's a gang of workmen building what's gonna be Milford's first docks, and me dad said now I'm 12, I ought to be working. I sees the men sitting round. They're a rough-looking bunch an't no mistake. I've changed me mind about askin' for a job. One of em looks like he's strangling a dog. Wot if e don't like kids neither? I'm going home with me mum's shopping. There's some smashing bicycles in Foster Powell's shop and, while the pretty lady's not lookin', I grabs one and pedals away like the wind before they see me. I'm not pinchin' it, honest. I'm just borrowin' it to help carry the shopping. I'm gonna leave the bicycle at the pub where me dad goes every day to help out drinking, cos ke told me to drop off his boots there on me way home. Don't tell im, will yo? He's a God fearin' man and says borrowin's the same as stealin', and he's got a pair of big, heavy hands to prove it - just ask me mam.

Me dad wasn't in the bar, they told me he was in tke back room playin' pool with me Auntie Nellie! They was all a'winkin' and a nudgin' each other, so I bet they aven't even got a pool table ... an' who the ell is Auntie Nellie !

Well they finally finished building the Docks. It took em years and years, but now they're lookin' real swell. And I saw the very first ship to enter, it was a steam trawler called the Sybil. Me dad told me to take a closer look and threw me into the water. He's a card, he knows I can't swim! Me dad says that Milford's gonna be the bestest port in the world and they're gonna have a Trans-Atlantic Line. He said there's a poster in his pub wot reads "The Canadian Steamship Line .... shortest route to Canada. The splendid fast- screw ship steamer Gospesia to Pospebiac (Gulf of St Lawrence. Saloon Fares .. 8 guineas; Steerage Fares .. 4 guineas. Me mam said she'd sell her soul for four guineas if me dad would go to Canada and take his floozy Nellie with im. I think she was kiddin, but she bought im a lumberjack's shirt from Whichers! I asked him wot a fast-screw was, and he gave me a good hiding. I've decided if I can't get a job goin' to sea I'll be an engine driver. I went across to Hakin station to see the special train they've put on for the Gaspesia. Me dad promised me tuppence to lie along the line to see if the train would pass over without touching me. When I asked him to show me the money first, he said he'd left his purse in the pub. I'm in a fix. Me dad's threatened that I don't get a job, he'll send me to school. I went back down the Docks to see if they wanted someone to help with unloading the ice. I asked a couple of men who were working but they said I'd be better off waiting another 10 years or so til they build an ice factory on the Docks. How stupid do they think I am? Everyone knows an ice factory would melt in the summer! I've decided to run away from home. I'm gonna stow away on one of the Irish trains. Me dad said he didn't want me to go but helped me pack before he went to the pub. I nearly got away with it. I would've too, if I hadn't found me mam stowing away on the same train. She told she'd climbed up after a bit of cod but I don't think so. She was wearing her Sunday hat! It's 1921 and I've joined the Army. They asked me my age and It told 'em I wasn't sure cos I was really from the 21st Century, regressing under hypnosis, and was skipping all over the time and place. They gave me a uniform and said: " Pull the other one, sonny, you're off to the troubles in Ireland. Report to the troop ship in the Docks. So, at last, I'm finally gonna get away. On the docks, by the ship, I see a woman selling refreshments. I feel a bit peckish. As I get closer she looks familiar. It's my mum, dishing out hot tea and sandwiches. I try to say something then I hear Dr Strangehead's voice in my head. "C'mon JD, snap out of it, wake up. Your session's over. The Mayor's arrived for his appointment, and he hates being kept waiting.. And that was that. It was all over. My voyage had concluded. "Has it been worthwhile?", asked the shrink as he ironed the creases on the couch. "Not really," I replied "it all seems a bit of a jumble if you ask me".

Dr Strangehead suddenly burst into tears. "Oh, drat it," he wept "now I'll have to scrap regression therapy, like I did acupuncture. "What happened with your acupuncture," I wanted to know. The tearful psychiatrist lay back on the couch and closed his eyes. "My first three patients bled to death! Ask the Mayor to come in, will you?"

I submitted my Magical History Tour to the boss for his approval and, as I heard nothing from him, I knocked, full of trepidation, on his door. "Come", said a rather sheepish voice. I entered, and saw the media monster still dressed in a Santa outfit, sitting, his rear end in the office water bucket, moaning. On his desk, still unopened, was my story. "What's up, boss?" "It was that Pem CC Christmas party gig", he groaned. "It got a bit out of hand and someone, dressed as a reindeer, left his antlers lying around. Do you know how sharp those points are?"

I commiserated with all the sincerity I could muster. "I know just the way to get rid of the pain, boss. Acupuncture. And I know just the man."

I picked up my regression special, saying "I'll just pop this over to the Ed's office, shall I?" The hairy, ugly Santa, nodded painfully, and blew bubbles in the bucket.