THIS week I was involved in an accident as in the new TV series Life On Mars woke up in 1973 and everything is, well, largely in black and white.

There are lots of characteristic back street bars selling bitter; a nascent takeaway industry; spaced-out hippies; some strange buildings called factories; less rubbish yet less good music; lots of free space once populated by tower blocks demolished to make way ultimately for replacement "urban living" tower blocks; people able to drive more or less how they want while wearing day-glo clothing that will become available in charity shops 30 years on, and Leeds United doing well. Sometimes, when it snows, they play football with an orange ball.

People here in the stoned age seem to think top footballers are lucky because when they are too old to play anymore they can probably afford to buy a pub or a sports shop.

Generally folk appear more chatty and strangely unpractised in the arts of texting, emailing, faxing or downloading porn.

Some of them say they are looking forward to holidaying on another planet in the very near future. Most, though, have not yet shouted the words to Y Viva Espana in a Benidorm bar or, indeed, been anywhere by the sea except Blackpool, where the illuminations seem much more magical than they will in the future.

No-one, including those involved in professional sports, ever seems to do any exercise, but appear to be able to drink lots of beer, smoke 20 a day and never eat vegetables, yet remain thin and fit. No-one drinks filtered water or, indeed water of any sort.

The Daily Mail, meanwhile, concerns itself with highlighting what it believes to be problems caused by immigrants, drugs, drink, the youth and those who don't have jobs.

Pop music is being taken over by bland boy/girl artists such as The Osmonds and David Cassidy, who don't write their own music or play any instruments, while punks don't yet know they are going to be punks, Gary Glitter simply looks odd and, on TV, reality programmes such as Candid Camera are hitting our colour-free screens and Jimmy Saville puffs his cigar in the faces of children whose dreams he makes come true.

Thankfully, the lack of colour makes televised snooker slightly more interesting, which is useful for the majority of people who will leave school at 16 and go straight into unemployment and a few years consigned to wearing tank tops while considering a career in football violence as it is still allowed and it costs only 70p to get into the match.

Me? In my previous life I was just six years old at this point, but my unfortunate accident with a rare surviving Bubble Car has enabled me to reconsider my approach to the next 33 years.

As I'm not very good at football, I will use my second chance at life to practice darts and the guitar every day in an attempt to forge a lucrative career in sport or music, rather than playing Subbuteo every day until the age of 18.

I will spend less money on music saving my cash instead for one of those holidays in space that have been shown on the news that I won't like in three months time and not support a football team that never wins anything.

And I won't buy a pair or tartan trousers or build up a collection of ironic retrospective velvet jackets.

Also, I will not bottle asking out girls that I like, who will later go out with friends braver than I.

Finally, I will not steal that Mars bar and comic from the village newsagent who will later take me along with his son, free of charge, to football and cricket matches before going out of business and moving out of the area. Sorry Mr Hall.