Conan Doyle’s Sherlockian London.
Possibly as Watson, but without the leg/shoulder injury and the heavy turnover of wives.
I’d quite like a few terms at Mallory Towers.
Or perhaps Lord of the Flies? Pass the conch.
We’re already living in a Brave New World – modern MTB is basically Centrifugal Bumble Puppy, so that’s out.
The Culture was supposed to be a warning, not something to aspire to, but God yes, I can see the appeal.
Michael Moorcock’s Dancers at the Edge of Time has much the same premise, but Jherek has much, much more fun than Bank’s crew.
All in all, I think I’d quite like to live in an Ealing comedy.