Back at the bar, David sighed at a memory as bitter as the terrible drink in his hand. He didn’t know which hurt more, the expert martial arts his ninja-like boss had applied to every square inch of his body, or the fact that Alice thought he was the biggest loser, the biggest pushover, the biggest nobody in history.

  However, whilst David wallowed in despair, Miller felt a huge sense of relief.

  “Oooooh. I see now. You can be honest, mate, that ain’t ketchup on your clothes, it's blood!”

  This observation was met by a look of sudden horror and panic on David's face.

  “It's your blood from earlier isn’t it?” Miller concluded.

  “Oh...yeah...that's right,” David said uneasily, his mind frantically searching for the correct answer

  “...Yesss, YES! Well observed. You are quite correct, it's my blood. Sorry I was embarrassed earlier, being in a rather sorry state and all. I just thought that you may not let me stay. I didn’t want to say I’ve been in a fight and give you a poor first impression of myself.”

  “Not to worry, mate. It sounds like you’ve had more pressing things on your mind,” said Miller, now feeling more relaxed.

  He took a deep breath and smiled at how silly he had been to worry.

  “Well, did you at least get to ask Alice to go on that picnic with you?”

  David thought back to the look on Alice's face and remembered how Mr O’Shea had threatened to fire her, claiming she’d incited David into attacking him first.

  “Sadly not. I was at the hospital for quite some time,” David answered with weariness.

  “Then I got cautioned by the police for assaulting my boss. Once all that was over, I just wanted to go home and hide under the covers.

  I felt so… so… wimpy, humiliated. I just couldn’t face her, the only person who made me happy. I thought I’d never see her again. I was bereft. But you know what?”

  “What?” asked Miller, now feeling sorry for this sad little man.

  “All things considered, it wasn't even the worst part of my day,” revealed David, who then took another giant swig of his drink.

  Feeling safe once more, Miller was happy to settle back into the stranger's saga of miseries and asked,

  “Why?... What happened next that was so much worse?”

  David sat for a moment, swirling the brown, frothy liquid in his glass, the sloshing drink mimicking the bitter memories cascading through his mind.

  Only a few hours earlier, David had been at home, convinced the worst moment of his life had just happened. He didn’t know how incredibly wrong he was.

  After being discharged from the hospital and warned by police that Mr O’Shea could very well press charges, David had run all the way home, stripped off his bloodied clothes, and sobbed in the shower. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t remove the shame.

  After a good hour of being beaten again, though this time by steaming hot shower water, David turned to his only friends… online influencers.

  Just like all of the other lonely people in this world, he got his hit of companionship, gossip, and emotional fulfillment from people selling their virtual friendship for likes, sponsor money, or ‘donations.’

  The person he followed with the utmost dedication was a life guru known as ‘Debbie()Luvs()You’. Her feed was full of videos, some reminding followers to be kind, others raging against injustices in a world full of prejudice.

  With no family and no girlfriend, Debbie was the nearest David ever got to the feeling that someone actually cared about him. When she spoke, it was as if she was talking to him only.

  She even left room in her monologues so her audience could chime in. David, like thousands of others, did so nightly.

  It was because of Debbie that he began to write a diary. This was something that she said would help alleviate the anxiety we all feel every day, and to remind yourself why you matter to the world. While unsure about the latter claim, he did trust that Debbie knew what she was talking about.

  He promptly ordered a very respectable, and massively overpriced, brown leather diary from the influencer’s online store. As soon as it arrived, David began scribbling. He’d started over nine months ago and had already filled over half the chunky book.

  After Debbie had finished her live feed and told her disciples how much she loved them all, David reached for his trusty diary. He flicked past the first page, which had the artistically scripted title ‘ and poised his pencil to write on the next virgin piece of paper. He quickly took to documenting his life with a kind of vehement obsession.

  Many times he had annoyed his roommate Hank when he refused to engage in ridiculous hypothetical scenario conversations because he was too busy jotting down his latest angst reports. Whilst most people had forsaken traditional diary keeping for digital ramblings, David appreciated this classical approach at recording one's life.

  Debbie had been completely right, it was a routine he found amazingly calming. Scrawling away in a diary felt like a reassuring conversation with himself. However, aside from the supportive nature of unburdening his fears, worries, and problems onto a non judgmental blank page, he had also begun to sport the hope that one day, after he had shuffled off this mortal coil, he would leave it to a museum. He told Hank this often as a reason to excuse himself from discussing the lunatic’s latest ideas for scripts.

  However, he had to admit to himself that he found it hard to imagine anyone who would be interested in reading his own ramblings. Who would be interested in the life of a nobody who had achieved nothing? But then he supposed it might be possible that people in the future may be fascinated to know what the UK was like before AI took over. That possibility was reason enough to keep him writing.

  So David had been sitting, with his book on his lap and a pencil hovering ready to write a whole lot of self pitying waffle, when Hank suddenly appeared. Whilst normally his roommate would gingerly sneak up on him in a clandestine manner, but not that night.

  Hank booted open his bedroom door with a thunderous , ignored the hole he made in the wall, and stormed into the centre of the living room holding a grimy old laptop. With exaggerated purpose, he pointed it directly at David.

  Hey Davey, look at this ere!!” Hank demanded with a sense of victory and pride in his voice. He was being very theatrical.

  Slowly turning his sore neck, and lifting his blackened eyes, David looked up at the looming source of his epically bad day. Hank stared down at him with a maniacal smile, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his housemate had come home covered in cuts and bruises. This, however, was typical behaviour from Hank.

  “Whatever it is,” David muttered in a pained, defeated tone,

  “I just do not want to know! Okay. Just leave me to complain to myself in peace, thank you, Hank!” he said, gesturing at his diary.

  “This'll just take a second mite,” replied Hank, whose fizzing, jittery energy begged David to just engage with him. He kind of resembled a puppy…a dumbass puppy who likes to eat his own turds, before coming to lick your face!

  “Mate! I'm your mate, am I?” David barked, the venom in his voice erupting like a super volcano, the power of which surprised even himself.

  “Mates are supposed to help each other out, you know! Not give them duff counsel that will almost certainly get their ‘ head rammed up their chocolate cupboard!”

  “Hey,” protested Hank.

  “I didn’t tell you to pick a fight with a black belt did I?”

  “You told me to be all Alpha. That women were only interested in tough guys. That I shouldn't be a weeney little bitch!” David quoted, whilst viciously pointing his finger like a knife into Hank's chest.

  “That’s true…,” Hank continued dismissively, "I need you to help out now! Stick your goggles on and take a right good gander at this!"

  And with that, Hank presented his laptop towards David like a TV assistant offering a prize on a crappy game show.

  “Oh Hank!” David said, deflating, knowing that nothing he said would have any useful effect.

  “I really don't wanna watch another one of your Star Wars audition videos. Face it, they're not gonna hire you to play the latest Sith Lord!”

  “Aye? How do you know!” Hank said, offended, before realising that it was actually something else that he wanted David to observe.

  “It's not that, just look at what's on the screen!”

  Knowing that the only way to get rid of the idiot was to appease him, David put on his thick black specs and looked closer at what was on the computer screen.

  “You've got Youtube on Hank. So what?”

  “Yessss! And what Youtube channel is it?” asked Hank.

  “Well that would be your channel, Hank TV” answered David.

  “Correct--a--mondo Davy boy-o. Now, be a good fellow and tell me what video is currently paused,” asked Hank whilst now sounding like a very cheesy TV host.

  With a sickening pang in his gut, David realised what video was on the screen and he wondered if he was about to have the second fight of his life on the same day.

  “Well, Hank,” David said through clenched gritted teeth, “it would seem you have paused the infamous bed video.”

  “And why is this video so infamous, Davy ol'pal?” Hank asked.

  “You bloody well know why Hank!” David yelled “and I thought you deleted it!!!”

  “Please, for the audience, explain why the video is so infamous!” Hank gleefully enquired.

  “What are you talking about? What audience?” David asked whilst his widening eyes darted all around the room in a panic.

  “The audience at home!” proclaimed Hank joyfully.

  “Are you filming this? Where have you hidden the camera this time!?” David demanded whilst lunging for the computer, though Hank deftly managed to spin away from the desperate failed grasp.

  “Dave, I'm just being theatrical. Loosen up old mite. Look, just play along. You remember the contents of this video don't you?”

  “Only the sweet onset of dementia is ever going to help me forget it, Hank!”

  Back at the bar, David paused his story to take another sip of his drink. He had been recounting to Miller what happened after he got home and his encounter with Hank. Though he’d left out the part about cleaning himself up first, just in case the little barman grew suspicious about why he was, once again, flecked with blood.

  “So what was on the video?” Miller asked with genuine interest.

  “You don’t wanna know,” David glumly replied.

  “Er, yeah I do,” Miller insisted.

  “Come on, you can’t lead me on with that titbit and not tell.”

  “Let’s just say I was the butt of one of Hank’s numerous online pranks,” David groaned.

  “He was always secretly filming me falling for his hideous jokes and uploading'em to his YouTube channel.”

  David couldn’t help but recall a montage of horrible prank videos Hank had made him the star of.

  Some were just annoying, like putting cling film over the toilet seat, or dipping his hand in water while he slept to see if it would make him wet himself (it did).

  But as Hank’s following grew, so did the cruelty of his stunts. Just last week, he’d hired a man in a bird costume to take a dump off their roof, timed perfectly for when David was leaving for work.

  The internet thought it was hilarious. David did not.

  “I got the humiliation, and he got the adulation, which he so desperately craved.

  “Me and him go way back. All the way to a children’s home. I was lucky, a good family adopted me. But not Hank. No one wanted him. He met with countless potential couples, but the more desperate he got to please them, the more his erratic behaviour drove them away.

  “I only moved in originally because I felt sorry for him. Then, one day, I was unknowingly the stunt man in one of his prank videos. It went viral, and that was that. He found an audience who loved him. And I became his ‘muse.’”

  “Why would you even stay living with someone like that, regardless if he’d had a hard time of it?” asked Miller earnestly.

  “Well the only thing nuttier than the growing insanity of my flatmate are the crazy prices of renting around here!

  He was quite happy keeping the rent ridiculously low to keep me there, to provide the audience and affection that otherwise eluded him.

  I suppose I could have gotten a better job, made more money, moved out but…but then I would have lost Alice, you know.

  He knew that, it gave him power over me, and absolute power,” David added bitterly, “corrupts absolutely…the swine.”

  His mood did not improve when he noticed that Miller had stopped listening and was now on his phone, no doubt trying to find Hank’s YouTube channel.

  “Diiiiiiiiiiid you say Hank.tv...? YouTube?” Miller asked, not even trying to be subtle.

  “Yeah... Hank TV,” David answered reluctantly.

  “But trust me, you don’t wanna see it. BUT... if you do... please remember, I was drugged! For real!”

  He sighed, then continued. “Anyway. As I was saying... Hank had this Jackass, wannabe video paused in front of me”

  “So, why are you showing me a video that isn't supposed to exist anymore, Hank?” David asked through gritted teeth.

  “For a specific purpose,” Hank innocently answered.

  “What specific purpose?”

  “Blackmail,” came Hank's matter of fact reply, with just a hint of a smile.

  “PARDON?”

  “Yeah, blackmail. Ugly word, I know, soz and all, but here we are. I wish to blackmail you, please, David.”

  “HOW?” spluttered David in disbelief. Even for Hank, this was a bizarre and awful new development.

  “I mean, the video obviously, but blackmail me for WHAT?”

  “Well, I'm going to send the video to Alice’s work email. I gather her address is the same as yours, but with Alice’s name at the start instead,” Hank casually explained.

  “Genius deduction, Holmes!” barked David in pure rage. But Hank seemed oblivious to the distress he was causing his roommate and merely replied, “Why thank you, Watson.”

  David was struggling to understand what the hell was going on. He was on the edge, and he was in danger of throwing the first punch of his life, but he wasn’t quite there yet.

  If Mr O’Shea hadn’t elicited a punch on the nogging earlier, then Hank could be given a chance before he finally snapped into violence.

  “Hank, wait” David said whilst giving a slow down waving gesture with both of his hands.

  “Let me try to understand what you’re telling me here. You…” David said, pointing at Hank,

  “...want to show the video to ALICE???

  Haven't you helped make me look a big enough loser already in front of her today?!

  Why would you wish to do this to me too?”

  Considering the rage simmering off of David, Hank bravely, or more likely arrogantly, sauntered over and placed an arm around his intended victim.

  “I don't to show it to Alice, but if you don't do as I tell you to...well, sadly I must carry out said threat.”

  “Sadly?” asked David, confused.

  Hank gave him a sympathetic look.

  “You see... if I threaten you with something, but then I don't follow up on that I have threatened, well then you'll never again believe in any future threats.

  And that's just not useful for me, is it? You understand don't you?”

  “I understand the bloody principle, yes,” retorted David, befuddled.

  “So, in order for my threats to continue to hold weight and menace,” continued Hank, “I must now commit to my word. Sorry mate.

  Soooo, if you don’t do what I am about to ask, I will indeed send this link to Alice’s email, and then she most definitely will not agree to go on any picnics with you.”

  David forcefully shrugged Hank's arm from his shoulder and got right in his face.

  “You've gone nuts!

  You've finally lost it.

  The cheese has truly fallen out of your sandwich, Hank!”

  “Sod off, speccy,” Hank retorted, his casual air slipping into something more threatening, “my genius has finally produced its most glorious masterpiece.

  Tonight, I began work on a new script. A cool sci-fi adventure, when I realized that what I had come up with would be wasted on Hollywood!”

  “What are you talking about, you plonker?” David demanded.

  “Do you still plan on leaving your boring diary to a museum once you've popped your slippers, David?” asked Hank.

  “As you very well know, yes!” answered David, confused by this new narrative.

  “Champion,” replied Hank, delighted.

  “Well, I want you to pick up your pencil and write the following into your diary right now!”

  “I’m sorry but this really has just gotten quite ridiculous.

  I insist that you delete that video, or I'm afraid I will seriously have to reconsider my continued tenancy in your home, Hank!”

  “Oi! Don’t you move,” Hank instructed, and he pushed David back down.

  “You move from there again and it’ll be ‘whoopsy daisy’ as I accidentally press enter and your Alice sees the whole hi-def mess!”

  “Bloody hell's bells, Hank!

  Why don't you just write your own bleedin’ letter to the museum?” pleaded David.

  “They aren’t gonna just take in a lone, random letter, Davo! They’ll just chuck it in the bin.

  They’ll think I'm a nutter!

  I'm a genius who won’t be appreciated in his own time,” replied Hank as he paced back and forth, fizzing with nervous energy. “No, I've got a plan and I need it to go into your diary!

  As boring as YOU waffle surely is, it’ll be actual written accounts of 21st century living. They’re bound to keep it somewhere, and then one day, in the future, some nerd will wanna research it. ’s when my plan will kick in laddy!

  …Anyway, I tried sending a letter and it didn’t work.”

  “What didn’t work? What the bloody ‘ell are you actually blabbering on about, Hank?” demanded David, bewildered.

  “Look!” shouted Hank, losing his veneer of joviality for a second time.

  “All you need to understand is this,” and he gestured with multiple stabs of his finger that he was very close to hitting the send button on the keyboard.”

  David's head was pounding.

  Between Mr O’Shea’s size nines greeting him in the nose numerous times earlier, and now Hank going on a deranged breakdown, he just wanted to get this over and done.

  He could then crawl off to bed and most likely cry himself to sleep.

  “Okay, okay. Blimey! I’m doing it,” David stated in a panic.

  He scrambled to pick up his diary and he grabbed his pencil tightly, ready to scribble Hank's mad ramblings.

  “OKAY! Right, what do you want me to write?!!”

  Looking pleased, Hank paced a few tight circles of the room, deciding how to begin.

  Once he had committed to the best opening line, he stood square in front of David, loomed over him and began his dictation.

  “I, DAVID Carter, inventor of Time Travel.”

  “Excuse me?! Time Travel!!!” interrupted David in disbelief.

  “Less questions, more writing, please, Mr Carter!

  The quicker you do it, the less likely I slip the pinky!” Hank stated, whilst hovering his finger over the enter button on his laptop.

  With a roll of his eyes, David readied himself to continue writing, but then a thought occurred to him and so he put down his pencil again and asked,

  “Why my name? It's your idea!”

  “Yeah, but no one would take me seriously, as no doubt you slag me off in your diary every day.”

  David’s shrug of the shoulders and lack of denial was all the confirmation that Hank needed.

  “Exactly! No...we'll put your name down and then you can explain it was my idea later...okay.”

  “Whatever!” answered David bitterly.

  “So what am I writing then?”

  “I, DAVID Carter,” Hank continued, starting over to make sure David wrote down exactly what he wanted.

  “...Inventor of Time Travel, bestow this secret to you.

  I was able to invent a working time machine on Friday 26th September, 2025, due to the fact that a time traveller, as instructed by me now, in these notes for future generations, will come here, on this date, at precisely 9 p.m., and explain to me how to invent a working time machine.

  With these instructions, I, DAVID Carter, will become the inventor of time travel.”

  When David had finished writing, he slammed his diary close. “Okay, I've written your delusional ramblings!”

  “Do you swear you’ll never destroy that page? And to post your diary to a museum, with instructions for it not to be read for 100 years?” asked Hank with a real plea to his voice.

  “What? No! I haven't even finished writing in the book yet,” replied David indignantly.

  “Look! The weight of my finger above the ENTER button is getting REALLY heavy mite!

  Do you swear you'll post it to a museum tomorrow?

  Better yet, tonight!”

  David jumped up from the settee, his emotions sizzling with the annoyance of what his crazy roommate was putting him through. He got so close to Hank that their noses were almost touching. “Yessssssssssss,” David confirmed through hissed teeth and spittles of venom.

  This little performance did not fill Hank with confidence.

  “Swear it, or help me God, I can't hold this finger above the SEND button much longer!”

  Now by this point David was looking somewhat like a toddler having a tantrum. He was practically jumping up and down on the spot, due to having to endure all of this undeserved craziness.

  “I swear! I'll leave it in, if only to record what a complete nutter I ONCE lived with! Though, not for much longer!”

  “No problem, in a few minutes from now, I will be outta here!” Hank explained calmly.

  “You have actually lost the plot!” David pointed out whilst marching the room.

  “Not even a satnav could help you find it!

  Well that really is the last straw. I've tolerated your erratic pranks but madness I cannot abide!”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  David stopped still.

  He had come to a decision he should have made long ago

  “I'm sorry Hank but I am leaving!”

  Hank was not paying any attention to David's ranting, instead he stared intensely at the clock on the wall.

  “Zip it, will ya!” he instructed.

  “It's almost 9 o'clock ya muppet!”

  Noticing Hanks transfixed attention on the clock, David couldn’t help but wonder what the bloody hell he thought was about to occur.

  “What are you expecting to happen at 9 o'clock?” David sneered. “Should I be clearing stuff out of the way for a blue police box?”

  “Just wait and see D” Hank patiently answered, never removing his eyes from the clock that he stared at with reverence

  “You'll soon be changing your tune in just a few minutes my ol'mate.”

  “If time travel was invented in the future, why would they give it to you to invent?” David asked, trying to reason with the insanity of the moment.

  “Because it's a paradox, obviously!” replied Hank as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

  “The people in the future got time travel from me, who invented it in their past because the people in the future passed me back the instructions, now shut up, it's almost nine!”

  “That makes no sense!!!” shouted a baffled David.

  “Yeah it does. It's dead simple” informed Hank, reluctantly moving his attention from the clock to his hesitant partner in time travel.

  “Very soon, as in days, time travel will be invented by you, Mr Carter, because a history explorer will voyage back in time and give you the instructions for a working time machine.

  It's a paradox, it's an infinite loop with no start or end!

  It's Star Trek 4 rules!” Hank explained triumphantly, though this was met by a puzzled look from David.

  “Star Trek?” he asked.

  “Yeah, in Star Trek IV” Hank answered, though with one eye still very much fixed on the clock.

  “The one with the whales, when they go back in time. Bones and Scotty give a bloke in the 80’s the details on how to make an engine part, or something like that.

  Point is, he got the information from the future, and they had that information in the future because the man in the 80’s invented it when he was given the details by people from his future!”

  Whilst this obviously made perfect sense to a jubilant Hank, David was completely flummoxed.

  “I have no idea what you're going on about!” he flatly stated.

  Hank, not wanting his genius to be overlooked, reached for another analogy, one he was certain would clarify all for his housemate who was obviously as thick as his old fashioned glasses.

  “Okay, not a Trekkie, I gather. Look you like the Beatles yeah?” Hank asked.

  “Yeeeeah” David unenthusiastically replied.

  “Well here's how Paul McCartney helped invent time travel” Hank started.

  “Right!” Hank continued.

  “Say if I went back in time to the early 60s, to Paul McCartney's bedroom.

  He’s sound-o asleep. Has no idea I'm there.

  I very quietly begin singing the song ‘Yesterday’ to him.

  Not loud enough to wake ’im, but just enough for him to hear me. He wakes up the next day with this ‘new’ tune in his noggin.

  He has no idea where the song came from.”

  Yet again, David had to admit, privately, of course, that Hank could certainly paint a vivid picture.

  He really was good at constructing imaginative stories.

  He could well envisage Hank tiptoeing into the Beatles’ expansive hotel room, perhaps to the sound of adoring fans camped outside. Hank continued his story, this time asking David to picture Paul the next morning, sat around with his fellow Beatles whilst they munched on their breakfast, ready for another day of shaking their moptops.

  "Oi, Johnny,” Hank continued, mimicking the Liverpudlian accent, “Have you ever heard this ditty before?”

  At this point, Hank did his impression of Paul singing his newest song. “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away.”

  “Nah, Paulie,” Hank now impersonating John Lennon, “that must be a McCartney original. Good it is.”

  “So Paul decides to record it, releases it, and, whammy, it’s a mega hit.

  Years later, I hear it on the radio. Then the day comes when I get myself a time machine and go back to plant the idea in his beautiful, sleepy head.

  I got the song from him, but he got it from me. It’s an infinite loop; no start, no end.

  Neither of us actually wrote the song, yet it still exists! Same principle I’m applying here. A time traveler from the future will deliver instructions to you on how to invent time travel, the same instructions he then gets in his own past, in the future!

  Makes perfect sense!”

  “

  Hank however, didn’t have time to be annoyed at David's lack of understanding, as he realised something important. “Shhhhhhhhhh, Monk Spunk! It's just about to strike nine!”

  David suddenly found himself staring at the clock just as intensely as Hank was.

  Both watched as the clock ticked tocked until the big hand struck nine and then

  …nothing.

  Both stared for a moment before David shook himself out of the stupidity that he had found himself sucked into.

  “See!” he exclaimed, “You're a complete lunatic! I'm going to pack.”

  “No!” screamed Hank, all of his serenity gone.

  “You’ll probably rip the page out in a minute or make some invalidating note!

  That’s why it didn’t work!

  Well, I’m sticking to my promise. I hope Alice enjoys the show.” And with that, Hank turned the laptop around and darted his hand toward the enter button.

  David dove at Hank, grabbing the computer.

  Soon the duo found themselves tugging back and forth, warring over possession of the laptop.

  With a final jerk, David went crashing to the ground, victoriously gripping the computer. Hank, however, didn’t care. He had let go. “The clock wasn’t set right,” he quietly stated.

  Before David could ask what he was babbling about, he realised why Hank had let go.

  In the corner of the room appeared a little white dot, as if someone had poked a hole in the middle of the air.

  At first, it seemed to bathe the room in pure light. But no, David realised, it was the opposite.

  The hole was sucking the light of the room.

  “What the bloody ’ell is that?!” squeaked David, as instant fear wrapped around his stomach and squeezed hard.

  “They're here!” whispered Hank, awestruck.

  David wanted to ask, “Who’s here?” but before he could open his mouth, there was an almighty explosion.

  Part 2

  It’s about Time

  “Riiiiight,” drawled Miller, the story finally getting a little too silly, even for him (and he was still looking forward to catching up with homeless Santa again).

  “So, you’re telling me a time machine appeared in your room, then?”

  “Not a time machine per se, no,” replied David, feeling a lurch in his stomach at the memory of the terrifying moment.

  “It wasn’t a machine. It looked more like a portal, a wormhole, something that just cut through the fabric of space,” he explained with a deft slice of his hand through the air.

  Miller stared, unblinking, as he tried to understand what this man was jiving about. David decided to elaborate.

  “It was basically a hole in the middle of my living room.

  One minute it was tiny, just a pinprick, and then the next, BOOM!” David shouted, causing Miller to jump and Mr Chippy to hide behind his running wheel. The fly remained riveted.

  “It expanded with a big bang, just like that... well, nothing like that, it was much, much bigger,” he said, holding his arms out wide to demonstrate.

  “It was like a huge storm suddenly blew through our living room and we were in the middle of a hurricane.

  Oh, and lots of lightning shooting out of it too.

  Just whipping all around the room.

  It was all terribly frightening!”

  “Oh, I can imagine... erm, sounds terrible, dude, you must have been really scared,” Miller added rather sarcastically, though David had drunk too much by this point to realise.

  “Terrified!” David replied earnestly.

  “Of course, you would be, wouldn’t ya!” Miller said, playing along with the story he was finding rather entertaining.

  It was much more interesting than just watching the news, or listening to Jacob whinge on about the mess that needed tidying.

  “So time thingie appeared. What happened next?

  Oh, you want another drink by the way?”

  “Please,” confirmed David before necking the dregs of his current stale ale.

  “Cool, cool, I'll join you,” said Miller.

  He poured himself a fresh pint of lager, and then decided to pour David only a half. He wanted to know how this story ended. He passed the strange man his drink and grabbed himself another big bag of cheese and onion crisps.

  Mr Chippy, his hamster, popped his head out from behind the running wheel, anticipating more treats. Once Miller was settled, he turned back to his guest and gestured for him to carry on with his tale.

  “Well, as I said, there was a big bang and Hank and I were sent right across the room!”

  Both David and Hank had found themselves in a twisted heap, blown clear across the room and bounced painfully off the flimsy plasterboard wall.

  For a second, David thought he was waking from a nightmare, and began fumbling for the duvet, to pull up over his head. However, as the air zapped and snapped with electricity, it didn't take long for the brain fog to clear.

  He wasn’t in bed.

  He wasn’t having a bad dream.

  He slowly opened his eyes.

  He was lying in the ruins of his coffee table, which now lay all around him in wooden shards and broken table legs. For some reason, he noticed this first, before looking up and observing the unbelievable sight of a very real vortex just feet away.

  It noisily swirled around and around, whooshing, thundering, and crackling. It thrummed with electricity. It was also no longer a small hole. Now it was something large enough for someone, or something, to step through.

  With a great deal of pain, David slowly creaked his neck to his side. He checked to see if Hank was okay, though to be honest he probably wouldn’t feel totally bereft if his housemate had been blown through the goddamn wall.

  Unfortunately for David, Hank was just fine. He sat right next to him, leaning up on his elbows and staring at the vortex like a kid seeing all his presents under the tree on Christmas morning.

  “You survived, then,” David yelled at Hank brusquely, having to shout over the noise assaulting their ears.

  “I’m alwright, the table broke my fall... and maybe my arm!” Hank replied giddily.

  “But who cares? This is wicked!”

  “What's happening?!” David shouted.

  “It’s some kind of wormhole, David! It’s the time travelers, it must be a portal!

  I told you, I told you it would work!” Hank answered through fits of ecstatic, manic laughs.

  “They’re coming to give us the instructions for time travel!”

  David lay back down on the floor and rubbed his tender head, which was ringing like a bell. He closed his eyes and then opened them again.

  The weird hole in the air was still there, so he tried again.

  Nope, the vortex was still there.

  It didn't matter how hard he blinked, the result remained the same. This definitely seemed to be happening. Hank clocked what David was doing.

  “You ain't dreaming, you spanner! This is amazing. LOOK!” Hank leapt to his feet, bouncing on his heels in excitement. “Someone is coming through! Hello. Hello there. Welcome!”

  David squinted and then his eyes sprang open wide. Hank was right.

  “Oh my God, there is! Hank, let's get out of here NOW!”

  “No way Jose! Anyhoo, the portal is blocking the door!”

  David's head whipped around. The vortex covering the end of the room where the door was.

  “Oh God, you’re right, Hank! We’re trapped!” David wailed.

  “I know! Isn’t it great! Someone's coming through!” Hank squealed, pointing to a silhouette forming in the light at the center of the vortex. The shape was getting larger and clearer, as if it was walking towards the edge of the portal, towards Hank and David.

  “Oh geezus, oh geezus!” cried David.

  ``Quick, grab something to defend ourselves with!”

  Whilst Hank waved at the stranger who was getting closer and raising a leg to step through into their living room, David searched around in blind panic for something that he could arm himself with. There wasn’t a lot around. His diary, a pencil, his laptop…no, that cost him almost a grand, he wasn’t going to use that as a blunt instrument.

  There was sod all to use…unless, he could push Hank at whatever came through, and then make a run for the door.

  If Hank wanted to meet whoever was arriving so badly, then David would help him get up close and personal. He positioned himself behind his housemate ready to put his plan into action.

  “Stop being a knob spechead! Relax, enjoy it... he…or her…is our invited guest, remember,” Hank laughed.

  David peeked over Hank's shoulder just in time to see what, or who, had come through.

  David looked over to where the colour was draining out of the living room, and pouring into the vortex.

  It gave the impression of a brilliant white glowing sphere, fringed with chaotic energy, floating just above the floor, suspended in midair.

  However, that void of colour was now interrupted by the silhouette of a person nearing, with a leg raised, primed to step through into their home.

  David placed a hand on each of Hank's shoulders, ready to shove him forwards and make his escape. He couldn't help but cower behind his idiot housemate as he braced himself for whatever horror was about to arrive.

  A long, slender pinstripe trouser leg appeared through the brilliant white light and planted itself firmly on their well-trodden carpet. This was quickly followed by a second matching leg, which brought with it a tall, smartly suited man.

  David might have remained scared, had it not been for the bright pink dickiebow and the huge, enthusiastic smile on the stranger’s face, whom David thought looked remarkably like a young Bill Nighy (you know, the old rock star from ).

  “Why, hello there,” said the visitor enthusiastically, as he stretched open his arms in a welcoming gesture.

  “Please do not be startled, m'lord. I really am so very, very sorry if I have alarmed you. Such a noisy and messy means of travel, but I’m afraid there is no gentler way for one to make an entrance when tearing passages through the fabric of space and time.”

  “No worries, mate. I wasn’t scared at all” Hank gleefully answered, rushing up to shake the man's hand.

  “Mmmmmm, glad to hear it, Sir,” replied the visitor, who limply shook the digits Hank offered, whilst sporting a surprised look.

  He quickly sidestepped Hank to move closer to David, who had been frozen to his spot.

  As the visitor enthusiastically made his way across the room, David snapped out of his daze and backed away from the stranger approaching him. He immediately fell backwards over a broken leg of the table, finding himself once again sprawled across the floor.

  The visitor looked absolutely appalled.

  “Lord Carter! Please, Sire, allow me to help you to your feet at once. You really have nothing to fear from me, your Grace.”

  With that, he swooped down and gently lifted David from the floor. With a deft flick of the wrist, he swiftly removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and began thoroughly dusting off any scruffs he could see on David's clothing.

  Hank stood there, ignored and still dusty and bruised from the wormhole’s powerful arrival. He watched in confusion as the visitor fussed over his flatmate.

  David felt uneasy about this stranger tending to him, and he quickly stepped away from the man's assistance.

  “Thank you, but... whoooo are you?” he asked, his voice trembling.

  “Hey, mate,” Hank interjected,

  “Do I get a wipe down too?” he asked, gesturing at his own messy appearance.

  The visitor didn’t even look in Hank’s direction; he was focused solely on David.

  “My name is Mr Philip Lawlor,” the man began, “and I am from the Department of British Time Travel in the year 2125.

  Please allow me to say, Lord Carter, that I cannot express enough what a marvellous, stupendous pleasure, no, an indescribable honour, this is, m’lord.

  To discover that I am here with you on this historic occasion is beyond my most preposterous hopes.”

  With that, he bowed deeply. David looked shocked, whilst Hank looked thoroughly unimpressed.

  “Cheers then, Phil. I’ll clean myself up, shall I?” Hank snarked, patting clouds of dust from his dressing gown.

  Yet again, the visitor pointedly ignored him.

  “You’re fr... fr... om,” David began, unable to find the words. The situation was just too surreal to process.

  “From the future, m’lord,” confirmed Philip.

  “Erm, your future. To me, it’s just Sunday, though a very special Sunday, I can assure you.

  You see, I am here at your request, as per the instructions in the diary we received from you this morning. Well... this morning, one hundred years hence your time.

  Tomorrow, following the events of tonight, you will post that very diary...”

  Philip now looked around the room and gasped loudly as his eyes landed on the book, unceremoniously splayed on the dirty floor between them.

  He ducked down, retrieved the book, and carefully dusted it off before handing it to David reverentially. It was as if he were placing a holy relic into the hands of the Pope.

  “You will take this book to the Torquay Museum with instructions for it to be loaned to them for one hundred years. After that time, it is to be released to the Time Department, at an address I will give you shortly.

  It will be marked for my attention.

  The staff there will think it’s a joke, but trust me, sir, they do follow through, if only for the merriment.

  What they see as a lark will, in fact, change the world! Ultimately, they place it in a time capsule. When it’s opened in one hundred years, the diary is duly delivered to me at the agency. Fanciful, I know, but it happens.” Philip concluded with a huge, fawning smile.

  “Bloody hell,” both David and Hank said in unison.

  “I know, right,” laughed Philip, who then sidled up to David.

  “A little spoiler, sir, but you and I know each other in the future, and you never once let on that we met tonight, or how you figured out time travel.

  You can’t imagine my surprise when I received your instructions this morning.”

  He chuckled. “You could’ve knocked me over with the waft of a feather. Devilishly simple. Amazingly clever.”

  “Howcame up with time travel?” corrected Hank, but he was being absolutely ignored by David's biggest fan.

  “Tomorrow,” Philip continued, pleased by David’s captivated expression, “you will deliver my instructions for time travel to an esteemed scientific community in London.

  They will eventually validate your invention and help you construct the very first time portal.

  You will not mention my involvement, of course.”

  Hank ran past Philip and threw his long, wiry arm victoriously around his shell-shocked housemate.

  “Ha! Ha ha! I told you, DAVE!” he exclaimed jubilantly.

  “Ha ha, oh my God, I’ve invented time travel!

  Who's a lunatic now? Wha ha ha hey!”

  A thought abruptly occurred to Hank, like someone who’d just won the lottery and was suddenly realising all the opportunities available to them.

  “I can go back and audition to play the Emperor in Star Wars!”

  “Flipping heck!” replied David, in a daze.

  “So… wow. I mean...I guess the idea works then?”

  “Oh yes, my lord,” Philip answered, putting an arm around David and walking him away from Hank.

  “It works, and it has changed everything.

  Mankind owes your brilliance a debt that can never be repaid. We’ve travelled through time, and across space as well.

  You couldn’t comprehend just how much we have discovered, and what we have learned.

  We know everything! You're responsible for so much… so very, very much. Life on Earth is completely unrecognisable from the world you currently live in.”

  Philip stretched out his arm and pulled back his sleeve to reveal what looked like a paper thin iPad, molded around his forearm.

  “Would you like to see?”

  “The future?” said a scared looking David, who glanced at the gaping hole still suspended in mid-air beside them. “I'm not going through that portal thing… no, no, no way!”

  With a laugh, Philip gave David’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

  “Sire, I can bring the future to you! This device,” he said, gesturing at his arm, “is a Holo-projection that will show you tonight’s news… tonight my time, that is.”

  Philip lifted his other hand and let his long, piano fingers dance across the gadget. Lights began appearing. A few soft bip-bop sounds played. Then, after a sudden flash, a woman was standing in the middle of the living room.

  The woman looked completely real.

  David could have she was actually in the room with him, not merely a projection. She was staring directly at him and even moved her head as he leaned left and right. Still, he felt she wasn’t really him, just looking in his general direction.

  It was unnerving, and he became acutely aware that his room was a complete mess, hardly fit for visitors. Of course, the state of the room wasn’t really Philip’s fault. Hank was the one who’d invited him.

  “Good evening,” the lady began, accompanied by a short jingle. “My name is Marion Lison, and this is .”

  “In tonight’s programme, I’ll be bringing you a feature report from the launch of the , scheduled to leave its orbital station at 2100 hours UST.”

  “Universal Space Time,” Philip quickly informed.

  “...for an exchange mission with the newly discovered alien race known as the ‘Scotties’, from the galaxy EGS-zs8-1,” continued the woman, whom David correctly assumed was a newsreader.

  “Before that, however, I must deliver breaking news.

  The UK Time Travel Department has confirmed the loss of one of its historical exploration drones following an unprecedented malfunction.”

  “You may be familiar with the location and date, it crash-landed in Roswell, New Mexico, in June 1947. Ironically, the time drone had been sent to Roswell to investigate what really crashed at the famous site, as all known extraterrestrial species deny visiting Earth prior to first contact. The Rebel Network has claimed responsibility for hacking and downing the dro…”

  The news report was swiftly cut off as a panicked Philip slapped his hand over the wrist device and gave a nervous little chuckle.

  As the news reader vanished, Hank stepped forward and waved his hand through the space she’d just occupied. “Amazing!” he exclaimed.

  “What was that about rebels?” enquired David.

  “Oh, nothing important,” replied Philip, quickly brushing aside the question.

  “What is important is that you, m'lord, the great and wonderful Lord David Carter, made all of this possible. You are worshipped as a deity for your contribution to mankind.” He said it like a circus ringleader announcing a spectacular act.

  “A God?” spluttered David.

  With that, Hank’s glee and sense of celebration stopped as abruptly as someone yanking the needle off a record.

  “Whoa, hey! Hang on a minute. Rewind and play again... him? A GOD!?” he challenged.

  “YES!” Philip confirmed cheerily.

  “It was his amazing insight that created mankind's ability to travel through time and space.”

  “His simple but ingenious idea to manipulate a paradox in time has transformed the world as we knew it!

  This man before us is the most exciting human in history!

  Not only for this initial idea but also for what he goes on to do. No spoilers” he finished with a theatrical wink for David's benefit.

  “Dave, exciting???” Hank rudely contested.

  “Hang about. Where am I in all this? Me and 'im are in this together!

  Actually, screw that, this was all my idea!”

  With that, he stamped his foot like a brat demanding cake.

  This certainly got Philip's attention.

  He slowly turned to acknowledge the nuisance, whose presence thus far had been as welcome as a mobile phone ringing during a funeral (with Kool & the Gang’s “Celebration” as the ringtone). “Your idea? Sorry, who are you?” he asked, all his warmth draining away.

  “WHO AM I?” Hank shouted, a little crazed

  “I'm the man with the plan!

  Where's my Goddamn recognition?

  At the bloody least we should be known as partners!

  Why aren't you worshiping me pal?!

  Come on, start bowing! Now!”

  And with that Hank placed a hand on each of Philip's shoulders and tried to make him kneel.

  The tall visitor awkwardly broke free from Hank's fumbled grasp, and he staggered into David, shocked.

  “Ludicrous!” Philip declared with the look of a kid being told Santa isn’t real.

  “This can’t possibly be true, can it m’Lord Carter?”

  “Stop calling him Lord!” Hank demanded, as a blind rage began to swell, as the dark realization dawned on him that he was being robbed.

  He felt his fists clenched so tight that his hands began to hurt

  “Or I swear to God I’ll...”

  Despite the anger boiling in Hank’s veins, Philip was not concerned with his threats, for he had unimaginable protection at his disposal.

  What he was worried about was whether Hank was telling the truth.

  “Lord Carter, please explain to me this man's absurd ramblings! Is anything that this unkempt fellow saying of merit?

  Did he play a part in the Yesterday Paradox?”

  “WHAT?” exploded Hank, getting nose to nose with Philip.

  “You even named it after my explanation!”

  “Lord Carter uses the creation of the timeless classic, Yesterday, by Sir Paul McCartney, in his opening speech to the science community. It's famous” explained Philip breathlessly.

  “It's stolen!” Hank screamed in anger.

  The spittle that Hank had projected onto the end of Philip’s long, pointy nose, was promptly flung away as the visitor whipped his head around to confront his idol, David.

  “Is this true m’Lord?” he asked with a tremor in his voice.

  For a second David almost admitted everything.

  He wasn’t a thief.

  He was a good person.

  But then he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

  He took in the image of a man who had seemed destined to be under the foot of every bully he ever came in contact with.

  The cold understanding of what he would be throwing away, all the good that he could do if he just did this one bad thing, crashed down on him as devastatingly fast as an avalanche.

  “NO!!! Of course not!” David shouted.

  “Oooh shady,” Miller said, shaking his head disapprovingly. “That's a bit cold, ain't it? Stealing your mate's idea.”

  Whilst Miller didn’t believe a single word that this stranger was telling him, he had to admit the story was enthralling.

  What a shame that the fella was nuts, it would probably make for a very good book.

  Still shaking his head, Miller helped himself to another packet of cheese and onion crisps from the shelf. He tore it open, picked out the biggest piece, broke it in two, and popped the larger bit into his mouth. The smaller piece he gifted to Mr Chippy, his pet hamster, who was now sitting rather comfortably in his shirt pocket.

  David was annoyed by Miller’s reaction, and felt particularly stung when he could have sworn the hamster was shaking its head too.

  “Hank was never a MATE!” David spat, punctuating the word with a meaty fist slammed onto the bar. He almost flattened the mesmerized barfly who, up until that moment, had been enjoying the story more than anyone. Now, however, the winged bug decided it was a good time to shuffle somewhere safer.

  “Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve told you about him?

  I put up with his behaviour for YEARS, when no one else would! And what thanks did I get? What?

  I was just his torture doll.

  He had a friend in me, a real, actual friend.

  But he threw me away for the artificial affections of strangers!

  He took everything from me.

  I owe him NOTHING!”

  David was now on his feet, his face burning hot, no doubt bright red, too. He quickly came to his senses, though, when he noticed that Miller looked a little scared by his outburst.

  “Sorry,” David said, easing himself back down into his seat. “Look, the time traveler, Philip, he said I was the famous one in the future. So it has happened, will happen. I’m destined to be the godfather of time travel, not Hank. It’s already recorded history!”

  “That sounds like the excuse train pulling into the station,” Miller said, acting out a weak little toot-toot, trying to convince himself he wasn’t once again unnerved by the plump, spectacled man in his bar.

  Mr Chippy seemed oblivious as he continued gnawing on his crisp, adding a squeak as if contributing a choo-choo to Miller’s imaginary train.

  David sighed. “Perhaps... I suppose. It’s just, at that very moment, when Philip asked me, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

  And you know what I saw looking back?”

  Miller shrugged.

  “A nobody. But I had this man telling me I could actually be a SOMEBODY.

  Someone I believed Alice would be proud to have as a boyfriend, husband, even.

  And so... I told Philip…”

  “NO!!! Of course not!” David shouted.

  “Hank had absolutely nothing to do with any of this. It was all my idea, just mine.”

  For a moment, Hank was stunned, shocked into silence. Then his words returned, rolling from a whisper into a ferocious roar.

  “You bastard, David... Philip, his truth is as wonky as a donkey! His lie is as stinky as a sneak attack from his beauty crack!

  I made him write that in his diary! David, tell him the truth, you tossbucket!”

  “Excuse me,” bellowed Philip, like a Victorian headmaster, “but that is no way to speak to His Lordship.”

  “He’s no Lord,” squeaked Hank, momentarily taken aback by the teacher-esque telling off he had just gotten.

  “Not just yet, but soon. Very soon.” Philip said sternly, wagging a long, bony finger at him.

  “He’s telling porkies, mite!

  It was my idea!

  My bloody plan!

  I'm not letting that git steal this from me!

  People should be loving ME! Me!” Hank demanded, once again the volume of his voice dialed up to 11.

  With hysterical anger he squealed,

  “He ain't taking that away!”

  “HANK!” David called out, raising his voice to squash Hank’s deranged protests.

  “Go take your meds!

  Sorry, Philip. He can get overexcited sometimes.

  I’ve been helping look after him for a while now.”

  This wasn’t happening, Hank thought. David was the loser, not him. Yet it looked like the twerp was actually going to steal the life that should have belonged to him.

  Hank felt like he was going to cry.

  His emotions were hanging on for dear life as they rode the most extreme roller coaster of his life.

  As he stood, totally stunned, he tried to form ideas in his befuddled mind, contemplating what he should do to take control of the situation.

  Meanwhile, Philip turned his back on Hank and leaned closer to David, whispering so the apparent madman couldn’t overhear.

  “Quite commendable, sir, and not at all surprising that you would be doing such a good deed.

  Nonetheless, what needs arranging next is important, so perhaps you should tell your friend to go take his mad medicine while we have a little chat” Philip said, in what David noticed were rather unkind words.

  While Hank may have been crazed, he wasn’t deaf.

  “I’m not mad!

  “Well, I’m mad at you two spanners, but I’m not crazy!” he protested, while looking very much the opposite.

  His eyes bulged, and his face glowed a furious red.

  He began to jump on the spot as adrenaline surged through him “I’m not, I’m not, I’m NOT! He's lying!”

  With a roll of his eyes, Philip reluctantly addressed the nuisance once more.

  “Mr Hank, it is all here, in Lord Carter’s diary. In HIS handwriting!”

  “I made him write it!” Hank said desperately.

  “I can prove it, I filmed it all!

  It’s on my laptop, just over there.

  Let me show you!”

  David suddenly realised that Hank might have filmed everything, in fact, it was bloody likely.

  “Ah, hang on a minute, Henry!”

  David said, stepping between Hank and the laptop.

  “Let’s just calm down for a second.”

  “Don’t you Henry me, you smarmy bog plopper!” Hank yelled as he barged past David.

  “He’ll see you for the fraud you really are, any minute now!”

  David tried to grab Hank, but his agitated partner in time travel easily eluded him and snatched up the laptop, which had been filming everything unbiasedly from the floor.

  “Hank, stop,” David shouted.

  “No!” squawked Hank.

  “I’m proving your pants are on fire, mate.

  Don’t go letting off any popples!”

  “No, I mean wait. LOOK, in the corner of the room!” David said, pointing desperately behind Hank.

  “I’m not falling for that,” said a smug Hank, refusing to look. He turned the laptop around and stopped the recording.

  He was just about to press play when…

  A second almighty bang sent Hank, David, and Philip flying.

  The trio were unharmed, but very much dazed and confused.

  Philip was the first to sit up. He was absolutely flabbergasted by this turn of events. David managed to once again rise from another knock down and he crawled over besides his guest.

  “Have you got some friends joining us?”

  Philip slowly shook his head.

  He didn’t have a clue what was happening.

  “This shouldn’t be happening” he answered, bewildered.

  “What?” shouted David, unable to hear over the roar of the second portal.

  “This is a delicate, historic event” Philip shouted over the concert of noise.

  “This event is a mark , triple red restriction zone!

  No other time visitor is permitted to be here, under immediate penalty of death.”

  Opposite Philip’s white vortex, a second portal appeared, black. Hank looked away from his cracked laptop and shattered dreams to stare alongside David and Philip as another stranger began making their way into the living room.

  “Everyone stay on the ground,” barked the aggressive new time traveler, voice full of hatred.

  David looked up, surprisingly more shocked than he had been all night.

  “Alice?”