What, no DeLorean?

I am not Tom. At least not to my knowledge. Having spent the last 27 years answering to the name Karl, and having that name printed on various official looking papers and cards I had never given my name a second thought - apart from when I was about 9 and wanted to get it changed to Axl. I don't know why I wasn't allowed. Anyways...

Last night I'm walking between pubs with my pal Jam Davies when a girl walking the other way stops in front of us. Jam and I obviously stop as well as she's blocking the path. Next, she looks me dead in the eye and says in a steely voice "Hello Tom."

Being quite a smooth fellow I reply in a cool, soothing tone worthy of Connery-era Bond and blurt out "I'm not Tom." Pretty suave I'm sure you'll agree. If I could do that eyebrow-raise thing you bet I would have.

This doesn't phase the chick, who I will now refer to as Abi, at all. In fact she doesn't believe that I'm not Tom.

"I don't believe you Tom," she says.
Jam starts laughing and I stand there not really knowing what to say. Convincingly I say nothing. Abi does not look amused.

"Why didn't you call?" she says unpleasantly.
"I'm not Tom," I repeat, not really knowing what else to say. Jam is still laughing. Abi is still not amused.

"Jam, am I Tom?"
"Why didn't you call her Tom?"
"Fuck you Jam, you dick. Look, I'm not Tom."

It's all starting to get very weird and my brain, already softened up with a few pints of real ale, is not coping with these wild accusations of being Tom.

Abi is still clearly convinced that I am Tom. She looks at me sceptically and says "So, you don't recognise me at all?" in that same tone of voice used when people say "Don't you know who I am???" to bouncers at clubs.

I answer in the negative. This does not go down well at all with Abi. I can almost see her blood boiling. In ice-cold tones she says, "well I'm sorry for taking up your time," steps out of the way and begins to walk off.

Pleased with myself for my reaffirming my identity and clearing up an obviously touchy subject for poor Abi I attempt to inject some antipodean charm and joviality into my final comment as she walks past.

"Hey, no problem. Take it easy," I say.

Jam and I resume our travels to the next pub. We've walked about 4 steps when a banshee shriek rings out, cutting through the black night.

"FUCK YOU TOM! FUCK YOU!!!"

That was very strange, but I just put it down to life messing with me as it usually does. I'm clearly atoning for past-life crimes in a rather bewildering fashion.

The only other explanation is that a future me, operating under the name Tom, has come back to 2005 and is undergoing an elaborate scheme to make sure I do certain things now so the future is not jeopardised. How Abi plays out in all this I may never know.

The vehicle most likely used by the future-me to travel back in time to 2005

I can only hope the future-me knew what he was doing when he scorned her. If the future-me is anything like the now-me he's probably just a bastard and didn't bother calling when he said he would.

Who knows the ramifications this may hold for the future?

Actually, on his return to the future, the future-me would see exactly what ramifications scorning Abi would have had. It may even prompt another future-me(the future-me who returned to the future and witnessed the ramifications of scorning Abi) to return to 2005 and undergo an elaborate scheme to stop the original future me (who's undergoing an elaborate scheme to make sure I do certain things now so the
future is not jeopardised and is going by the name Tom) scorning Abi.

I sincerely hope a plethora of earth-changing events have not been set in motion by the future-me's negligence to call when he said he would and at this point I can only apologise for any future catastrophes that may inflict our lives as a direct result of my/his actions.

I'm confusing myself now, and at the risk of upsetting the space/time continuum any further, will end this article now...