'Was it your fault?'

'No – it was that clot Bismarck. But it doesn't matter. They've transferred me to another division inside the Historical Preservation Corps for a second chance. My first assignment occurs in July 1988, so local knowledge right now is a godsend. Have you heard of anyone named Yorrick Kaine?'

'He's Chancellor of England.'

'That figures. Did St Zvlkx return tomorrow?'

'He might.'

'Okay. Who won the Superhoop?'

'That's Saturday week,' I explained. 'It hasn't happened yet.'

'Not strictly true, Sweetpea. Everything that we do actually happened a long, long time ago – even this conversation. The future is already there. The pioneers that ploughed the first furrows of history into virgin timeline died aeons ago – all we do now is try and keep it pretty much the way it should be. Have you heard of someone named Winston Churchill, by the way?'

I thought for a moment.

'He was an English statesman who seriously blotted his copybook in the Great War, then was run over by a cab and killed in 1932.'

'So, no one of any consequence?'

'Not really. Why?'

'Ah, no reason. Just a little pet theory of mine. Anyway, everything has already happened – if it hadn't, there'd be no need for people like me. But things go wrong. In the normal course of events, time flies back and forth from the end of then until the beginning of now like a shuttle on a loom, weaving the threads of history together. If it encounters an obstacle then it might just flex slightly and no change will be noticed. But if that obstacle is big enough – and Kaine is plenty big enough, believe me – then history will veer off at a tangent. And that's when we have to sort it out. I've been transferred to the Armageddon Avoidance Division, and we've got an apocalyptic disaster of life-extinguishing capability, Level III, heading your way.'

There was a moment's silence.

'Does your mother know you wear your hair this short?'

'Is it meant to happen?'

'Your hair?'

'No, the Armageddon.'

'Not at all. This one has an Ultimate Likelihood Index rating of only twenty-two per cent: "not very likely".'

'Nothing like that incident with the Dream Topping, then,' I observed.

'What incident?'

'Nothing.'

'Right. Well, since I'm on probation – sort of – they thought they'd start me on the small stuff.'

'I still don't understand.'

'It's simple,' began my father. 'Two days after the Superhoop President Formby will die of natural causes. The following day Yorrick Kaine proclaims himself dictator of England. Two weeks after that, following the traditional suspension of the press and summary executions of former associates, Kaine will declare war on Wales. Two days after a prolonged tank battle on the Welsh Marches, the United Clans of Scotland launch an attack upon Berwick-upon-Tweed. In a fit of pique Kaine carpet-bombs Glasgow and the Swedish empire enter on Scotland's side. Russia joins Kaine after their colonial outpost of Fetlar is sacked – and the 'war moves to mainland Europe. It soon escalates into an apocalyptic shoot-out between the African and American superpowers. In less than three months the earth will be nothing but a steaming radioactive cinder. Of course,' he added, 'that is a worst-case scenano. It'll probably never happen, and if you and I do our jobs properly, it won't.'