The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy | Page 6

representative approaching and let his
head sink back and closed his eyes. He was trying to marshal his arguments
for proving that he did not now constitute a mental health hazard himself.
12

He was far from certain about this { his mind seemed to be full of noise,
horses, smoke, and the stench of blood. This always happened when he felt
miserable and put upon, and he had never been able to explain it to himself.
In a high dimension of which we know nothing the mighty Khan bellowed
with rage, but Mr. Prosser only trembled slightly and whimpered. He began
to fell little pricks of water behind the eyelids. Bureaucratic cock-ups, angry
men lying in the mud, indecipherable strangers handing out inexplicable
humiliations and an unidentied army of horsemen laughing at him in his
head { what a day. What a day. Ford Prefect knew that it didn't matter a pair of dingo's
kidneys whether Arthur's house got knocked down or not now. Arthur remained very worried.
"But can we trust him?" he said.
"Myself I'd trust him to the end of the Earth," said Ford.
"Oh yes," said Arthur, "and how far's that?"
"About twelve minutes away," said Ford, "come on, I need a drink."
13

Chapter 2
Here's what the Encyclopedia Galactica has to say about alcohol. It says that
alcohol is a colourless volatile liquid formed by the fermentation of sugars and
also notes its intoxicating eect on certain carbon-based life forms. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy also mentions alcohol. It says that
the best drink in existence is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. It says that the eect of a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is like having your
brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick. The Guide also tells you on which planets the best Pan Galactic Gar-
gle Blasters are mixed, how much you can expect to pay for one and what
voluntary organizations exist to help you rehabilitate afterwards. The Guide even tells you how you can mix one yourself.
Take the juice from one bottle of that Ol' Janx Spirit, it says.
Pour into it one measure of water from the seas of Santraginus V { Oh
that Santraginean sea water, it says. Oh, those Santraginean sh! Allow three cubes of Arcturan Mega-gin to melt into the mixture (it must
be properly iced or the benzine is lost). Allow four litres of Fallian marsh gas to bubble through it, in memory of
all those happy Hikers who have died of pleasure in the Marshes of Fallia. Over the back of a silver spoon
oat a measure of Qualactin Hypermint
extract, redolent of all the heady odours of the dark Qualactin Zones, subtle
sweet and mystic. Drop in the tooth of an Algolian Suntiger. Watch it dissolve, spreading
the res of the Algolian Suns deep into the heart of the drink. Sprinkle Zamphuor.
Add an olive.
Drink . . . but . . . very carefully . . .
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy sells rather better than theEncy-
clopedia Galactica .
"Six pints of bitter," said Ford Prefect to the barman of the Horse and
Groom. "And quickly please, the world's about to end."
14

The barman of the Horse and Groom didn't deserve this sort of treatment,
he was a dignied old man. He pushed his glasses up his nose and blinked at
Ford Prefect. Ford ignored him and stared out of the window, so the barman
looked instead at Arthur who shrugged helplessly and said nothing. So the barman said, "Oh yes sir? Nice weather for it," and started pulling
pints. He tried again. "Going to watch the match this afternoon then?"
Ford glanced round at him.
"No, no point," he said, and looked back out of the window.
"What's that, foregone conclusion then you reckon sir?" said the barman.
"Arsenal without a chance?" "No, no," said Ford, "it's just that the world's about to end."
"Oh yes, sir, so you said," said the barman, looking over his glasses this
time at Arthur. "Lucky escape for Arsenal if it did." Ford looked back at him, genuinely surprised.
"No, not really," he said. He frowned.
The barman breathed in heavily. "There you are sir, six pints," he said.
Arthur smiled at him wanly and shrugged again. He turned and smiled
wanly at the rest of the pub just in case any of them had heard what was
going on. None of them had, and none of them could understand what he was
smiling at them for. A man sitting next to Ford at the bar looked at the two men, looked at
the six pints, did a swift burst of mental arithmetic, arrived at an answer he
liked and grinned a stupid hopeful grin at them.
"Get o," said Ford, "They're ours," giving him a look that would have
an Algolian Suntiger get on with what it was doing. Ford slapped a ve-pound note on the bar. He said, "Keep the change."
"What, from a ver? Thank you sir."
"You've got ten minutes left to spend it."
The barman simply decided to walk away for a