Amelia B.

Amelia B

Check out our Field Researchers Call to Arms. This is an advert run on intergalactic satellite to advertise the Guide, sadly this was never transmitted on Earth.

It's good enough name for now. It suits my purpose. Same as the body. It wouldn't have been my first choice, but it's not bad. I love my work. I am going to carve this little planet into tiny acid-sharp pieces, and once I've done that I'll move onto the next planet and so on and so forth, until I get the job of local editor myself. From then on it's all a case of politics not field-researching. Let me tell you, I'll be running this whole publishing empire within a hundred years. You see if I'm not.

Whatever the field, I am an expert. If it's good taste you're after, then look no further. I think the unthinkable and say the unsayable. I'm the person you visit when you want hard, real sense. My astonishingly appropriate cover of international reporter might seem like a rare example of the h2g2 editors getting things right for once. Not so. My original job was as a fish-gutter in a factory in Minsk. Within a week I had taken over the company, floated it on the Russian stock exchange, sold my stake, bought a dacha, thrown a party, taken a job with Reuters and been promoted to Paris. I have only one special subject - the world and all it contains.

Early reports from Earth:

I am not amused.

Have your excuses ready

You are going to suffer, Ford

Forget everything we said about Paris.

A gift

Don't let him loose on the fish.