h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Mum's the word - oh, sorry, I didn't realise - No, of course! Wouldn't dream of it! (**Scurries off to broadcast to the nation the allegations of coleslawphilia and the unfortunate accident**)

**beams brightly at indifferent clientele**Come on chaps, shake a leg, lets move along. V. special day in the life of the big P. Celebrations all round. Have a stuff yourselves with . Put the music on, jig about a bit.

*gets out some white crepe paper and strings it across the tin ceiling*
*opens box of fresh scones and puts them out on a cracked Staffordshire china plate bearing a picture of a hunter and two pointers (the canine sort)*

There you are. Tell us how old you are.

I'm 38, going on 83...

And I dearest super talented Lil, (*pauses, lost in reverie*), am but a few days younger than your goodself, if I remember correctly, and I may not always do so. One advantage, I find, of increasing age is the assumed authority that means people believe the nonsense I put forward. So, even if I'm wrong I'm right! (Or are they just humouring me?)

*Places a large carrot- with a lit sparkler in the center on the bar. WM wouldn't even attempt to place the correct number of candles on the cake as it would violate the fire code. She wouldn't want to be ~that~ subversive!*

Happy Birthday, dear Pheroneous.
Happy Birthday to you.

Deeply touched, deeply touched. (Good judgement re: Fire precautions!)

Raises his to P; "Cheers!"

Sentiment approved. Timing badly out. That was yesterday. This is now, we need to keep moving. (Desperately!)

Talking of which, old son, who what where and when is this party of yours?

Evnin all how are we?

*Hic*

wow must be good he has lost the power of speach

Welcome indeed, curious televisual Saint person. Take a pew, How can we make your stay more comfortable. Please try and ignore Peet, I'm afraid he is, how can I put this, a little happier than usual.

I see the new telly in the saloon has them all fixated. No-one has spoken for days. Somebody said they were all dead in here, so I came for a peek...but no, death has a different smell. This is more like catatonia, which is nothing like cat pee, but just as pervasive, and musky. Maybe if I change the station to something other than apocolyptic evangelism... Wha! Oh sorry you were watching that. Sorry.
Bye. Enjoy...

Try not to wake the residents,old son, there's a good chap.

Peet. Psst, Peet. Peet old chap. Wakey wakey! You're wanted elsewhere, something about parties. Peet, do wake up. PEET!!!

Oh dear!

GruntsnortgurglewhatwhatWHAT?

[I love getting the Guide to index those words! ]

I bet all those little people who do all the running around when someone does a search give an especially big cheer when a researcher looks for that word!

I find it might odd that nobody has threatened to blow up the Sallon, whereas everywhere else is under threat. Perhaps this is where the bomber is holed out.
[Moderator note: I said 'bomber']