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

Australian?!

She told me she was Austrian! But then I do recollect that she also told me she would take me places I've never been, and I bloody well haven't left this godforsaken place in...

*looks at a watch*

*thinks better of this, and looks at a calendar*

...nye on 3 years! Bye Jove, I think I've been duped!

Redders Ole Mate How's You? I've been chatting up the Lasses. Sameo sameo. So you gonna hang out a bit?

Hang out old boy

*checks flies*

God Lord you gave the old ticker a fright there Kidders ! Last time Mr Todger was given an outing was ....

*looks at a watch*

*thinks better of this, and looks at a calendar*

... nye on 3 years! Where's Nursey !

Hey Mate I'm a trained Medical Prfessional. What can I do? Dr.D

It's bloody well been a bore for three years, what! A shame a group of fine chaps such as us can't get a bit of "gunnery maintenance" nowadays... it's tragic what parents are teaching their daughters anymore. Hrumph!

Quite so old boy, I was just saying to chef the other day - "Young fillies just ain't what they used to be in days of the Raj don't-yer-know!"

I'll tell you what (mutter) I was just checking the hedges for straighness the other day - piece of string and a bob-weight what, and the bloody things by the Captain's parking slot were half a degree out....

HALF A DEGREE OUT....

Bally gard'ners just can't cut the mustard.... they should all be shot at dawn.... In my day suicide was considered the decent thing for any member of staff falling short of their duties....



Squabbling Bleeder Bassman K.F.S. D.F.C. N.F.I. & Bar

*Geriatric staff struggle to bring equally weathered-looking leather armchair into club. Eventually they arrange it in an empty space in the arc of similar chairs gathered round the fire, amidst much straining and heavy breathing. One particularly decrepit retainer collapses and after lying there for some time is eventually carried out on a stretcher by paramedics, causing a flutter of interest amongst the club members in attendence, but nothing more. Murmurs of "wasn't that Hollerthorpe?" "No, that was Thwackett, the chap who was at Omdurman" circulate briefly, but eventually the excitement subsides to a gentle quiet punctuated by occasional wheezes and coughs.*

*Time passes.*

*Suddenly, with an ear-splitting 'CRASH!' a figure shatters through the skylight and lands, blinking, in the recently deposited chair. It is Wing Commander Yalson (KSA, DFC(II - bar), KFC, NFC, OMD)*

What-o chaps! Sorry for the unexpected entrance, but I've just come from the 892 Squadron annual dinner. I never flew with them, but for some reason they invite me every year and then throw me out of a helicopter. I asked them that if they were going to do it this year, then could they throw me through that skylight, as I was coming here anyway. Always the same with these senior service chaps. They seem cultured and refined on the surface, but you always get the impression they'd rather be fighting in some godforsaken South-American dockside bar. Always an atmosphere of repressed violence in the mess.

Is Bassman here? Good good.

Anyone fancy a stiff Bloody Mary? Falling 500ft always puts me in the mood for a red one.

*hrumphs about a bit amidst all the fuss*

Well in all my years I've never seen a landing quite like that! But I'm sure the only thing stiff that we need more of in this place is the drinks.

*coughs, and chokes a bit*
You young folk, you need not make remark to that comment.

A bit of excitement goes straight to my bladder these days...what's that cursed Inkers up and done with the bathroom?

*goes and sits in a chair next to Bassman*

I motion that by whatever way entries into this club are effected, it should be done with a minimum of fuss. P'on my word, this ruckus was enough to jingle the ice in my glass.
Ice?
Ice in my Glen Giddy?
P'on my word, what are we comin' to, is what I want to know. Last time I found ice in my whisky we lost the Empire.

Ice in yer Single Malt?

A goo thing never happened on the back of an Iced Single Malt ...

Them damned Gypos been cursing us again ... damn them to blazes, bad eggs every one ...

Harumph, to coin a phrase

*opens an eye at the mention of "a Red one"*

What what what ?

*hears the unmistakeable chinking sound of ice in a single malt and glares around the club house for the offender*


What in the blazes is that abomination Dellers. I didn't die in the war for this spawn of the devil. Every damnable thing has gorn to the dogs. Next thing you'll know we'll be letting Filly's into the Club

That's wot I was just saying wasn't it! How in blazes did that ice get into my, MY, MY single malt. Somebody must have put it in while I was having 40 winks between drinks. I hope you all realise what such a heineous deed committed in these hallowed halls can only mean: INVASION! Aforementioned hallowed halls have been invaded, that's wot, by individuals who not only do not shy away from puttin' ice in their own single malt, no they put ice in OTHER people's single malt. If that isn't the absolute limit I don't know what is. Ekkers sez Gypos. I see no Gypos. *peers suspiciously over rim of whisky glass* Crawled back into the wodwork, most likely. Will have to fire the place.

I say Yallers old chap....

Just consider yerself lucky they weren't inverted in that chopper before they threw you out, else we'd be scraping bits of you up off the 18th green....

and the 18th fairway....

and the 17th fairway....

and the car park....



Squabbling Bleeder Bassman

ZZZZZ.....zzzzz.....ZZZZZ.....zzzzz.....ZZZZZ.....NO! NO! SEMAPHORE WON'T WORK in the dark.....Oh, sorry about that. Having a terrible dream about my old school. Dreamt my CCF platoon had locked me in the sports cupboard with a bomb, and the only way I could save myself was by informing Aristotle, who was in there with me, through the use of flags and modern dance.

Bally strange what the subconscious comes up with when left to its own devices, eh? I haven't thought about my CCF platoon since they all died in that terrible accident when someone mined the tuck shop. Tragic shame. Good job I was on the other side of the grounds at the time or it could have been me. As it was, my alibi was perfect.

Is the bar still open? What's-your-name, get me another would you? There's a good chap. Yes, you. Mallet, is it? Well there's a good chap, Mallet.

******A large elephant crashes through the ceiling of the Chaps Club, followed quickly by Busters holding a shotgun and a shooter *****

Gosh!!

Sorry for the ruckus fellows. This new “Aeriel Elephant Polo League’ still has some teething problems.

Speaking of teeth, has anyone seen mine? They fell out when I landed on Bassman.

Sorry about that old sport.

Squabbling Bleeder Bassman etc, etc, etc.

I say Busters old chap, that bally elefunt has broken m' jolly monacle!

Dashed unsporting.

I'll give it an hour head start, then I'll get some of the chaps together for a bit of sport eh what?

WHAT....?

It's already dead!?!?!?!?!

I say there a limits a chap will allow himself to be pushed to, but this takes the biscuit....

Busters old chap It's PISTOLS AT DAWN....



Squabbling Bleeder Bassman D.F.C. N.F.I. & Bar.

Busters you coward.... I threw the gauntlet down 2 days ago and you've not picked it up yet. Your not worthy of that uniform you once wore....



You know, the one before the women's clothing thing....





Squabbling Bleeder Bassman N.F.I. D.F.C. & Bar

*sounds from beneath the old dust covered copy of The Times draped over figure in armchair*
"Ahm a lumberjack and ahm okay, ah sleep orl naht and ah work orl day"
*right foot twitches in time to the beat*
...

*to himself*

Elephants and bloody lumberjacks...

Pshaw!

Can't a chap get a good bit of sport anymore? Almost wet myself when ol' Bassers called out Buster-boy, what but that's turned half as exciting as the time granny lost her bonnet in the bathroom...