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

A jolt.

Trout Montague blinked awake, high solstitial summer sunlight shining directly into his salmonid eyes. He grimaced and tried to turn away from the source of his discomfort, only to find that he could not. A second yet more pressing source of discomfort flattened him to the floor, which he noted with thanks to his 180 degree vision comprised brass screwed dirty timber treads that would leave him dorsally ribbed. His attention reverted to the bulk that prevented his movement, and more urgently to the itchy coarse woollen uniform in which it was wrapped. Surprise was inevitable; the prima facie evidence would have been knee-jerking, if indeed he had knees. What utterly improbable incident could have led to the buxom matroshka being either prostrate or prone (he neither remembered nor cared) astride him. And evidently asleep as if from only one brand of exhaustion. Trout Montague grinned at the thought that his erstwhile apocryphal charm had finally realised some just reward, and kissed the Solnushka square on her rosy red lips, without rationing any attempt at passion. It had been a while.

It was of course all that was required to rekindle any emotion in the Russian. The Solnushka awoke with a fearful clatter and gave credence to the hell the custodian of which is a proverbial woman scorned.

"Why, take that, you filthy fish," she screamed and with the full blast of a commandant in the soviet red army slapped Trout Montague about the head and gills. Pinniped, who'd been idling awaiting some development in plot, rubbed his sealskin laurels gleefully.

But shortlivedly.

"... and you, you leering pervert", continued the bolshevik banshee placing a well-aimed kick right in the pinnipedal breadbasket.

The Jazzme winced sympathetically, simultaneously shushing in sharply and moving a protective hand to cover his nether regions, only to find that the Hypatia had quickwittedly beaten him to it and had inadvertently snagged one element of a plethora of bangleware in the button-fly of his dinner-suit. A brief flurry of tugging featuring the Hypatia's hand in close proximity to the Jazzme's groin ensued, featuring a great deal of frustration and climaxing in a release for the star-crossed pair.

Boots rolled his big canine eyes and in a dog-like manner continued to gnaw on one his two front legs which were crossed under his chin.

Orchid flushed. "Thit. That mutht've hurt", she murmured ambiguously, leaving it unclear where her leviathan sympathies lay.

***

The ovinally-helmed RouteMaster throbbed its way out of 1966 London, a destination uncertain. Merely two certainties existed: first, that travel in the four usual dimensions would ensure that the phrase "space-time continuum" would be bandied about with homosexual abandon; second, that the trout's contribution would be largely hackneyed peurile inuendo; and (c) that elements of screenplay would be pure cliche.

***

To the rear of the sheep, normality prevailed, insofar as the assembled menagerie continued to trade insults and barbs, as opposed to the alternative normality wherein an aroused welsh farmer stands erect begging favours from his woolly charge. The Hypatia pottered and fussed around a dessert comprising sponge, jelly and custard which she hoped would lend oil to troubled waters. The Jazzme offered that she was furrowing her brow over a mere trifle and continued with a swizzle-stick to chase an olive around his vodka martini. The seal and the trout were meanwhile locked together in a game that would challenge the integrity of both animals' mental agility and concentration.

"Get your flippers off my pawn", yelled the trout, ever-so tersely.

"Oh, this is yours is it?", grimaced Pinniped, mishearing and holding out a copy of Razzle, a magazine that asserted itself to be for men. "I should've known; the pages are all stuck together..."

***

Somewhere, the days weeks months and years whirred by way of a narrative device comprising the whirring of pages of a calendar ...

***

... 31 July 1956, Manchester England; "Look look, cried the Jazzme excitedly and not at all in the manner of an elite agent of Her Majesty's Secret Service, "...there's Jim Laker ...". The sudden unexpected appearance of a bus on the Old Trafford oval quite took the colonial tailender Maddocks by surprise inducing him to play and miss. LBW and 'owzat precipitated the erect index finger. Laker had an unprecedented ten wickets and England had the Ashes ...

... 27 May 1937, San Francisco USA: "Ooh look Jodan, we're home", cooed the Hypatia to the sheep as he manoeuvred the first London bus over the Golden Gate Bridge. That none of the 200,000 pedestrians reported that there were trotters on the wheel went oddly unreported in the Californian media ...

DMT, You're with us again!

How are things, old Trout?

Hi trout,

How you doing, welcome back

Good to see you around this place again.

Adib

Hello Fith Boy

Thpeak thuggethth that we thy-ould maybe put the buth thomewhere elthe becauthe it'th been a while and nobody will know what it'th for.

He thendth hith regardth, inthidentally.

Tho do I, and the Albatroth. The Man-Bear and the Limpet both made noitheth thy-uggethtive of...well...of having heard of you, thort of. All thothe other people you menthioned, I think they're thtill around, although thome of them might have gone thlightly normal.

I've thtill got my dreth with the thequinth. Do you think I thy-ould try thlim down a bit, and thee if I can thlip into it?

Mr Pinniped thayth your a dirty thtop-out and what do you mean by not coming and apologithing in perthon, but I'm thy-ure he doethn'y mean it.

Oh...it theemth he doeth, appararently.

Anyway, I think you're kind of nithe, tho welcome home. I hope the thtarth are thy-ining bright above you, even if they are upthide-down.

Yourth thintherely (and a little withtfully),

Orchid xXx

Those were the days my friend

The mutt still couldn't hold a tune but she didn't care. It was good to see old friends, albeit briefly.

Perhaps they could all go on another journey? A holiday even?

Oh yes those were the days

*wonders what exactly is going on, but thinks it's nice to see some old names around here*

*A worryingly mellow Solnushka beams expansively, fondly and, with her duty to womankind over - that's kicking Pin in the eggs I'd guess - advances on Trout with the intention of hugging and kissing him _properly_*

The sad thing is, it's taken me three weeks to think of anything even remotely funny to say on the subject...

OI! Trout, you back then?

What's up Doc ?

The Trout looked at Solnushka. "Fillet?" he asked.

And when he looked at the Singing Fish?

Hello there, you old salmonid, you.

You need to come back more often. Lot's of interesting things have happened. And now we are having another h2g2 Presidential election. And I am running with Jodan. How is that!

In spite of my past cranky behavior in relation to your, erm, somewhat unrepentant naughty behavior, I would be honored to have your support in the election. Waz is in charge of Avian recruitment and the seal is on board. Jazzme has pledged his support and affection. So, the old gang is assembling again for this campaign.

We could also use the loan of the bus, if that isn't too much to ask.

We will, naturally make it worth your while.

Hyp

I don't do sheep either.

Handstands are my speciality.

Am I not a beutiful woman Mr Pinniped?

No, Trout, you are not a beautiful woman.
I suppose we could speculate about inner beauty? On second thoughts, probably not.
And you've never exactly conveyed the attributes of the fair sex.

Nope. You're definitely a fish-male. I'm a seal-male. And we both hate sheep.

'Skillet' replies Solnushka. Firmly. And not at all bemusedly.

Firmly?

Trout Montague quivered with priapismic excitement ...

*looks disapprovingly as the salacious salmonid salivates*

*Wonders what all the big words mean*

'Surely one of you has brought a dictionary?'

The dog uncurled her gracious legs and flicked her tail with disdain.

'Boots?' Gasped Hypatia 'Is that really you?'

Jazzme scowled waiting for the mutt to raise its leg and shower him in its odorous fashion.

'Well we can't all stay in the playpen forever' she replied.

'It's time for me to grow up, Hypatia. Life is what it is.'

'But Booths, you thupothed to be my friend. You're thupothed to play with me!' Wailed Orchid, her tears alomost as odorous as the mutts well remembered shower.

'Orchid I shall take you in hand. Hypatia can help and I'm sure the Russian has a few feminine wiles to teach you. First we have to work on that stammer.'

Pinniped and Trout exploded; the seal with rage - the fish boy in his own way. How dare the dog change so drastically! How dare it presume to alter a character so finely drawn, so carefully crafted...

'Fish boy - a truce?'

'Agreed! Damn these women!'

'Oh, and boys, a bath wouldn't go amiss.'

Yeah, right

So how do you work out that a whale needs elocution?

Same way you reckon that a fish needs a bath, I guess...