Saturday, December 27, 2003

They got in touch with me the day after Douglas Adams died. Well actually, two days after, but the day after I read it in the paper. I never read the newspaper on the day it comes, in case it turns into tomorrow's newspaper instead, like in that show Early Edition, and then I have to go and be a hero or something. So Douglas Adams died one day, I read about it the next day, and they sent a telegram the next next. I didn't know people still used telegrams, I would have thought faxes and email are ever so much faster, but I didn't want to embarrass them, so I just replied to the telegram with another telegram that said, No.

They came around the next next next day. They were quite polite about it. Firm, but polite. They must get a lot of training in these sorts of things, I was quite impressed. But I still didn't want to go. So they went away and came back the next next next next day. I gave them a cup of tea and smiled and frowned at the appropriate times when they spoke and then I drew a diagram of the house with a particular emphasis on the door. For good measure I threw in an X where their car was parked. All in scale, of course. They went away. By their third visit it was Thursday, and I had decided that I should always go fishing on Thursdays, so when they got to the door there was a Gone Fishing sign on it.

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