So long, and thanks for all the fish.
I’ve known this day was coming for a while, but I suppose I’ve been hoping for a reprieve of some sort. That’s not how it works of course, but you can’t blame a fellow for having hopes.
You can lay down or put a paper bag over your head if you like, but that won’t help either. The plans have been on file at the local planning office for several years and there was plenty of opportunity to file a protest at the appropriate time so there’s no sense acting all surprised now. If you can’t be bothered to take an interest in local affairs, that’s your own look out. By my estimate the Vogons will be here sometime this afternoon.
I am certain that John understands exactly what this is all about. No doubt he’s already standing on a street corner somewhere with corks in his ears, clutching a towel from Marks and Spencer, trying desperately to hitch a lift.
If you have no idea what I’m going on about, might I suggest some worthwhile reading? (If you prefer, there’s always the movie, but I suggest the older version instead of the new one.) You’d best hurry though; if Ford and Arthur have already nipped off to the pub, then you have less than 10 minutes left. (Last orders, please!)
I’m just astonished this didn’t happen on a Thursday.