Ford Prefect: How would you react if I told you that I’m not from Guildford after all, but from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse?
Arthur Dent: I don’t know. Why? Do you think it’s the sort of thing you’re likely to say?
Ford Prefect: Drink up. The world’s about to end.
Arthur Dent: This must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays.
Why Rhino House?
“The boys were all feeling rough
Dear God we’d all had enough……
And the dressing room was filthy & cold
With orange wallpaper, 40 years old.
It stank like a Rhino House.”
Who is the jester figure?
His name is Hugo, & no, I don’t know why he looks miserable.
What is a charivari & why is ThursdayAgain almost one?
1. a discordant mock serenade (often to newlyweds), made with instruments & mock-instruments such as pans, kettles, etc. Usually delivered in the form of a parade.
2. a confused noise; din
[from French, from Late Latin caribaria headache, from Greek karēbaria, from karē head + barus heavy].
As a blog, ThursdayAgain has the advantage of only being a very small din, is only mildly confused (or concussed, if you prefer) & can be enjoyed indoors – hence “almost”.
Should I take advice from the Agony Aunts or plan based on the ThursdayAgain horoscopes?
Do try & keep up……
23 November – 21 December
The fates confirm that September will be your last month in your current role, after which some other poor sod will be the company’s biggest arsehole.
September will not be as challenging as you might have feared, say the fates, since, because of industrial action, your prosthetics won’t be delivered until the 28th.
WIT & WISDOM
Sadly, intelligence is usually trumped by glamour.
Pay to play.
Dear Agony Aunts
My husband has recently taken to wandering naked around the streets of our small village during the “wee-small-hours”, wearing nothing but a pair of old, tartan carpet slippers & his fishing hat. In most other ways he is as normal as the day we married (60-odd years ago) & doesn’t seem able to explain clearly why he has begun to carry on in this way.
I recently explained the situation the vicar, in confidence, & asked him to have a word with George; the upshot of which is that we are now not welcome at choir practice or church social events & most of the village knows what is happening. On top of everything else this new humiliation is really just too much!
Do you think it would be appropriate to take-out the blabbermouth vicar at the same time as I deal with George, & can you offer any advice on a discrete method of disposing of any incriminating forensic evidence?
We do understand how you must feel about all this, we cannot even begin to count the number of times we’ve been left in the same position.
Our advice is that rather then over-reacting with poor George it would be kinder just to buy him a new pair of slippers & perhaps something a little more modern & waterproof in the way of headgear. Since everybody in the village now seems to know about George’s little “eccentricity” we’d suggest that no further embarrassment can arise & a quiet word with the local constabulary should ensure that he is regularly returned home safely & without fuss.
As regards the blabbermouth vicar we do feel that this sort of slackness in pastoral care is all too common amongst the modern clergy & would suggest that as an embellishment to whatever you might have planned, you ensure that his mutilated corpse is found dressed in a combination of “exotic” women’s lingerie & bondage gear (we’ve e-mailed you a catalogue in case you’re not too sure where these can be found) & with an orange stuffed in his mouth & a pineapple stuffed wherever you might think appropriate.
As regards the forensics, evening gloves are your friend here, & buy any “supplies” from outside the village, using cash & an assumed name.
Go with God.
Love can get no tougher….