It’s 14 years today since we lost Douglas Adams, today has been declared Towel Day, thankfully today isn’t a Thursday, he never quite got the hang of Thursdays.
One of the very few writers who could make me laugh out loud, a truly funny man.
“He hoped and prayed that there wasn’t an afterlife. Then he realized there was a contradiction involved here and merely hoped that there wasn’t an afterlife.”
A great loss – no-one has really come along and replaced him.
Not so much the afterlife – more sort of Apres Vie.
I recently rewatched the BBC Hitchhikers Guide TV show and realised the extent to which I almost knew it by heart. My wife enjoyed bits of it too once she got over the primitive special effects. She had found the books too blokey and had given up.
I realised that there were bits from the books and radio shows that I had been sure I had seen that were never in the TV show. For example I thought I had witnessed Zaphod Beeblebrox emerging from the Total Perspective Vortex unphased at being shown how insignificant he was compared to the vastness of the universe. “Hey. I’m Zaphod Beeblebrox!” I always loved that bit.
To be honest I wasn’t too impressed with his Non-hitchhiker work but he seemed to have been a unique, thoughtful and very funny man.
The books, the TV shows and the original LPs are different from each other in dozens of irritatingly confusing ways.
The film is different from all of them in the important respect of being shite.
I also saw a stage version in 1982 or thereabouts. That was different from the others as well.
He was a big Floyd fan and got the ultimate fanboy birthday present: the chance to play with them. As this appallingly filmed video shows.
The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don’t.
I suppose a tablet/smartphone does pretty much what his Guide would have done.
I love the Dirk books far more than the Hitchhiker ones, which largely lost their appeal from book 3 onwards. The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe was always my favourite, and diminishing returns thereafter.
But Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency and The Long Dark Tea Time Of The Soul are perfect – I adored them as a teenager and love them still. They make me wheeze and guffaw without even having to read them – lines reappear in my head unbidden from time to time and make me laugh.
Bless him. My favourite kind of atheist, too: he loved art and life and the world, and was deeply humane and sweet and funny, by all accounts. I wish Dawkins could’ve learned a bit more from him.
I only reread the first four Hitchhikers books a month or so ago after picking up an omnibus for two quid in the Amnesty bookshop. Like so many here have said, lines and entire scenes are still burned into my brain. I reckon the third book still has a lot to offer, not least alien space robots on a murderous rampage at the Lords Test. The fourth, well, it’s alright as an offbeat love story, probably a bit too slight, but it just shouldn’t have been a Hitchhiker book. Putting all that baggage in was too much for the story, and it would be a lot more fondly remembered if it had been a standalone. I haven’t reread the fifth book in twenty years, and I probably never will. I remember it being a bit too nasty and bitter. It’s easy to see how Adams might have ended up resenting the Guide and the attendant expectations, but I wish he’d kept it offpage.
I loved Dirk as well, @disappointmentbob, but I wonder if you’ve ever seen the Doctor Who story City Of Death, already referenced somewhere in this thread? The first DG book is essentially the same story stripped of all the Timelord trimmings. I suppose he could plagiarise his own work as much as he liked, but at thirteen or whatever I was, I felt a bit cheated.
Yeah, I heard about the DW thing, but I was never aware of that episode (being 1 when it aired!), and it’s only the “alien trying to wipe out humanity at the dawn of time” element that got re-used, isn’t it? The whole Reg storyline was adapted from an unaired episode, wasn’t it?
Anyway, I existed in blissful ignorance (still do – never seen City of Death, having not a great deal of interest in old who), so I luckily got to enjoy it entirely on its own terms!
I’m not that bothered about it anymore. My thirteen year old self was much more of a judgmental little prick than I am these days. I think I will pick a copy up next time I’m in a second hand bookshop.
Lovely crinkly edges.
Slarty Bartfast was always my favourite character.
But only when played by Richard Vernon….Bill Nighy was a serious piece of miscasting.
Aye, the man was a one off aren`t all the gifted and great?
His stint as script editor during Tom Baker’s Who was a gift too. I recently watched City Of Death, and the gags in that are superb.
Inspector Duggan: You know what I don’t understand ?
Romana: I expect so.
Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.
Very deep. You should send that into Reader’s Digest, there’s a page for people like you.
S: I’d much rather be happy than right any day.
A: And are you?
S: Ah, no – that’s where it all breaks down …
***
S: Slartibartfast- A: Arthur ( as if you needed reminding).
“It is a mistake to think you can solve any major problems just with potatoes.”
Let’s not forget The Meaning of Liff:
“Grimsby: a morsel of something gristly and foul-tasting concealed in a mouthful of stew or pie. Grimsbies are sometimes the result of careless cooking, but are more often concealed there deliberately by freemasons. Upon encountering a grimsby, the correct masonic procedure is as follows: remove the grimsby using the silver tongs provided, then hop over to your host on one leg and ram the grimsby firmly up his nose shouting, “Take that, you smug masonic bastard.””
That might not be absolutely verbatim, but goddammit, it was entirely from memory. That’s the legacy of Douglas, right there.
Here’s the real thing. I knew it was longer!
A lump of something gristly and foultasting concealed in a mouthful of stew or pie.
Grimsbies are sometimes merely the result of careless cookery, but more often they are placed there deliberately by Freemasons.
Grimbies can be purchased in bulk from any respectable Masonic butcher on giving him the secret Masonic handbag. One is then placed correct masonic method of dealing with it. If the guest is not a Mason, the host may find it entertaining to watch how he handles the obnoxious object.
It may be
(a) manfully swallowed, invariably bringing tears to the eyes.
(b) chewed with resolution for up to twenty minutes before eventually resorting to method (a),
(c) choked on fatally.
The Masonic handshake is easily recognised by another Mason incidentally, for by it a used grimsby is passed from hand to hand.
The secret Masonic method for dealing with a grimsby is as follows : remove it carefully with the silver tongs provided, using the left hand. Cross the room to your host, hopping on one leg, and ram the grimsby firmly up his nose, shouting, ‘Take that, you smug Masonic bastard.’
Hoff (vb.)
To deny indignantly something which is palpably true.
Great book – formed a skewed view of life and sensibility which continues to exist in my head.
Huby (noun)
A half-erection large enough to be a publicly embarrassing bulge in the trousers, not large enough to be of any use to anybody.
I still indulge in fulking at Christmas and Halloween.
(I’m currently having a look through the book and actually have tears standing on my cheeks as I type, it’s so funny.)
Writtle (vb)
Of a steel ball, to settle into a hole.
Dunboyne (n.)
The moment of realisation that the train you have just patiently watched pulling out of the station was the one you were meant to be on.
and then there are those linked terms – showing it must’ve been properly thought through (and indeed all makes perfect sense)
Glossop (n)
A rouge blob of food – Glossops, which are generally streaming hot and highly adhesive invariably fall off your spoon and on to the surface of your host’s highly polished antique-rosewood dining table. If this has not, or may not have, been noticed by the company present, swanage (q.v.) may be employed.
If you can’t find the book, just stick the attached link in your Favourites (I know I have)
http://www.lib.ru/ADAMS/liff.txt
Swanage (pl.n.)
Swanage is the series of diversionary tactics used when trying to cover up the existence of a glossop (q.v.) and may include
(a) uttering a highpitched laugh and pointing out of the window (NB. this doesn’t work more that twice)
(b) sneezing as loudly as possible and wiping the glossop off the table in the same movement as whipping out your handkerchief
(c) saying ‘Christ! I seen to have dropped some shit on your table’ (very unwise)
(d) saying ‘Christ, who did that?’ (better)
(e) pressing your elbow on the glossop itself and working your arms slowly to the edge of the table; (f) leaving the glossop where it is but moving a plate over it and putting up with sitting at an uncomfortable angle the rest of the meal;
or, if the glossop is in too exposed a position
(g) leaving it there unremarked except for the occasional humourous glance
Neil Gaiman picked up the baton quite successfully in Anansi Boys; hilarious writing with big ideas.
I’ll put forward “Last chance to see” (with Mark Carwardine) – wise, sad and hilarious at the same time. Especially the chapter on New Zealand’s Kakapo.
The man who gave us LCTS and TMOL as his more “minor” works is a legend to me.
LCTS is probably the final book on my shelf if I had to give them all away one by one. Second last would probably be Liff.
I’ve been on holiday with Mark Carwardine a couple of times (as a paying guest) and it’s very clear he still thinks the world of Douglas all these years later.
He tells a story that Douglas was asked to open a very high level physics conference once, as a bit of a left field suggestion, rather than some dry academic. He wowed the assembled brains with his knowledge and stayed for the whole conference, contributing to many debates. Truly brain the size of a planet stuff.
Every so often I drive unexpectedly through a Liff place name and I smile from ear to ear.
Abeliene
Descriptive of the refreshing coolness of the underside of a pillow