Chapter 1

           

           Thehousestoodonaslightrisejustontheedgeofthevillage.ItstoodonitsownandlookedoverabroadspreadofWestCountryfarmland.Notaremarkablehousebyanymeans—itwasaboutthirtyyearsold,squattish,squarish,madeofbrick,andhadfourwindowssetinthefrontofasizeandproportionwhichmoreorlessexactlyfailedtopleasetheeye.

           TheonlypersonforwhomthehousewasinanywayspecialwasArthurDent,andthatwasonlybecauseithappenedtobetheonehelivedin.Hehadlivedinitforaboutthreeyears,eversincehehadmovedoutofLondonbecauseitmadehimnervousandirritable.Hewasaboutthirtyaswell,darkhairedandneverquiteateasewithhimself.Thethingthatusedtoworryhimmostwasthefactthatpeoplealwaysusedtoaskhimwhathewaslookingsoworriedabout.Heworkedinlocalradiowhichhealwaysusedtotellhisfriendswasalotmoreinterestingthantheyprobablythought.Itwas,too—mostofhisfriendsworkedinadvertising.

           Ithadn’tproperlyregisteredwithArthurthatthecouncilwantedtoknockdownhishouseandbuildanbypassinstead.

           Ateighto’clockonThursdaymorningArthurdidn’tfeelverygood.Hewokeupblearily,gotup,wanderedblearilyroundhisroom,openedawindow,sawabulldozer,foundhisslippers,andstompedofftothebathroomtowash.

           Toothpasteonthebrush—so.Scrub.

           Shavingmirror—pointingattheceiling.Headjustedit.Foramomentitreflectedasecondbulldozerthroughthebathroomwindow.Properlyadjusted,itreflectedArthurDent’sbristles.

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