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Far out in the unchartered backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral Arm of the Galaxy lies an unregarded yellow sun.

Orbiting this at a distance of roughly 92M miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet.

Situated near the centre of a small, damp island is a mind-dumbingly dull, mustard-yellow village whose predominant ape-descended life-forms are so primitive that they still think that paying £8m for a hotel with no customers is a pretty neat idea. In the Sidereal Gazetteer this village is catalogued as "Mbri-Dge Alpha" but that wholly remarkable book, "The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy", calls it simply Ambridge.


David Archer awoke. It was a beautiful morning. He listened to the birds singing; of course he only heard them when, like today, Ruth had taken the kids to stay with her mother in Purdah. "Yes," he thought, "it's good to be alive" He got up, put on his dressing gown and went to make himself a cup of tea.

It was then that he noticed the bulldozers.

"Oi, clear orf moi larrnd" he shouted (his accent belying the fact that he'd been educated at Sherbourne)

The foreman (who was well-used to such situations) spoke. "We've every right to be here. It's all here in black and white on paper" David looked at the paper. It said that the farm had been acquired by a consortium of Borchester Land and the Borsetshire Off-Roaders Club to make the country's first architect-designed, purpose-built 4x4 assault course.

(The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy defines the Borsetshire Off-Roaders Club as "a bunch of mindless jerks who will be first against the wall after the Revolution", which is high praise when compared to its entry on Borchester Land)

"But," said David, "they can't do that! They need my permission"

"Oh. They've got permission all right. It's here on this other piece of paper signed by a Mr Kenton Archer. He left a note for you"

David looked at the note. It was Kenton's writing true enough. The note said simply "Dave: so long and thanks for all the ……… well, what exactly?"

It would be nice to know how this everyday story of country folk continues but there would be little point. Precisely five minutes later the utterly insignificant blue-green planet was itself demolished to make way for 5000 mock-Tudor mini-planets (a Megacrawford Development).

Happily not all the inhabitants of Ambridge perished in this tragedy!!!

Even more happily Shula, Peggy, Jack, Caroline and Sid Perks did!!!


Early editions of the Hitch Hiker's Guide had this to say about Ambridge: harmless.

Subsequent editions of the Guide amended this to: Mostly harmless. The defining event which led to the change occurred when a resident, one Mrs Shula Hebden, sold her soul to the Devil so that she could conceive and bear a child. Selling one's soul to the Devil was not a normal act, even amongst such primitive life-forms. Mrs Hebden was in fact driven into this act by the impotency of her husband, Mark, who was then murdered by the Devil to ensure that the infernal pact remained secret. Sadly his death was totally in vain because the village was totally oblivious to his impotency despite the fact that he was a Liberal Democrat district councillor.

The Guide has more recently been updated to give a fuller account of Ambridge. This is due to the selfless efforts of a researcher for the Guide, a man who without regard for personal safety spent an entire year there.

The Guide now reveals that the ape-descended life-forms were, contrary to popular belief, only the third most intelligent creatures in the village. The second most intelligent were the llamas, who cunningly disguised this by eating grass and observing the other villagers. The llamas had in fact detected the imminent destruction of the village and tried to communicate this to the villagers but other pressing matters (eg footpath surveys, the flower and produce show) meant that they did not in fact detect this. The messages were received and understood by a Ms Deb Z. of Much Wittering on the Web, UK. When she attempted to publish this information it was all dismissed as the fevered outpouring of a deranged mind (as evidenced by the mustard-yellow staining on her keyboard fingers) Meanwhile the llamas slipped away undetected shortly before the tragedy, accompanied only by a small, mongrel dog.

The most intelligent creatures on the planet were the representatives of a race of hyper-intelligent pan-dimensional beings. They were conducting experiments to determine the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything (having already been told that the answer was a Gloucester Old Spot pig). These hyper-intelligent pan-dimensional beings when projected into our galaxy assume a form not unlike ferrets. Their experiments went greatly awry when what proved to be their final representatives were murdered by a Mr Joe Grundy. The Hitch Hiker's Guide to The Galaxy states that thenceforth we all started going to Hell in a handcart (or, in the case of Mr Grundy, a pony and trap)

The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy also records anomalies in the geo-temporal relastics surrounding Ambridge.

The time is always just after 2pm or 7pm. Sunday has a frisson of Groundhog Day about it. There is of course no Saturday; this is just one of many locations where Saturday has been removed and taken to the infinitely relaxed planet of Ursa Minor Beta where the time is always Saturday afternoon just before the beach bars close.

Ambridge is also surrounded by a force field which isolates it from the influence of the rest of the planet as a result of which:

1. no one ever discusses the latest episode of EastEnders

2. no one ever goes to watch Felpersham City even though they have now reached the dizzy heights of the First Division of the football league. (Actually this omission is not so surprising - due to the constant re-branding of the Football League, the title "First Division" is now applied to what was formerly the Borsetshire Junior Sunday League Division 3)

3. there is no employment outside of Ambridge, other than a stasis field created by the ferrets known as "Hungary". (The ferrets created for their own race a documentary film about those trapped in the stasis field in which nothing ever happens. It is entitled "Lost in Hungarian Translation")

4. no one ever leaves (although there is a category of the Disappeared whose absence is never satisfactorily explained)


The Nutrimatic Drink Dispenser was launched with massive publicity by the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation. It could, it was claimed, synthesise the drink which your palate craved by a nutrimatic scanning of your body mass.

David Archer kicked the Nutrimatics Drink Dispenser as, for the umpteenth time, it produced a beverage which was almost exactly unlike a pint of Shires.

"So, Sam" he said, "you're not really from Devon, as you have always claimed, but you do in fact originate from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Aldeberan"

Sam marvelled, not for the first time, at David's capacity to repeat in tones of great profundity precisely the same information as he had just been given.

"And this is a space ship."

Sam marvelled yet again

"Well it was awfully decent of you to rescue me from the destruction of the earth by taking me with you when you hitched a lift from this space ship"

(Author's Note: see how inserting simple statements in the mouth of an intellectually-challenged but kindly character enables you to travel countless light years of your plot without all that tedious messing about in hyper-prose. This technique is named after the character type involved and is known as the Heart of Gold Principle)

"Anyway," continued David, "there's one thing I don't understand. If you do come from Aldeberan, how come you know so much more than Ruth and me about cows"

The answer was blindingly obvious but Sam let it pass. David continued, "Look at the way you introduced us to the wonders of platemeters."

The Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy has this to say on the subject of platemeters:

Forget about towels. The modern hitch hiker always carries one of these. This is your single most important piece of equipment. So what is a platemeter? It's bright, shiny with lots of pretty coloured buttons and dials. Its functions are not practical but psychological. It will convince the more simple-minded indigenous life-forms that you are an expert on any subject you might choose in order to secure employment. If your platemeter should be accidentally damaged, replacement parts are available from any branch of Starbase DiY stores

"Right," said Sam "I'm hungry. Let's find somewhere to eat."

David went misty-eyed for a moment as he thought longingly of dear Ruth's pepperoni pizza at the moment when it emerged from the microwave.

"I know, let's go to Jackiways, the Restaurant at the End of the Universe"

"Isn't that just the other side of Darrington?" asked David

"Not quite" answered Sam "but you're going to love the floorshow. The compére's name is Ken Tondlespleen"


DAVID: So this is the Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

Sam hovers on the brink of apoplexy as yet again David makes a statement of the obvious.

SAM: Well it's the ship park at least.

David suddenly becomes animated and dashes over to a sad figure lurking in the corner.

DAVID: Hey, Tony, whatever are you doing here?

TONY: No stop it. Don't pretend you really care.

SAM: Say, David, do you know this robot?

DAVID: Robot? This isn't a robot; it's my cousin. You know ….. from Ambridge."

TONY: Ambridge? Ambridge!! Don't talk to me about Ambridge!!! If I said it was absolutely ghastly, I'd be lying. It's a million times worse than that.

SAM: No this is definitely one of the new generation of Sirius Cybernetics robots - the ones with the genuine people personalities.

TONY (mainly to David) Sounds frightful, doesn't it. Believe me it is. I'm a prototype actually. Do you know that I have 10,000 intonations for saying "good morning" so that you will realise that the morning is anything but good. I've used them all at least 50 times on your planet. I'm not getting you down, am I?

DAVID: I don't understand. How can my cousin be a robot?

TONY: The ferrets brought me in to replace your real cousin. Their experiments needed an organic farm and the real Tony was being difficult. There I was, brain the size of a planet, and they asked me to pick the carrots. Did I tell you that I've got this terrible pain in all the diodes down the left side of my shoulder. I've asked for them to be replaced but nobody ever listens (certainly not the Welsh windbag).

DAVID: People always did wonder about Tony suddenly changing from the playboy of Western Borsetshire into a middle-aged whinger. But no one ever suspected you were a robot.

Suddenly they were interrupted as the flashing lights of another spaceship appeared by them. It was a long silver ship which landed without fuss, its long legs unlocking with the smooth ballet of technology.

SAM: What a ship!

A ramp descended and light flooded the dingy ship park. A small figure appeared which seemed to David both totally alien and strangely familiar. As it approached, David could see that it was carrying a clipboard. On the clipboard was a list full of highlighting, ticks and those stars and smiley faces that teachers nowadays have to give to fourteen year olds whenever they happen to spell their names correctly.

ALIEN: Are you David Archer?

DAVID: Err, yes.

ALIEN: David Thomas Arbuthnot Archer?

DAVID: Yes.

ALIEN: Well I've just come to tell you that your wife has the hots for your cowman

With that the alien returned to its ship. The ramp retracted, the legs locked back into position and in a wink the ship left.

Soobagger the Infinitely Prolonged was a creature with a mission. Not a very good mission but a mission none the less.

Soobagger was also a victim. After years of trying to make her way in life, to better herself and her family (all of whom seemed strangely resistant to betterment) she finally made it. Something which none of her race had previously achieved. She became immortal.

Actually it was all an accident. She was walking home one day past the pigs when, in one of those freak moments of quantum mechanics, all the contents of her shopping bag flew sideways into a pig ark. The bottles broke and the contents flowed out into the pig manure - Post Office glue, green ink (for the professional poison pen letter writer), security tape, a colour chart (50 shades of off-white) and a bottle of vodka that Christopher had asked her to get for him. The heady mixture gave off fumes that she could not escape and the whole thing left her immortal.

Initially this was great. Outliving all the people she had always envied, cleaning up on long term investments. But it left Soobagger without a purpose in life; she'd always aspired to be better but how can you be better than immortal? It was then that she devised her mission. She would seek out each sentient being in the galaxy. More than that she would do it in alphabetical order. And when she had found them she would pass on a piece of gossip to each of them.

Well, it helped to pass the time.


SAM: We've done well to grab a table, David. Come on - let's see what's on the menu.

(Author's Note: the Bistromatic Drive is the latest thing in plot development. It makes the Heart of Gold Technique look like a dead donkey. You can jump instantly to any point in your plot without all that tedious messing about with characters with kind hearts. All you do is sit the characters around a restaurant table and they can cover the missing bits of plots in a few sentences)

A sulky-looking waitress comes over.

WAITRESS: I might be able to fit you in but I've still got to go over to my cleaning job, help out in the shop and pick Georgie up.

The waitress flounces off. She reappears with a trolley and removes the lid, revealing a strange animal dressed in sharp business suit and pigman's wellies

CREATURE: Good day, sirs. It is my pleasure to present our range of high-quality meat products, namely myself. Would you care for a gourmet burger? Made from freshly ground meat from my rump. Or a cordon bleu sausage made from my tender, virtually fat-free loins. Allow me to present you with the menu of the choice cuts available from me - you will notice a drawing of my face on the front cover.

Sam and David start to peruse the menu

DAVID: Is it normal for animals to ask you to eat them?

CREATURE: Oh absolutely. Things are pretty cut-throat in the modern meat products industry. You have to get out there and market yourself. Could I suggest that you hurry. I have a business lunch set up with that party of publicans at the next table. If you're not quick, I have total confidence that I will have done a wholesale deal with them.

David and Sam order steaks and the creature leaves, a self-satisfied grin on its face.

DAVID: Did you notice how that creature actually talked out of its backside?

SAM (looking around): Hush. Isn't that Mattblack Upstarto over there. You know, the fabulously wealthy owner of Megacrawford Developments. He wears the loudest suits in the galaxy. They've been banned in several star systems as a threat to the auditory well-being of their population.

VOICE OFF: Hello, Dave

DAVID: Kenton? You're here too?

KENTON: You were always the one for super-intelligent questions, weren't you, Dave?

DAVID: But how did you escape when Ambridge was destroyed?

KENTON: Ah, you know, eddies in the space-time continuum.

DAVID: What? Eddie's here too?

KENTON: No, of course not. History came to regard the disappearance of Eddie's cider recipe as one of the greatest losses from the destruction of the Earth. Actually I'm working here. I now go by the name of Ken Tondlespleen and I'm the host of the cabaret. Still, me working here means that folk back in Ambridge were right about one thing. They always said that, wherever I work, disaster is sure to follow.

DAVID: That's certainly true.

KENTON: Well you can't get more disastrous than the end of the universe. But I love it here; it's just my scene. Ah the sights I've seen.

DAVID: Such as?

KENTON: Well being here at the end of history itself you can really see how things have developed. Did you know how that there's now a Church of the Blessed Virgin Shula?

DAVID (falling off chair laughing) What Shula? Our Shula? A virgin?

KENTON: Well, lots of people had their doubts about Mark and this prompted suspicions that Daniel was a virgin birth. Of course burning her alive was the clincher of her divinity for lots of people. Anyway, this grew into the major religion on Orsetia Beta. But do you know what's the most remarkable thing of all? I've been to see God's final message to Creation.

DAVID: Whatever's that?

KENTON: It's a series of letters - 200 foot high - burnt into the mountains of Donhey Rowbur. They reckon that the odds of something like that arising by chance are so infinitesimally small that they must have been created by God.

DAVID: And what is this message?

KENTON: Actually it's wonderfully soothing and at the same time it seems to explain all. I really think that seeing it turned me into a better person.

DAVID: But what does it say? The message? God's Final Message to Creation?

KENTON: It says "Ooooooooooooooooooh Noooooooooooooo!!!"






More parodies - from Agatha Christie to Damon Runyon



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