Disclaimer: I do not own The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (it belongs to Megadodo Publications) and I don't own Arthur or Fenchurch either. Mate.

Arthur sat with his head in his hands. This was it. This was surely the end of all things. He had used up the last of his nine lives about six near-death-experiences ago and was now living off the very improbability of his existence… and a disgusting, old, bath towel.

The Vogan ship was hovering above the clouds in the most ominous of fashions and Arthur found suddenly that he was holding a fish bowl. What good a fish bowl would be in a situation such as this was quite beyond him but he clutched it to his chest as if it were the last turnip of the season.

Arthur stared at the Vogan ship that spelled his doom and wondered suddenly if it didn't somewhat resemble a giant wheel of cheese and as that wheel of cheese began to spin he felt certain that it looked even more like a cocktail umbrella in a vodka sunrise. Arthur rolled his eyes, lay down onto his side, and pretended it wasn't there.

The Heart of Gold was feeling tip top and ship shape, with the improbability drive working much better than clockwork again, everything was just peachy. The Heart of Gold kindly offered to give dear Arthur Dent a lift and when he pretended not to notice it had a few robots escort him aboard, kicking and screaming and scratching and biting, with the fish bowl clasped firmly in both hands.

He found himself sitting on the floor in the cabin of the Heart of Gold and wondering why he hadn't been blown to bits. Though, Arthur was usually wondering why he hadn't been blown to bits, in fact, he spent a good deal of his life on this particular subject so he felt quite comfortable and at home there on the floor and would have been quite happy to remain there had someone not poked at him with their foot.

"Old mate Arthur," the person attached to the foot said, "you're one lucky guy you know that?"

Arthur did not know that, in fact he was fairly sure he was, just about, the unluckiest man in the universe. He had finally been reunited with the love of his nine lives only to have her whisked away from him and gone to who knows where. *

Arthur didn't respond to the voice at the other end of the foot. He hoped that whoever it was would go away and leave him and his fish bowl alone for a little while. But the foot persisted until he realised that it belonged to a leg and the leg belonged to Zaphod Beeblebrox.

Zaphod Beeblebrox was eating a piece of fudge. He was also wondering what Arthur Dent was doing on his ship again when all he ever wanted to do was throw him off it. But there he was, looking a little classier than usual but, still there, all up in his grill.

Arthur wasn't at all in the mood for small talk. He was trying to see if the fish bowl would fit over his head so that he could wear it like a diver's helmet. He was also beginning to think that whoever the fool was who said "it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" had not considered that it was probably better, in all circumstances, to just be asleep.

So Arthur curled up into a ball with the fish bowl in his arms (unfortunately, it had not fit over his head) and tried to dream of Fenchurch's lovely face.

"Oh for Thor's sake," said Zaphod, "Arthur pull yourself together!"

Zaphod gave him a good kick, in a place I won't mention, and Arthur finally found the gall to stand up and face whatever life had to chuck at his face now.

"Oh hello friend" Arthur said, "How are you?"

"Forget that Arthur, listen, I am having a bit of a party here and, well, you have always been a bit of a downer you know."

Arthur looked about him for the first time and realised that he was surrounded by ladies in high heels and cocktail dresses and a few nervous looking men holding drinks and handbags.

"So listen, could you make yourself scare for the next couple of days. You can have your old room back."

Arthur liked the sound of that, he was never one for parties, they never seemed to work out well for him.

"Well, I could stay for a drink," said Arthur, for who knows what reason, "I can party when occasion calls for it."

All four of Zaphod's eyes rolled.

"Well suit yourself," he said, becoming quite distracted by a girl in green tights. Oh, nope, just green legs they are.

So Arthur poured himself a drink, drank it, nearly threw up, and poured another.

Then he found a seat next to some sort of giant bumblebee and talked to him about the invaluable source of warmth a pair of legwarmers could be old a cold day.

The bumblebee was not interested and made an excuse to leave which was something along the lines of "I have to be somewhere that isn't anywhere near you now."

So Arthur filled his fish bowl with all the different kinds of alcohol he could find, ripped his shirt off and announced to the entire room that he would be drinking the entire contents of his fish bowl and asked if anyone would care to watch.

They did.

In fact, it was probably one of the most interesting things they had seen all day. And Arthur found for the first time in his life that he was popular. Well, at least, he was, until he passed out. Then he was still popular, but only because they took photos of him in compromising positions with various different farm animals.

When Arthur woke up there was a giant alien standing on his head.

*Luckily, reader, I know where. Fenchurch was currently sitting next to a pile of watermelons at a school fete and she was chewing on a plastic bendy-straw.