http://towelday.org/

One of two down my local gym this lunchtime regrettably didn’t seem to know where theirs were.

“Belgium man, swadding Belgium.”
“You stupid Ghent”

Mr Adams, you are gone but not forgotten.

Hells yeah I know where my towel is. That’s the kind of hoopy frood I am baby! Excitment and adventure and really wild things!

What are the brown stains?

Plurdled gabbleblotchits, probably.

Downstairs in the changein rooms, which reminds me I need to take it home tonight.

On a related PSA note, microfibre towels are great for commuting, dry in half an hour rather than taking all day.

There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable.There is another theory which states that this has already happened.

RIP

I shall raise a pangalacticgargleblaster or two to the man. No more than two though.

Mine’s hanging over the radiator, waiting for my shower later. It’s got a bloody great alien on it, a pressy from some friends some years ago.
Shows how hoopy a frood I am!

What’s wrong with getting drunk?

Ask a glass of water.

I think a day of reading Vogon poetry is in order.

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy has a few things to say on the subject of towels.

A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitch hiker can have. Partly it has great practical value — you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble?sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a mini raft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand?to?hand?combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mindbogglingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can’t see it, it can’t see you — daft as a bush, but very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

Arthur: It’s at times like this I wish I’d listened to my mother
Ford: Why, what did she say?
Arthur: I don’t know, I wasn’t listening

“But the plans were on display . . .”
“On display? I eventually had to go down to the cellar-“
“That’s the display department.”
“With a torch.”
“Ah, well the lights had probably gone.”
“So had the stairs.”
“But look, you found the notice, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” said Arthur, “yes I did. It was on display in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying Beware of the Leopard.”

I’ve got to say Dirk Gently’s method of finding your way somewhere by following the car in front has worked for me on numerous occasions.

I’m pretty sure people use me for that!

life, don’t talk to me about life.

My towel’s in my satchel. Where else would it be?

… Beware of the Leopard.

I was once asked to make a sign for our server / comms room door. I wrote “AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY” in big letters, then in the smallest readable type I could manage wrote underneath “Beware Of The Cougar.” I doubt anyone got the reference (either of them), but it made me happy.