Douglas Adams

A sculpt I've had on the go for ages and fully intend to one day.

As I woke this morning, half dreading the possible inhalation of America by North Korea sending Nuclear Warheads screaming from the skies, half dreading the inevitable disappointment that would be my Formative Assessment for my Final Major Project in college, I had completely forgotten the fact it was the birthday, albeit late, for the equally late Douglas Adams.

A stupendous writer, an immense hero of mine, a brilliant guy, a true definition of “Genius”, or at least a word close to Genius. Douglas would probably not agree.

Instead of fawning sycophancy he’d probably prefer listening to the Beatles or a long soak in the bath. Or craning his head in pleasure listening to the multiple book deadlines whooshing over his head.

Actually I should imagine he’d just prefer to be alive. I should imagine existence is preferable to non-existence.

If he were alive today I dare say he’d thrive on the Internet. (Dare say is possibly putting it extremely mildly)

I dare say you would have to scrape him off of Twitter whenever you wanted his attention, Twitter is perfect for procrastination, and no one did procrastination quite like Douglas.

Not that I speak from first-hand experience of course.

Unfortunately my life never bled into his, but his certainly dripped into mine.
A childhood full of Vogons, Pan Galactic Gargleblasters, indignant Englishmen in space, equally indignant Androids in space, equally indignant Paranoid Androids in space, Towels, Babel Fish and countless other mad and distinctly British wonders.

Thank you Douglas.