Arthur awoke feeling wonderful, absolutely fabulous, refreshed, overjoyed to be home, bouncing with energy, hardly disappointed at all to discover it was the middle of February.
He almost danced to the fridge, found the three least hairy things in it, put them on a plate and watched them intently for two minutes. Since they made no attempt to move within that time he called them breakfast and ate them. Between them they killed a virulent space disease he’s picked up without knowing it in the Flargathon Gas Swamps a few days earlier, which otherwise would have killed off half the population of the Western Hemisphere, blinded the other half and driven everyone else psychotic and sterile, so the Earth was lucky there.
He felt strong, he felt healthy. He vigorously cleared away the junk mail with a spade and then buried the cat.
Just as he was finishing that, the phone went, but he let it ring while he maintained a moment’s respectful silence. Whoever it was would ring back if it was important.
He kicked the mud off his shoes and went back inside.
There had been a small number of significant letters in the piles of junk some documents from the council, dated three years earlier, relating to the proposed demolition of his house, and some other letters about the setting up of a public inquiry into the whole bypass scheme in the area; there was also an old letter from Greenpeace, the ecological pressure group to which he occasionally made contributions, asking for help with their scheme to release dolphins and orcas from captivity, and some postcards from friends, vaguely complaining that he never got in touch these days.
He collected these together and put them in a cardboard file which he marked “Things To Do”. Since he was feeling so vigorous and dynamic that morning, he even added the word “Urgent!”
He unpacked his towel and another few odd bits and pieces from the plastic bag he had acquired at the Port Brasta Mega-Market. The slogan on the side was a clever and elaborate pun in Lingua Centauri which was completely incomprehensible in any other language and therefore entirely pointless for a Duty Free Shop at a spaceport. The bag also had a hole in it so he threw it away.
He realized with a sudden twinge that something else must have dropped out in the small spacecraft that had brought him to Earth, kindly going out of its way to drop him right beside the A303. He had lost his battered and spaceworn copy of the thing which had helped him find his way across the unbelievable wastes of space he had traversed. He had lost The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
Well, he told himself, this time I really won’t be needing it again.
He had some calls to make.
He had decided how to deal with the mass of contradictions his return journey precipitated, which was that he would simply brazen it out.
He phoned the BBC and asked to be put through to his department head.
阿瑟醒来，感觉良好，相当高兴，焕然一新，极度喜悦，精力充沛，当他发现自己正处在二月中旬时竟然几乎没有任何失望。
他几乎是踏着轻快的舞步跳到了冰箱那儿，踅摸出了三块长毛长得最少的东西并把它们放进盘子里，专心致志地盯了两分钟。由于那些东西没有做任何移动的尝试，他便把它们称为早餐，然后吃了下去。那些“早餐”消灭了阿瑟几天前在弗拉加森瓦斯沼泽中无意间染上的一种星际致命病菌，而那种病菌本可以消灭西半球一半的人口并让剩下的一半致盲并让其他的所有人患上精神病和不育症。所以说，地球还真是幸运。
他觉得壮实了，他觉得健康了。他精力充沛地用铲子清理了那些垃圾邮件，还把那只猫给埋了。
他刚搞定了这些事儿，电话就响了，但是他把铃声晾在那儿，让自己维持一刻可敬的宁静。不管是谁打来的，如果事儿很重要，他一定还会再打回来的。
他蹭掉了鞋上的泥，走回了屋里。
在那坨垃圾上有几封很重要的信——一些来自议会的文件，日期是三年前，关于他的房子的拆迁议案，还有一些信是关于为整个在该地区修建通道的计划召开听证会；那里也有一封来自绿色和平组织的陈旧的信，那个他偶尔会参与的生态团体希望他帮忙把海豚和逆戟鲸从牢笼中解救出来，还有几张朋友的明信片，里面含糊地抱怨着他近些天来从未跟他们联络。
他把那些信拢在一起放进一个纸板文件夹里，文件夹上标着“待办事项”。由于这个早上他感到自己是如此的精力旺盛，他甚至在上面加上了“紧急！”二字。
他把自己的毛巾和其它的一点零碎东西从那个布拉斯塔空港超巨市场的塑料袋里掏出来。袋子侧面的标语是半人马座语言中一个精妙而睿智的双关，用其它任何语言都完全不能解读，因此把它用在空港的免税店中是没有任何意义的。那个袋子还破了个洞，因此他把它给扔了。
他突然刺痛般地意识到一定有些其它的东西落在送他来地球的小飞船上了，那艘小飞船在A303区域友善地改变了原定路线，把他送了回来。他丢了自己那本破烂的饱经宇宙风霜的曾帮助他在横穿那堆不可思议的太空垃圾中找到方向的东西。他丢了银河系漫游指南。
好吧，他对自己说，这年头我真的再也用不着那玩意儿了。
他有几个电话需要打。
他已经决定好该如何处理关于自己突然归来的一堆矛盾了，他只要厚着脸艮下去就好了。
他打给BBC，要求把电话转到他的上级部门。