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A fond farewell to Douglas Adams
At the young age of just 49, science fiction writer, environmentalist and lanky bugger, Douglas Adams has died of a massive heart attack in his home in California.
Hope he remembered to take a towel.
Douglas Adams should have been a pain in the arse. He had one concept, The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, and flogged it for all it was worth.
The concept started out as a BBC radio program that revolutionised radio show production. It was a huge bloody success. Then he turned it into a book and that sold millions.
Which is not suprising as I actually own three copies of the first book. The first has the front four pages all stuck together as a result of me blowing milk through my nose after reading the second sentence. The second has fallen apart due to over use. While the third seems to be standing the test of multiple readings.
I could wax on about the books, the radio show, computer games, the book and TV series on endangered species, the TV and radio series on the internet, the crappy Dr Who episodes he wrote, his love of tea and fondness for baths that drove his editors and producers up the wall. (Adams had an uncanny gift for dealing with the pressures of deadlines. He had baths. The closer a deadline got the more time he spent in the bath. His producer looking for a late script actually discovered he had been in the bath for nearly 10 hours once.)
But I won't.
Instead I'm gonna grab my copy of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, lie in the sun and pay a little visit to his imagination. He might appreciate that.
Actually he'd probably appreciate it more if I took a glass of milk.
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