Originally written by DNA
"Anyway, my old, I won't say what, how do you feel about having ridden on Halley's comet?"
"I haven't," said Arthur with a suppressed sigh, "ridden on Halley's comet."
"Okay. How do you fell about not having ridden on Halley's comet?"
"Pretty relaxed, Murray."
There was a pause while Murray wrote this down.
"Good enough for me, Arthur, good enough for Ethel and me and the chickens. Fits in with the general weirdness of the week, doesn't it? First, we have this man it always rains on."
"What?"
"It's the absolute stockiing top truth. All documented in his little black books, it all checks out at every single fun-loving level. The Met Office is going ice cold thick banana whips and funny little men in white coats are flying in from all over the world with their little rulers and boxes and drip feeds. This man is the bee's knees, Arthur, he is the wasp's nipples. He is, I would go so far as to say, the entire set of erogeneous zones of every major flying insect of the Western world. We're calling him the Rain God. Nice, eh?"
...
"Well, what about the real weirdness of the week, the seriously loopy stuff. You know anything about these flying people? This is the real seethingly crazy one. This is the real meatballs in the batter. Locals are phoning in all the time to say there's this couple who go flying nights. We've got guys down in our photo labs working through the nights to put together a genuine photograph. You must have heard."
"No."
"Arthur, where have you been? Oh, space, right, I got your quote. But that was months ago..."
)
