"Been paid for those two words yet?" It was backed up by the devastatingly shy but self-confident smile that had his emotions screaming for mercy.

"I've been looking for you," was all Ford could manage.

"I've been looking for you, too!" She exclaimed. "I owe you my deepest thanks apparently. Since you put in your entry about the bar, this place has been inundated with rich people. I've made enough to give it all up for something more worthwhile." She was hitting all the right notes with Ford.

"Good, how do you fancy going to the society wedding of the Omp?"

"Sounds good to me. We'd better introduce ourselves then. My name is Bolo".

Ford's brain relayed that to all of it's areas and innuendo came up with 'That reminds me of something from Earth that kept my tongue occupied for many happy hours', which his brain scrutinised and sent to common sense. Common sense tutted and passed it to character assessment for a second opinion. Character assessment complained, as usual, that it was overworked and couldn't say whether it would be well received or would result in a slapped face that would activate pain and the whole brain knew what trouble that caused. Common sense decided to send the thought skulking into memory to be held and used at a later date, hopefully as a witty, apres sex reflection.

"I'm Ford Prefect." She held out her hand and he shook it briskly, admiring the soft touch and the firm grip on his heart.

"How will we travel?"

A glint formed in Ford's eye.

"You are looking at one of the greatest hitch-hikers in the Galaxy."

"I'll get some money and a towel."

Ford knew he had met the girl of his dreams.

A wedding is a ritual which exists in most societies, only at varying levels of involvement, from a simple agreement to meet, say, once a year for dinner, to the mutual exchanging of left limbs. The latter does not apply to the Quoquobuletes. They are easily recognised, as the male has legs which lead into the arms, has a flat torso between the two, is about a metre high and looks something like a capital H. The female is the same shape, only about 10 metres high. The marriage ceremony is not unusual, with the supposed exchanging of tokens during the ceremony, the male leaving his on the dressing table and blaming the best man. However, to certify the ceremony, the marriage must be consummated within four hours. Now this, although not a strict requirement in most marriages, is usually enthusiastically pursued by most couples as a necessity as opposed to a requirement. It is a different story for the Quoquobuletes. Though hardly through not trying, 8 out of every 10 Quoquobulete marriages end in unconsummation or physical exhaustion. Those who are easily embarrassed by such matters should now skip to the next chapter, for there now follows a description of the Quoquobulete sexual act.

First of all, it must be performed standing up, as anything else is considered merely foreplay. Due to the obvious physical differences, the male digs a small hole 0.2 metres square and 0.1 metres deep. The female then stands 0.05 metres back from the hole. The male then takes a pole (usually a wedding gift) which can be bent under force without breaking and then resume it's original straight axis. The male takes a run at the female with the pole held horizontal to the ground, aiming at the hole. Once the point of the pole makes contact with the hole, the male continues running until the pole reaches it's most springy point and propels him towards the female torso in a hope to cling on. This usually results in the male flying past the female at great height or hitting the female so hard he knocks her over. This is viewed as one of the saddest cases in the Universe and also as another good reason why the Earth was shunned for many years, because they chose to ridicule the act with a sport called the pole vault.

Another event associated with wedding is the stag night. For the Quoquobuletes it was a chance for a last minute training session to perfect technique, but for most males it is a damn good excuse to get drunk, insult people, act offensively and generally be a nuisance. As Zaphod Beeblebrox is a recognised expert in all of these fields, his stag night promised to be a showstopper.

Psychologists have many theories about the deep hidden reasons for a stag night, such as striking a final blow for freedom or getting into a state where nothing after would be as bad, but these have never been ratified as the last person you would invite on a stag night would be a psychologist.

So, Ford Prefect was heading for Zaphod's for the sole purpose of being on the stag night and Arthur Dent was heading towards Zaphod's on a purely social visit, which would end up as a stag night they would never forget.

"It says here that Zaphod's planet is a 'peaceful haven for the famous with glorious mountains which blend in beautifully with the tropical beaches. It offers good skiing, great libraries and plenty of people who think that they are cool and think they can drink.' Sounds like something from the Magrathean catalogue," said Arthur.

"Who are the Magratheans?" asked Fenchurch.

"Oh, they were the galaxy's equivalent of Harrods. They could build any sort of planet to your exact specification. I'm afraid to say that the Earth was built by them."

"You mean to say that someone actually specified Milton Keynes?"

"No, it's a very long story, but I don't think Milton Keynes was ever intended. One day I'll tell you about the Golgafrincham B Ark."

"We should have time. I think this is going to be a very long journey."

"That's the trouble with this hitch-hiking lark, you get a lot of time on your hands."

Fenchurch took his hand and squeezed it.

"I'm glad I'm spending it with you."

Arthur swallowed and tried to stop his palm from being so sweaty. He had never felt so happy being so uncomfortable.

"Much as I appreciate the lift we're getting, I think this ship is the equivalent of a 2CV on Earth." Arthur tried to think of a 2CV in desperation, but his mind kept fighting back to Fenchurch's warm hand in his. He looked around for some form of distraction. There weren't many.

They were in the hold of a family cruiser belonging to some Quoquobuletes who were on their first holiday to the sunny planet of Beebles, home of Zaphod Beeblebrox. Arthur and Fenchurch had hitch-hiked, using their souvenir God's Final Message to His Creation electronic thumb, to a large space service station, where lots of little creatures were charging around and adult creatures were stretching their arms, legs and in some cases, other extremities. Arthur bought some Babel fish and had a lot of trouble convincing Fenchurch that putting one in you ear was a really good idea. They soon found out that conversations weren't any different at this service station than they were on any service station on Earth. Short cuts, the lousy condition of the toilets and the cost compared with a local station were the general order of the day. Arthur had eventually found someone going to Beebles and willing to give them a lift. Their travelling companions consisted of Mr and Mrs Xoloho and their three children. Their holiday was being paid for by the Quoquobulete government for being the first couple in Quoquobulete history to produce more than two children.

Mr Xoloho walked, if it could be called that (it closely resembled poor computer graphics), into the hold.

"The wife's getting a bit tired driving, so I'm going to take over," he explained. "We'll take the next turning off the hyperspace tract to fit the male driving adapter equipment. If you could give my wife a hand it should be fitted in half an hour."