pkuong/hitchhikersguide · Datasets at Hugging Face

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The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy has a few things to say on
the subject of towels.

A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an
interstellar hitch hiker can have. Partly it has great practical
value - you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across
the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant
marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea
vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so
redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a mini
raft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-
hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or
to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a
mindboggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it,
it can't see you - daft as a bush, but very ravenous); you can
wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of
course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean
enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For
some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a
hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume
that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel,
soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat
spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the
strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a
dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have
"lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch
the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle
against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his
towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Hence a phrase which has passed into hitch hiking slang, as in
"Hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There's a frood who
really knows where his towel is." (Sass: know, be aware of, meet,
have sex with; hoopy: really together guy; frood: really
amazingly together guy.)

Nestling quietly on top of the towel in Ford Prefect's satchel,
the Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic began to wink more quickly. Miles above
the surface of the planet the huge yellow somethings began to fan
out. At Jodrell Bank, someone decided it was time for a nice
relaxing cup of tea.

"You got a towel with you?" said Ford Prefect suddenly to Arthur.

Arthur, struggling through his third pint, looked round at him.

"Why? What, no ... should I have?" He had given up being
surprised, there didn't seem to be any point any longer.

Ford clicked his tongue in irritation.

"Drink up," he urged.

At that moment the dull sound of a rumbling crash from outside
filtered through the low murmur of the pub, through the sound of
the jukebox, through the sound of the man next to Ford hiccupping
over the whisky Ford had eventually bought him.

Arthur choked on his beer, leapt to his feet.

"What's that?" he yelped.

"Don't worry," said Ford, "they haven't started yet."

"Thank God for that," said Arthur and relaxed.

"It's probably just your house being knocked down," said Ford,
drowning his last pint.

"What?" shouted Arthur. Suddenly Ford's spell was broken. Arthur
looked wildly around him and ran to the window.

"My God they are! They're knocking my house down. What the hell
am I doing in the pub, Ford?"

"It hardly makes any difference at this stage," said Ford, "let
them have their fun."

"Fun?" yelped Arthur. "Fun!" He quickly checked out of the window
again that they were talking about the same thing.

"Damn their fun!" he hooted and ran out of the pub furiously
waving a nearly empty beer glass. He made no friends at all in
the pub that lunchtime.

"Stop, you vandals! You home wreckers!" bawled Arthur. "You half
crazed Visigoths, stop will you!"

Ford would have to go after him. Turning quickly to the barman he
asked for four packets of peanuts.

"There you are sir," said the barman, slapping the packets on the
bar, "twenty-eight pence if you'd be so kind."

Ford was very kind - he gave the barman another five-pound note
and told him to keep the change. The barman looked at it and then
looked at Ford. He suddenly shivered: he experienced a momentary

The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy has a few things to say on

the subject of towels.

A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an

interstellar hitch hiker can have. Partly it has great practical

value - you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across

the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant

marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea

vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so

redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a mini

raft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-

hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or

to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a

mindboggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it,

it can't see you - daft as a bush, but very ravenous); you can

wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of

course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean

enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For

some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a

hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume

that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel,

soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat

spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the

strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a

dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have

"lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch

the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle

against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his

towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Hence a phrase which has passed into hitch hiking slang, as in

"Hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There's a frood who

really knows where his towel is." (Sass: know, be aware of, meet,

have sex with; hoopy: really together guy; frood: really

amazingly together guy.)

Nestling quietly on top of the towel in Ford Prefect's satchel,

the Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic began to wink more quickly. Miles above

the surface of the planet the huge yellow somethings began to fan

out. At Jodrell Bank, someone decided it was time for a nice

relaxing cup of tea.

"You got a towel with you?" said Ford Prefect suddenly to Arthur.

Arthur, struggling through his third pint, looked round at him.

"Why? What, no ... should I have?" He had given up being

surprised, there didn't seem to be any point any longer.

Ford clicked his tongue in irritation.

"Drink up," he urged.

At that moment the dull sound of a rumbling crash from outside

filtered through the low murmur of the pub, through the sound of

the jukebox, through the sound of the man next to Ford hiccupping

over the whisky Ford had eventually bought him.

Arthur choked on his beer, leapt to his feet.

"What's that?" he yelped.

"Don't worry," said Ford, "they haven't started yet."

"Thank God for that," said Arthur and relaxed.

"It's probably just your house being knocked down," said Ford,

drowning his last pint.

"What?" shouted Arthur. Suddenly Ford's spell was broken. Arthur

looked wildly around him and ran to the window.

"My God they are! They're knocking my house down. What the hell

am I doing in the pub, Ford?"

"It hardly makes any difference at this stage," said Ford, "let

them have their fun."

"Fun?" yelped Arthur. "Fun!" He quickly checked out of the window

again that they were talking about the same thing.

"Damn their fun!" he hooted and ran out of the pub furiously

waving a nearly empty beer glass. He made no friends at all in

the pub that lunchtime.

"Stop, you vandals! You home wreckers!" bawled Arthur. "You half

crazed Visigoths, stop will you!"

Ford would have to go after him. Turning quickly to the barman he

asked for four packets of peanuts.

"There you are sir," said the barman, slapping the packets on the

bar, "twenty-eight pence if you'd be so kind."

Ford was very kind - he gave the barman another five-pound note

and told him to keep the change. The barman looked at it and then

looked at Ford. He suddenly shivered: he experienced a momentary