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But I suppose, technically—and I stress that technically—I am not actually a god. He wouldn’t try to beat the system, he would just use it. The cheapest way to escape despair is to take refuge in one’s imagination. Something to do with an interplanetary incident involving an umbrella with mythical powers and the secret formula for a prize-winning ice cream. He hadn’t been ready for any of this of course.

This time it was real, it was definite. It was quite definitely definite. I read about that in a thing with actual pages in it. Killing people over cheese, did you ever hear anything more ludicrous? This is room service, I’m in a room and I want some service. Arthur told the computer the telephone number of King’s Cross railway station passenger inquiries, on the grounds that it must have some function, and this might turn out to be it.

There is something fishy going on here, his rarely-heard-from subconscious insisted. And so the Sandwich Maker sang as he worked. Only the pikka birds seemed to feel that everything was exactly normal. He had half a mind just to keep on falling. There are things more important than paperwork.

Arthur appeared before her, arms crossed, body language shouting, I am not happy. “That’s right,” shouted Vroomfondel, “we demand rigidly defined areas of doubt and uncertainty!” Honestly, Arthur, you humans only use ten percent of your brains, and you fill that fraction with tea-related information. “But you don’t understand,” said Ford, his expression slowly ripening from a little taken abackness into rank incredulity, “this is the American Express card. It is the finest way of settling bills known to man. Haven’t you read their junk mail?” He felt a spasm of excitement because he knew instinctively who it was, or at least knew who it was he wanted it to be, and once you know what it is you want to be true, instinct is a very useful device for enabling you to know that it is.