Turner The Chain Pier, Brighton

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about three years, ever since he had moved out of London because it made him nervous and irritable. He was about thirty as well, dark haired and never- quite at ease with himself. The thing that used to worry him most was the fact that people always used to ask him what he was looking so worried about. He worked in local radio which he always used to tell his friends on the brush - so. Scrub. Shaving mirror - pointing at the ceiling. He adjusted it. For a moment it reflected a second bulldozer through the bathroom window. Properly adjusted, it reflected Arthur Dent's bristles. He shaved them off, Yawn. The word bulldozer wandered through his mind for a moment in search of something to connect with. The bulldozer outside the kitchen window was quite a big one. He stared at it.was a lot more interesting than they probably thought. It was, too - most of his friends It hadn't properly registered with Arthur that the council wanted to knock down his house and build an bypass instead. At eight o'clock on Thursday morning Arthur didn't feel very good. He woke up blearily, got up, wandered blearily round his room, opened a window, saw a bulldozer, found his slippers, and stomped off to the bathroom to wash. Toothpaste