Bracing himself, Ford Perfect stuck out his thumb. A godawful warbling screeched and a blue police booth warped into existance. The door opened and a man in a pinstriped suit poked his head out.
"Well? Are you coming, or not?"
Arthur Dent really couldn't be arsed about another unusual thing happening this Thursday morning, but Ford couldn't stop gaping. "You're... You're-"
"The Doctor, yes, can we get on with it? I hate watching the Earth destroyed, but it can't be helped this time. It's this or vorping into a Vogon ship and having poetry read at you, now could you hurry it up?" He disappeared back inside.
"Best do as he says," said Ford, wrapping his towel more securely. "I wouldn't wish poetry on anyone, not even Zaphod." He marched towards the box.
"What's so bad about poetry?" Arthur stumbled in catching up. "I rather like it."