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“Something’s on your mind, isn’t it?” said Arthur.

“I think,” said Ford in a tone of voice that Arthur by now recognized as one that presaged something utterly unintelligible, “that there’s an S.E.P. over there.”

He pointed. Curiously enough, the direction he pointed in was not the one in which he was looking. Arthur looked in the one direction, which was toward the sight screens, and in the other, which was at the field of play. He nodded, he shrugged. He shrugged again.

“A what?” he said.

“An S.E.P.”

“An S …?”

“… E.P.”

“And what’s that?”

“Somebody Else’s Problem,” said Ford.

“Ah, good,” said Arthur, and relaxed. He had no idea what all that was about, but at least it seemed to be over. It wasn’t.

“Over there,” said Ford, again pointing at the sight screens and looking at the pitch.

“Where?” said Arthur.

“There!” said Ford.

“I see,” said Arthur, who didn’t.

“You do?” said Ford.

“What?” said Arthur.

“Can you see,” said Ford patiently, “the S.E.P.?”

“I thought you said that was someone else’s problem.”

“That’s right.”

Arthur nodded slowly, carefully and with an air of immense stupidity.

“And I want to know,” said Ford, “if you can see it.”

“You do?”

“Yes!”

“What,” said Arthur, “does it look like?”

“Well, how should I know, you fool,” shouted Ford. “If you can see it, you tell me.”

Arthur experienced that dull throbbing sensation just behind the temples that was a hallmark of so many of his conversations with Ford. His brain lurked like a frightened puppy in its kennel. Ford took him by the arm.

“An S.E.P.,” he said, “is something that we can’t see, or don’t see, or our brain doesn’t let us see, because we think that it’s somebody else’s problem. That’s what S.E.P. means. Somebody Else’s Problem. The brain just edits it out; it’s like a blind spot. If you look at it directly you won’t see it unless you know precisely what it is. Your only hope is to catch it by surprise out of the corner of your eye.”

“Ah,” said Arthur, “then that’s why …”

“Yes,” said Ford, who knew what Arthur was going to say.

“… you’ve been jumping up and …”

“Yes.”

“… down, and blinking …”

“Yes.”

“… and …”

“I think you’ve got the message.”

“I can see it,” said Arthur, “it’s a spaceship.”

For a moment Arthur was stunned by the reaction this revelation provoked. A roar erupted from the crowd, and from every direction people were running and shouting, yelling, tumbling over one another in a tumult of confusion. He stumbled back in astonishment and glanced fearfully around. Then he glanced around again in even greater astonishment.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” said an apparition. The apparition wobbled in front of Arthur’s eyes, though the truth of the matter is probably that Arthur’s eyes were wobbling in front of the apparition. His mouth wobbled as well.

“W … w … w … w …” his mouth said.

“I think your team has just won,” said the apparition.

“W … w … w … w …” repeated Arthur, and punctuated each wobble with a prod at Ford Prefect’s back. Ford was staring at the tumult in trepidation.

“You are English, aren’t you?” said the apparition.

“W …w…w…w… yes,” said Arthur.

“Well, your team, as I say, has just won. The match. It means they retain the Ashes. You must be very pleased. I must say, I’m rather fond of cricket, though I wouldn’t like anyone outside this planet to hear me saying that. Oh dear no.”

The apparition gave what might have been a mischievous grin, but it was hard to tell because the sun was directly behind him, creating a blinding halo around his head and illuminating his silver hair and beard in a way that was awesome, dramatic and hard to reconcile with mischievous grins.

“Still,” he said, “it’ll all be over in a couple of days, won’t it? Though as I said to you when we last met, I was very sorry about that. Still, whatever will have been, will have been.”

Arthur tried to speak, but gave up the unequal struggle. He prodded Ford again.

“I thought something terrible had happened,” said Ford, “but