On the morning of his forty-second birthday, Donatello Adams, distant cousin of
Bryan but not, ironically, Douglas, woke up unusually early, at 5.42 am. He spent forty-two seconds inwardly debating whether or not he should answer nature’s call or stay somewhat uncomfortably in his bed. The former won out over the latter, and Donatello Adams walked forty-two steps, which took him from bed to loo, from loo to sink, from sink to kitchen (for a drink) and from kitchen back to bed again. Thus relieved but quite awake, Donatello Adams counted forty-two sheep before his mind wandered off down a slightly tangential track, where he failed to notice that there were forty-two colours of varying shades and hues on the surface of a swaying field of imaginary flowers.
On the morning of his fort-second birthday, Donatello Adams woke up for the second time, at 6.24 am, forty-two minutes after he had first roused, woken this time by the internal body-clock which somehow knew that the alarm was due to go off at 6.25 am and pre-empted it with its own inaudible alarm.
On the morning of his forty-second birthday, Donatello Adams, lost forty-two hairs when washing his hair. The number of grey hairs in his distinctly unimpressive moustache now totalled forty-two.
By the time he had reached the kitchen on the morning of his forty-second birthday, Donatello Adams, failed to notice that the digital display on the front of his cooker proclaimed it to be 6.42 am.
Whilst travelling to work, Donatello Adams reached 42 miles per hour, before slowing down at a roundabout where the number of cars on all exits reached forty-two.
On the day of his forty-seconds birthday, Donatello Adams worked, on average, for forty-two minutes of any given hour and was taken to the pub by some colleagues at the end of the day. Upon entering the pub, the total number of patrons rose to forty-two. A cake was produced by Shirley from accounts. Ablaze with candles, Donatello Adams took two puffs to blow them out. There were forty-one candles on the cake, and one for luck.
On the evening of his forty-second birthday, Donatello Adams realized that Elvis Prelsey had died at the age of forty-two. Thus spurred on to take some exercise, Donatello Adams, whose middle name was Elvis, decided to walk to the off-licence. The last thing Donatello Adams did on his forty-second and final birthday, was to cross the road, where he was run over by a car driven by a man who heard voices for a living.
The number forty-two had nothing to do with it.