The Wabbit hopped to the structure and gazed inside. "Hullo!" he said in the worst Glasgow accent he could do. "Would yez spare a wee tate aviation fuel for a wee bit rabbit?" "I hate rabbits," said The Pilot. "Ach, ah know what ye mean," said the Wabbit and he waved a paw. "No animosity, by the way." "What do you really want?" said the Pilot. "Company," said the Wabbit thinking on his feet. "The time of day, a wee bit craic." "Go away," said the Pilot. A silence fell, only to be interrupted by the Wabbit. "Are ye up for a gala dinner?" "I hate gala dinners," said the Pilot, "so be off with you. I must coalesce with the Planet Earth shortly." "Planet Earth?" said the Wabbit. "Surely not?" "Why not?" asked the Pilot. "Awful place," said the Wabbit. "I wouldnae go there if it was the last place in the Universe." "Continue," said the Pilot. "The place is used up," said the Wabbit, "It’s a weed awa’. Nasty clarty planet!" The Pilot’s eyes flickered. "I will complete my task." "Think better of it," said the Wabbit. There was a pause while the Pilot made an adjustment to his intercom. The Wabbit was impatient and knocked loudly. "There’s a better place than Earth!" he shouted. "Where?" asked the Pilot. "Uranus," smiled the Wabbit. The Pilot suddenly turned. "I hate Uranus!" "Och!" said the Wabbit. The Pilot scowled. "And I know who you are, Commander Wabbit ..."