Monday morning under a watery sun. It's suddenly got cold. Max is still running barefoot in his room, but his toes are curling up.
Max has just made himself an early grey tea and half a toasted baguette with Mexican cheese.
Max is getting a pot belly. He derives some comfort in an article in the Observer on French women's eating habits . Max thinks that if it works for French babes, it should work for middle-aged, angsted Maltese blokes.
Max is trying to finish off a piece of work, but his mind, like always, on Mondays, is elsewhere.
Max has been in touch with an old friend from his London days. Colin Cumming has morphed from an IT specialist into a full-time farmer in New Zealand. In Colin's words... "I am currently a gentleman farmer having hung up my Air Miles boots."
Max thinks he would have like to have spent his life investigating the eating habits of attractive young women around the world. Though how this would not have led to an increase in waist-line in lonely drinks in the hotel bar is another thing...
Max thinks he needs to get a life.