The play is fading fast from the memory banks. The space it occupied is being replaced by a mesh of panic and rational thoughts about mid-life crises and being equipped for a rainy day.
The rainy day is here.
All around Max, Malta seems to be rushing to a job, a business deal or a hobby.
Max knows this is just a phase. He has no idea how long it will last, but he will come out of it. He always does.
Max escaped his office for a couple of hours in the morning, using the 'need to deposit a cheque' as an excuse to get away from the racket of breakfast and Jacob resisting porridge. Max bumped into his brother, the journalist. Herman's mobile kept on ringing. Herman is chasing a story about illegal migrants being used by Maltese building contractors as slave labour. Herman paid for the cappuccino.
Max is listening to a Radio 1 special on 'the worst songs ever'. Celine Dion has her rightful place in the hall of shame, together with Mr Blobby... Somehow, all the songs made it to Number 1 at some stage.
Max always knew that the world has no taste when it comes to recognising talent.
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