Max doesn’t think it is fair that people like John Peel die and scum stay alive, get fat, drive company cars, lie, screw other people’s lives, go to cocktail parties and die silently in their sleep.

Max had an early morning phone call with a 60 year-old woman who wants him to cut the pepper tree because it is encroaching on her garden wall and ‘damaging her property’.

Max asked if he could get access to the woman’s garden so he can seal his office wall, which has sprung a leak.

The woman said it was Max’s problem, he should have fixed it in summer, now that the rains had come, he could wait until next summer.

Max was about to ignite and then remembered that this was a woman who lost a 20 year-old daughter to a car crash 20 years ago and never recovered. Max put the phone down.

Max is spending his morning listening to noisy BBC tributes to John Peel.

Max wonders what he would do if something happened to Liz or Jacob.

Max yesterday fluffed his lines, sweated in a suit and wanted to be alone on a beach that was not called Malta.

Max has to do something fast. Time is running out for escapes.

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