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.