Max is in the waiting room.

Last week, he sold his much maligned 10 year-old Hyundai Accent. There was no time to say goodbye, only to sign log books.

Sometime at the end of September, Max takes delivery of a Ford Focus. The reviews say ‘value for money, family hatchback with conservative looks’. Max really wanted to buy a Golf GTI or a four-wheeler to ride the potholes. Max thinks his next car will have soul.

Tomorrow, Max and his brood take the hydrofoil to Pozzallo for an 11-day break to Sicily.

In October there is a long-term contract to grapple with. It will be the first time in six years that Max has to adjust to a routine and go to an office.

In February, Max wants to go to Milan to watch Depeche Mode with some new friends.

Sometime, Max will pick up a copy of the Times, and feel that he can connect with what is going on outside his door. A cursory review of the letters pages, or a chance overheard conversation between three men in a bar proposing their own Orwellian solution to Malta’s ‘illegal immigrants’ problem is enough to send Max scuttling to a bottle of wine.

Max wonders why he can never quite get a grasp of the present.

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