He began the day with a breakfast of muesli with blueberries, buttered wheat toast, and a pot of strong tea—a wholesome meal consumed over the appetite-destroying pages of the Globe and Bugle. The paper throbbed with the news of Wanda’s demise, the bare facts of which were related in near-histrionic tones by a reporter apparently suffering from sleep deprivation and lack of adult supervision. Following in the great tradition of its big sisters in London, the paper managed to imply a great deal without actually saying a great deal at all. The reporter had turned DCI Cotton’s “No comment at this time” into a veritable indictment of a corrupt police force and lax British penal system, the result of which was a populace at the mercy of every stray madman for hundreds of miles round. Max rushed through his meal, anxious to get a start on the day. He had again had a hard time convincing Mrs. Hooser that the old-style sausages, bacon, eggs, mushrooms, kidneys, and tomatoes fry-up could not be consumed by mortal man every single day, not if he didn’t want to demonstrate his mortality almost immediately.
