Max has been handed a bottle of warm milk. He plays: handles it upside down and sideways, puts milk everywhere and sometimes drinks a little. He is not hungry and so is easily distracted; his eyes record an orange ping pong ball rolling on the floor nearby and he is lured by its perfect journey across the hard floor. He allows a mouthful of milk a return passage back onto the teat. There is a red towel collapsed nearby, his eyes cannot get past it. But finally he can leave the red towel. His eyes journey from point to point, from colour to noise, then to some other outstanding sensation that must be examined. The warm milk flows tidily down his neck. His hands starfish up and down the flank of the bottle, he grasps and clutches and sings a steady hum of satisfaction. Then suddenly, he is asleep.