Lapinette transported the Wabbit to a beach in Turbina the Jet Car. He woke up to a lovely sunrise and stared at the sky. It was far, far away from Rome and his post-nuclear restaurant. "You don't look happy, Wabbit." Lapinette looked on with a benign expression because the Wabbit was seldom happy. "You're on vacation, Wabbit. Cheer up." The Wabbit managed half a smile. "I suppose I do need a break," he said, but something always happens." Lapinette grinned. "Just look at this beach and that lovely sky, Wabbit. What could possibly go wrong?" The Wabbit scanned the scene. It was idyllic, no doubt about that. He scuffed the sand with his feet and did a little jig. "There you are Wabbit," said Lapinette, "No enemies, no impending danger, nothing to sully your fur." The Wabbit smiled. "I suppose I could lie in the sun and read a book." Lapinette waited to hear what book the Wabbit had brought. "In my cabin, I have the complete works of Gaston Bachelard." Lapinette gasped. "I thought you'd brought the collected volumes of Taggart." The Wabbit burst into mirth. "That miserable old devil. I'm on holiday. I need cheering up." Lapinette sulked. "Then you won't need the book I bought you.
Taggart: The first Ten Years." The Wabbit showed interest. "Is it back at the cabin?" "Yes, and some DVDs. Wanna come?" Lapinette smiled a knowing smile. The Wabbit huffed and puffed. "Is there any prosecco?" Lapinette fell about. "It's six in the morning." The Wabbit made a face. "I never make such restrictive rules."
