Phineas Ford was an astronomer of remarkable skill and vision. He was also a bachelor with meticulous habits from which he never wavered. For breakfast, he always ate a soft-boiled egg and two pieces of lightly-buttered toast. For lunch, he routinely devoured a cucumber sandwich and six potato chips. At precisely three p.m. each afternoon, he took his exercise, which consisted of a three-lap stroll around a local park—never more nor less. His dinner always consisted of corned beef and cabbage with bread pudding for dessert, and on Sunday he permitted himself a single glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. At precisely six p.m. each evening, he watched two episodes of Downton Abbey, and when he had finished the series, he watched it over again. At exactly ten p.m., Phineas retired to his bed, but not before reading a chapter of Anna Karenina while puffing on his pipe. He had read Anna Karenina fifty times because he never read anything else, and the book was so worn from handling that the pages were falling out. When his housekeeper one day asked him why he never changed his routine, he said, “You can’t improve on perfection, kiddo, so why would I bother to try?”
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