The carefully constructed patterns decorated the wall ' black lines in various shapes like murder marks. Mr Molineaux lifted the first weighty tool from the pile, a recently polished set of moul grips, and matched them to their outline.
After an hour in which pliers took up residence next to saws, and screwdrivers and spanners lined up in rank and file, the old man sat back on a hand made ottoman.
Despite his recent bereavement he knew that life would be alight.

The cold weather held off the inevitable but soon the day came when the smell forced Mr Molineaux to dispose of the ottoman. He had kept some lengths of three-quarter inch dowelling for the purpose. These he placed at regular intervals, one in front of the other, marking a trail to the shed door. Next he levered a length of pipe under the near edge of the ottoman and kicked the first length of dowel till it rolled under the edge of the heavy object. By a process of pushing and pulling he found he was able to move the ottoman to the shed door, along the side alley and right next to his Austin Princess. Opening the boot he removed two jacks which he placed carefully and levered in turn, cautiously keeping an even balance. With one last effort he then rolled the item into the boot of his car.

At the cliff face he made sure to reverse his car inches from the edge. Some herring gulls were fighting for scraps. Mr Molineaux sat and watched them. Now his shed was perfect he could take up a new hobby; perhaps bird watching would suit him. How his wife would have laughed at the idea.
It was no coincidence that his recently purchased car had a low boot. Because of this he was able to take hold off the two lengths of rope and pull the ottoman till it tumbled out of his car, hesitated on the grass, hurtled downwards and bounced towards the sea. The coffin broke on its last bounce and his wife rolled into the sea to be devoured by small creatures and various sea-life. And to think, she'd called him a good-for-nothing.

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