Tobleruined

Tomás paused for a second to reflect on the beauty of life. 

He loved nothing better than to walk the pier at lunchtime. 
Even though his timetable was pretty much uncluttered since retiring from the Accounts Department of the County Council, he still stuck to the 1PM to 2PM slot. 
And right after the pier walk, on his list of life's little pleasures, was the hot cup of tea that awaited him. 
Straight from the flask, into the plastic lid-cum-cup. Steaming and milky and strong. The perfect post-walk cup of tea. 
And right after the pier walk and the cup of plastic-scented tea, on his list of treats, were the three little peaks and two valleys of Toblerone he invariably allowed himself with his lid of tea. 
His one little secret. His one little treat. The bar of Toblerone hidden in the glove compartment of the 01D Avensis. 


Then, just as he was about to set off on his sacrosanct pier walk, Tomá was assailed by a  disturbing flashback of Bridget heading for the Toyota with hoover and chamois cloth in hand. That very morning.  


He ran back to the car, nervously opened the passenger door, rushed for the glove compartment.


Horror.


No Toblerone. 


That was it. That was the last straw. 


Tomás was filing for divorce.