Phil was lying on the grass looking up at the leaves dancing above his head and trying to sort out his problem. It was difficult to concentrate in such comfortable surroundings. Had Isobel not been such a bitch he could easily have gone to sleep but as usual she was complaining bitterly. She had felt cold in the night and demanded an extra blanket. Next thing she would have wanted her water bottle, whereas Phil thought the proper treatment would have been himself cuddled closely around her. Unfortunately this was a form of warmth she would no longer accept and he found himself contemplating divorce. But perhaps it would be easier to kill her off? He had never before thought of murder but it did come into his mind. Had he the expertise to plan the perfect crime? Regretfully he rather doubted it. The birds were singing and the effort of planning was beyond him. Suddenly the answer came to him as he caught a glimpse over the garden hedge.
Really, infidelity with the girl next door would be a better option.
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