Martyn was a lean man, both in appearance and with the truth. Though he was easy-going and approachable it was wise never to ask about or attempt to enter his garage.
The neighbours often spoke about his penchant for DIY, and in particular his wonderful patio. It was noted that he must be a perfectionist of sorts due to the number of times he had relaid it over the last year.
Martyn’s wife was a forgiving sort, her frizzy hair a metaphor for the way she approached her life. One morning at 2am, having broken the unwritten rule of never drinking orange squash before bed, she awoke to find Martyn in the bathroom on his knees meticulously scrubbing the floors and walls.
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