Horace had become an angry man - a very angry little man indeed.
He'd only noticed it recently.
He was angry with the government for screwing up the economy. Angry at his low level of job satisfaction. At the driver who hit his car when he was shopping and drove off.
At the supermarket queue for being too long, the weather for being too cold and his WiFi for being too slow.
He was angry at Mars Bars for getting smaller, phone bills for getting bigger and his savings for staying the same.
For not having one real friend, for never getting married and for Man United losing.
He was angry at his neighbours' parties. Angry that he stopped playing the clarinet. Angry that the boiler was on the blink.
But to all of these, Horace threw his eyes to heaven, smiled and said "Oh well".
And that made him angriest of all.