More Gritty Northern Crime Drama

Hello! I think I have some crumbs under my keyboard, which probably says something about me, hopefully good things! But it does make using the number 'one' key difficult. Not too difficult though. Not too difficult. Up now, is a continuation of my blog-novel being drip fed to you in tiny little morsels, 'Barbarous Quartet' (A pun on the famous saying(?) 'Barbershop Quartet'). I thought I'd introduce another character, so here we have, well, have a read for yourself. And think 'Gritty' 'Northern' and 'Crime-based'. Or something. (to re-read the first section, click the 'label' at the 'bottom' of this 'post')

Joseph Treacle sat in his bath, the water soapy and grey, like the weather outside (except the weather wasn’t soapy, obviously. Just grey.). Treacle wasn’t a man given over to being particularly morose of a miserable morning, but there was something in the air this bath time. Something, almost foreboding.

As the last of the grey bathwater trickled down the hair-ridden plug-hole, Treacle put his finger on it; the sense of foreboding. Shit, he thought.

‘Happy anniversary, duckling!’ said Treacle as he arrived in the kitchen, and he planted a big soppy kiss right on his wife’s mouth.
‘So, you ain’t forgotten?’
‘No, no,’ replied Treacle, spreading blackcurrant jam on burnt toast, ‘would I?’
‘Aye.’
‘Oh aye?’

Giving his wife another kiss, he gathered up his notebooks and papers. His arms overflowing with miscellaneous work-things, he managed to stumble out the front door.
It started raining. Shit, he thought.

Good 'knight' (ie. 'night')