I was afraid this might happen.
Ron is a very nice bloke. We have been mates for years. We get on very well together.
But he has a bit of a vindictive streak.
I was out in the front garden this morning, when the postman came. There was the usual wodge of pamphlets offering me double glazing and the like, a few bills and a parcel.
I wasn’t expecting a parcel. The first thing I noticed about it was that it was addressed correctly. For some strange reason, no one can ever get my address right. Even the In-laws [Outlaws?] can’t get it right. One day before Christmas last year we got ten cards and no two of them had the same address on them. It’s a wonder that I ever get any post at all.
It also looked like it was addressed in Ron’s handwriting. That’s when I thought of his little propensity for exacting revenge.
But Ron wouldn’t do that to me. We are old friends. We share a laugh. He knows it was an accident. And anyway it’s my turn to buy the pints next time we go for a jar.
But just to be on the safe side, I asked one of the builders in the neighbours house if he could open the parcel for me.
Now I have to write to his family in Poland and apologise and sympathise.
I hate writing letters.