It’s early morning. I’ve just gone out of our front door with Freya when I notice a note under the windscreen of our car. I take it, suspiciously, and read its content. Almost instantly, I get a huge rush of adrenalin which keeps me way over the edge of calm for the entire time I am out with Freya, and well into the afternoon.
The neighbour who lives two floors under me has written me a condescending letter, accusing me of hitting, and damaging, his tow-bar. His evidence for this is:
a) My car is parked behind his;
b) My registration plate, like the rest of the car, is old, and has a few small dents of some kind on its surface.
I met the guy in the lift the very same day, when the worst of the adrenalin had worn off, telling him that I was frankly upset by his letter, the tone, and the accusation based on the merest of happenstance. Our beloved Volvo is nearing 30 years old, and, having been in ownership for a year or so, cannot be held responsible for the previous owners’ driving ability.
He was initially angry (Why?), and did not appreciate my advice that before accusing someone, evidence should be accumulated. Why this idea, innocence before being proven guilty, made him incensed, I do not know. I believe he is Polish, so that might have something to do with it.
Anyway, he eventually reached out his hand in peace, which I reluctantly took. I shall always do the neighbourly thing if he is ever in need of help, but my opinion of him is at an all-time low. He is a moronic twat, imbecilic shitbrain, cock, fuckface, who is not worthy of my brainergy, and yet he has caused me to dislike him like I have disliked very few people. Cunt.