Tuesday, July 31, 2007

They all come here...how do they find me?

I found this insensibly sad missive, folded tightly, on my hall floor this morning. Why this person, or their agent, decided that I was the person who needed to read this is not only beyond my ken, but it is freaking me the hell out. Lancashire is not even remotely near Cambridge.

I redacted the name and address. Don't want anyone accusing me of fostering further paranoia. I do hope the NHS mental health professionals, for all their resemblance to corrupt G-men on a mission, manage to help this poor person.

Again: why my house?

Pass the tin hat.


Chas S. Clifton said...

There is a special courier service that shuttles such missives around the country. It uses owls.

Seriously, mental illness is never romantic, is it.

Xtin said...

Here you go.