Dear Bill

07.08.14 (Day 228)

08.42

Dear John,

By the time you read this note, I’ll be gone.

This one goes out to the one who took me under his wing: my owner (of the property (his) which I stole from him temporarily in my time of need. He supported me and I am forever in that man’s debt).

I have to post this because among my readers are my owner’s legal team and they need confirmation in writing that I have vacated his property: I have my dear friend.

As of today, I shall be out of your remaining hair. You can get on with rebuilding that place and I’m getting on with rebuilding my life. I’ve moved on mate. I used to call you “Sir”, because I respect you. I still do. But you told me that I may call you “mate”: you’ve been a good one. You look after the old people for whom you’re redeveloping that place and I’ll look after my kids. We’re moving on mate but not apart. Don’t forget the bats! You care for animals; like me.

You’ve given me direction sir (mate). You’ve accommodated me, literally and metaphorically.

The first time we met was a little charged but we’ve become friends. You’ve been sympathetic to my cause and my problems. You’re a good man and a good mate. You’ve done me favours. You’ve covered my arse. You’ve looked after me. I’d just like to ask for one more: don’t forget me mate. Keep in touch.

So my stuff and my arse will be out of your place today. I’ll carry what I can and the rest can be stored somewhere while I’m finding these feet of mine. They’re not far away as I’m somewhat challenged in the stature department. So it won’t take long, I promise. You know I’m a man of my word. We’ve always had our gentleman’s agreement, made on the basis of a handshake and latterly man hugs. I love you my friend.

I have a new set of letters to add to those which already suffix my name: WFS. Wet Face Syndrome. You did that.

We’re birds of a feather, as I realised during our many chats.

I cost you dearly: I’m a dear bill; no longer a burden.

You’re Dear Bill.

PS: You really couldn’t make this stuff up could you? You couldn’t make us up. Two molds: one that should be broken and thrown away; or maybe just needs re-casting.

We met, we went to court; we became friends. I was a thorn in your side. You showed me a way.

See you around mate.

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