That’s the way you do it

So there’s a knock on my front door this morning and I find a man and his son on my doormat. It’s a very big doormat. They didn’t have fundraising chocolate boxes or bibles, so I was a bit perturbed. He introduced himself as my neighbour from a few doors away and explained he was having his 40th birthday tonight. He apologised and handed me a note with his phone number on it, so I could call if the noise was a bother. I smiled and said no problem. Of course, it was a problem. On the inside I was screaming noooooo not another bloody party. But I sucked it up and wished him a happy birthday. What else can you do when someone’s gone to the trouble of door-knocking with a note. Me? I’d skip the party if that was part of the prep. Bet his wife made him do it. But good on them. That’s the way you do it. A note. I’ve heard of them, read the etiquette stories suggesting they’re the polite thing to do. Never actually received one before. Very handy, though, having the heads-up to do a chemist run for ear plugs and Unisom and chill a bottle of white as a chaser.