Nuora's father in Italy likes British tea and Nuora and Younger Son took some over with them when they went but asked me if I could send some more. I duly bought two 1kg bags of teabags (that were on special offer).
I didn't have any brown paper so, taking sealing tape, a scissors, the address and a pen with me, I headed off for the PO to but some wrapping paper. Instead I saw a flat-pack box that was an ideal size. Putting out of my head all those boxes that arrived and that we threw away before Christmas I waved it at the woman behind the counter to explain I intended to pay for it all together. She nodded and watched as I set about putting the box together. (It was a quiet time.)
First put on glasses. Next study pictorial instructions on side. 'Okay, that looks ... straightforward-ish. First I put B here. No wait, where's A? There isn't an A in the picture. What am I supposed to do with A? Oh flip. well, how does that stay together then? ... No, that's E. ... But if that's E, where's C?'
And so on. And, yes, I am, I realise, saying these things aloud. Not that woman behind counter rushes to my aid.
Eventually ... drum roll, trumpet call ... I have a box. I pack it, seal it with extra tape, write on the address and take it to the counter.
'What's in the parcel?' the woman asks - even though she watched me fill it.
'Where's it going?'
'That'll be £35.'
And that's the cheap option. I don't bother. I'll suggest to YS that Father-in-law goes to St Mark's Square in Venice (allegedly the most expensive cafes in the world). Even with the travel costs for him it would be cheaper.
So I leave the Post Office still laden and £1.99 (being the cost of the box) worse off .
I pass an elderly gentleman going in the opposite direction. As I walk on I hear a rustling noise and glance back to see he has dropped a piece of paper. I look again and see it's a £10 note. I turn around, hurry before the wind takes it into the traffic - I might be a saint but I don't want to be a dead one - and pick it up - not an easy job with parcel in hand and legs that hurt like crazy when I bend, then hurry after the gentleman who is proving to be surprisingly fast on his feet.
He is grateful leaving me with a nice warm feeling, proving that Random Acts of Kindness are good for you.