“groovy mother...”

A letter arrived yesterday for a former resident of our house, from someone in prison. I'm tempted to open it up just to make sure it doesn't say either "I'm coming to get you" or "I'm coming to stay when I get out", but I think returning-to-sender is in order.

Looks somewhat familiar, reminding me of my student days when the RBoS made my penniless days miserable. I wish Bank of Scotland or Clydesdale owned a local bank. I'd join in a flash!