Someone poured a pint of milk through Anne's letterbox the other night.
That sentence is perhaps misleading in several different ways not the least of which is that the letterbox is not in Anne but in her door or rather the door of the house in which she lodges. Then it was not an arbitrary someone, not anyone, but rather a specific young gentleman who at the time was labouring north from what seems to have been a session at the Bakehouse.
We were just turning the corner as he completed the impressing - or whatever the opposite of expressing ought to be - and he was a little disconcerted to be surrounded, in as much as two people and one closed door can indeed be said to surround anyone. He ought well have been even more surprised when we invited him in to do the mopping up and washing down and clearing up, whilst we both sat and watched.
Then we made a cup of tea before sending him on his way. Anne keeps in a fine Earl Grey.