I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good

What, ho, all,

I say, it looks as if the weather's supposed to be fine at the weekend. About bally well time, what!

I received a parcel this morning. I don't suppose anyone else noticed. Well, I should say, that was rather the point, what? It was packaged with a shrinking charm, so it looked nothing like that great huge hamper Malfoy got last week! But that's what it was, nonetheless, though not quite as enormous. It expanded after I brought it up to the dormitories at lunchtime.

It was from Mr Rosier. 'Just a reminder of what we have to offer,' according to the card.

There are biscuits and crumpet, clotted cream, jams (not Stretton jam, Sally-Anne, what), goose liver and potted quail and all sorts of lovely things for a smashing tea, along with a tea service and pot. And cheese! There are four kinds, including Stilton which is simply the rarest cheese imaginable in France and it's well brilliant. And there's a tin of my favourite tea blend. I say, I've not a clue how he knew that it's my favourite but I jolly well doubt it's just luck.

I mean to say, I bally well doubt they're inclined to take 'No' for an answer, come to that.

But one can't send it back, what, that would offend, I'm sure.

So, shall we have a picnic on Saturday?

-Justin