Two old friends of Alice's, Patt and Arvid, are staying with us - it's great to see them, and they're terrific company. But ... here's the thing. Sitting in a padded, DHL-express-mailed-from-England packet, upstairs, is the very first copy of Flash! Of course I want to open it, and toast it, and celebrate it. So far, all I've let myself do is feel its shape through the bag, and gently stroke its contours - it seems wrong to open it up and whooop and have it, and me, center-stage with (non-academic) people I barely know (though, indeed, feel I know better after an evening). Is this normal behavior, or pathological weirdness? Or just Englishness?
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