our copy of Joe Boone's Furnace Creek arrived today, and I know that I'm much looking forward to reading it - it's a carrot dangling in front of me for when I put the last footnote into the book chapter that I'm writing on the Victorian painted idyll, because when that's done, it'll be my last writing deadline (whether something for print, or a conference paper) for quite a while - unless I'm forgetting something, which is always possible.
So far as young Gramsci is concerned, it turned up in a particularly interestingly smelling bag. We suspect him of being a cat who (despite his name) probably isn't interested in reading anything more challenging than a motorbike magazine, which in any case, he prefers to paw at on line. But he's good at posing, and pretending interest.
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