I suppose I am a member of a certain genus, a certain sad fraternity scattered across the world, who are never quite comfortable, wherever we are. We can manage to feel like outsiders even in the company of old frends; we consider the notion of making new friends a fanciful prospect, better undertaken by those who possess the youthful optimism or naïveté that suits such foolish ventures. How did we manage to acquire any friends in the first place? It happened somewhere in the distant past…