It's not like Christmas. More like a blend of hay-fever nostalgia wtf (including "what the hell is it?" moments, "why the hades did they pack that?" and of course mystification at the packers (who to be fair are Zulu - to whom many of our ideas of precious are bizarre, and who regard things we think of as ordinary as special - An old Royal Doulton meat platter packed in a single sheet of paper, in with a bunch of metal things (survived) and the cheap 'use every day' porridge bowl in six layers of paper and packed carefully with plastics in a box labeled 'fragile'. And isn't it odd - the boxes you open are always the ones that have the really useful stuff that you need right now (not)?
Ah well, onward. Sneezing the dust of Africa. Some things are broken. That's life I guess. And now to re-assemble my computer (fear).