I am telling everyone that my last party in Reading will be on the first Friday of July, which falls on the Fourth. “We will celebrate the Independence Day,” I wink conspiratorially. “Actually,” I add at once, “it is the Good-Riddance Day for the British.” For better or worse, all this pertains to my humble self, as well. Given my American accent, as well as my pugnacious ways, my last party will be pretty symbolic.