I wonder what it was you saw when you first saw me. I wonder that the being you saw; the imaginary being you saw wasn't really me. You made excuses; but nothing could change the fact I could never really be that thing you saw. It broke you; it killed me. You can't have known how it felt to have an imaginary version of you that was better than you engraved on you. I can't do this anymore....

One day, when I get round to writing a book and being published, the book will be filled with little passages like this. I think this one belongs in the huge break up scene where the man leaves his wife at their tenth wedding anniversary after a tumultuous marriage. Yes the premise of it is building in me head. I'll bullet point it.

• Main character: Rather handsome, very content with his life. 
• He doesn't aspire to much
• He's a fisherman, a poor satar player or a writer. Yes he's a writer.
• He's happy as long as he's got food on his table, booze on lock and company at night, which he pays for.
• Female Lead: Exceedingly beautiful, bordering on goddess.
• Has all the qualities desirable in a lady.
• Has suitors from here to Calcutta
• Her family's rather wealthy but the wealth is slipping away.
• She's under pressure to marry well and improve the family situation.
• But then she meets our writer who's also a fisherman.
• Yes that's how it happens. She's on a date with the man she's supposed to marry and she falls into the lake. Our writer who's also a fisherman jumps in and saves her.
• He returns her to her gentleman and is on his way.
• She locates him in town
• He dismisses her thanks and goes about his way.
• But he can't forget her face.
• He's falls deeply in love with her.
• She finds out that he's been writing under a pseudonym and thinks him immensely talented.
• He tries to make more money to earn enough to pursue her.
• She demands more.
• Her parents disapprove and kick her out.
• She resents him for this.
• She moves in with him
• He works hard to support her wild ways to earn her love
• He becomes quite successful
• It's not enough for her
• He finds that the richer he becomes the greater her expenses.
• He becomes depressed and paranoid.
• He believes that she's cheating on him.
• We're unsure about this.
• At their tenth anniversary party he confronts her
• She denies it.
• He loses his temper and divorces her.
• He goes searching for his childhood friend, who should have been introduced at the beginning of the bullet points.
• His ex wife cashes her half of the property and moves on like nothing happened. 
• He finds his childhood friend in a lowly position and lives with her returning to his original profession as a writer fisherman.
• Did I mention that he's a war veteran. 

I enjoyed this but it's really a load of bollocks.

Happy Days
Afam.

Betty, the whole world and I just had a conversation on twitter. The conversation was of no great physical or metaphysical importance until Betty asked for my help. I shall relay the conversation with immediate alacrity.

Betty: Boys please help me understand something. Why do you say you like girls who have their own hair/little makeup. But then when you go to clubs you go for the girls with the longest weaves, loads of makeup on and fake eyelashes? Also why is it that you claim to love girls with curves yet you go for the skinniest girls? :s soo confusing, boys please help me understand.

And with that I was off. I jumped on my horse, galloped through the town and conducted a social inquiry.
The task proved daunting... I believe that it is because most boys are allergic to social surveys. In spite of this I managed to obtain commentary from Jimmy. He did not answer the entire question, but we make do.
Afam: (I asked the question)
Jimmy: Is this some sort of survey?
Afam: It's something like that, but don't let that put you off.
Jimmy: Well, I think it depends on the guy. I find it a little insulting that the question assumes that we all think exactly the same (I found no fault with that statement). I prefer girls with less make up. If a girl wears a lot of make up, then, be scared of how she looks without it.

My thanks to Jimmy for a well constructed response.

In my desperation for answers I even asked my friend Elliot.
Afam: (I asked the question)
Elliot: Erm Fam, you know I like big hairy men right?
Afam: You're such a drama king! put your straight hat on and answer the question.
Elliot: I like big hairy men, and I go for them in clubs. (He really does. It's quite bizarre) But sexy is sexy, so I go for whoever is sexy regardless.

However being a Knight errant in the fashion of the most romantic knight ever known, Don Quixote de la Mancha, I was unperturbed by the set back. I retired to my chambers to ruminate about the problem while watching Wimbledon. (Djokovic through to round 4; Watson is currently being schooled by Radwanska on centre court)

They  both touched on important ideas. But you're probably dying to hear what I think as I am the very definition of Man.

I am a man. I'm clever and fiercely intelligent in all regards but one, the female psyche. So please don't judge me too harshly. In light of this are you surprised that I'm fascinated by the extra long lashes, tonnes of make up and Brazilians all on display in a club? Have you considered that I may have been consuming buckets of alcohol, so my judgement is not at its' best?

 (International drinking rules dictate that when speaking about drinking alcohol one may not use the word drink to describe the action of drinking. In the event that one breaks this rule, one must consume!)

There's also the question of context. I may like to date girls who don't wear loads of make up but in a club I'm not exactly looking for girls of the dating kind. Furthermore it is necessary to note that we currently live in an age of political correctness and men have evolved to say whatever sounds politically correct even though what they claim may not be true.

I think Elliot has the right of it though. Sexy is sexy and guys go for whatever is sexy. So if you're feeling a little blue because you don't get a lot of attention in clubs; just because you choose not to wear tonnes of make up or install a weave, then find a way to be sexy. The same logic applies to curvy girls. If you do this the guys will come stampeding.

Happy Days,
Afam!

I wonder why blogger sees fit to alert me (Afam) whenever I (Afam) comment on a post. It is quite unlikey that I have forgot (forgotten) that I just commented on a post on my blog not up to 2 minutes ago. Regardless it is important that we congratulate blogger for their efficiency.

On to more important matters. A few months ago I posted something phunky on here, about phunks being dispelled by incorrigible Americans jumping on tables. It may come as no surprise to you that that solution is as impractical as it is temporary. One can hardly be expected to carry an American in your pocket at all times (I wish this were the case for I would carry a certain J.P in my pocket at all times. I think this would make a good story).

If you are so unfortunate as to find yourself in a phunk that has been conjured up by the universe for reasons unknown then pause, help is on the way. Firstly it is important to say that being of a melancholic disposition myself I understand full well what you're going through. The phunk is like a god. We unlucky, unhappy few who have been visited by it are made completely aware of it. Even when it is not currently with us, we stand withdrawn, watching, waiting for it's return. On the one hand we dread it but on the other we long for it. When it is with us we are made aware of it's presence the moment we wake up, and every other second of the day. We know that any time not spent servicing the beast will likely free of us of its hold, but still, we cling to it. Like the pagans who worshiped Baal we're willing to burn with it. At the same time we long for release. We're completely blinded by it. To those on the outside looking in you're standing right in front of the exit, but to you, you're so far gone that you can no longer remember a time when it wasn't there with you. You turn to sleep as you would Lethe. You look for temporary escapes from your prison, ephemeral holidays from the hard work you've been doing maintaining this self imposed Pharaoh. When Lethe fails you, you look to Nightshade, Wolfs' Bane and Yew for the final sleep. It's only then that you realize that had you ignored any of the compulsions of the phunk, the end might have been different.

Just like that I added Keats to my summer reading list. I don't know whether to pat myself on the back or box my ears. But I've been doing a lot of personal ear boxing so I think this time I'll give myself the softest pat on the back.

Happy Days,
Afam

One of the blogs I read judiciously, Through Hell and High Waters has posted a new feature (the link in the previous sentence will take you there). As a university proclaimed bachelor of the arts (my university went so far as to christen me Douglas in preparation for my new life as a bachelor). I am best placed to give objective advice about all things pertaining to relationships.

Starmix, the writer of the afore mentioned piece is worried that should she locate the man of her dreams now, she'll have to date him for seven years before tying the knot. What she'd really like would be for them to acknowledge each other now, enjoy their roaring twenties for three or four years, then come back together and date for three or four more years before they resign themselves to matrimony and child rearing. (Speaking of which, during my siesta I dreamed that I delivered a baby for a dear aunt of mine. My imagination is a powerful thing!).

Starmix being infinitely clever has realized that should she do this, golden boy will probably find another. So she's toying with the idea of an open relationship. You're probably wondering how this concerns me, and I'll be honest it doesn't. But how could I call myself a decent friend if I didn't impose my opinions on Starmix?

I thought about her dilemma for thirty seconds and I will now proffer a solution.

Firstly, an open relationship is not the way forward because it only lays down precedent for an open marriage and that is if you get to get married. Because while Kofi (For want of a better name. Plus you look like the type that will marry a Kofi) is sowing his wild seeds one of them may bloom into a wild flower and crush your dreams of marital bliss.

There are two solutions to your problems. The first of these is rather quixotic.

Solution 1: When you know you know. You'll gaze into the dark stormy depths of his soul and every fibre of your being will gravitate to him. From that time until the end of time you'll be by his side. The very idea of marriage will fade a way because you'll never ever doubt the strength and permanence of your love and adoration. You will probably get married but chances are that it won't be that big a deal.

Solution 2: Date him now. Give the both of you room to fail in terms of fidelity. Make sure he never finds out about yours but turn a blind eye to his. That way when you decide to get married you won't have invited openness into your marriage overtly. So I suppose a covert open relationship is the way forward?

The best option for you would be to shelve all thoughts of marriage and live with me in eternal spinsterhood. My offer is open ended.

Happy Days,
Afam.

I find it shocking that I have developed in such a way that my online presence might be greater than my actual one. The words I write almost never make it into actual conversation. This is both a good and bad thing because as witty as I may seem on twitter, skype and facebook chances are that if you meet me on the street as I zombie walk to Sainsburys I'll probably not be very much fun at all. The key term in the prior sentence is Zombie. I've become such a home body that the mere thought of walking fills my soul with dread. So if you do run into me it is very likely that I will be quite uninteresting because the call of my couch far exceeds the lure of any real human contact.

As a result of this I have found that it is much more convenient to execute my affairs from the comfort of my bed. It is old news that I have subjected myself to the rigours of bachelordom, but when this scraggly jackal needs to go a-hunting there's no better feeding ground than facebook. On facebook your so called friends fall into seix categories.

• Actual Friends: These are your everyday, normal friends.
• Long Distance Friends: We're still good friends but we no longer live in the same place.
• Long ago Friends: We knew each other a decade ago. Let's play at reconnecting
• One Night Friend Friends: We met on a particularly exciting night out and I thought you were quite cool. By the following day I'll have forgotten who you are.
• Mutual Friends Friends: We've never met in person but we've got over 10 friends in common so I've come to the conclusion that there's no harm in the old add because the individual in question could hardly be a psycho if we've got ten friends in common.
• I don't know who you are but you're hot friends: The title says everything. 

As you might have guessed my plate typically consists of the latter four with occasional servings of the top 2.
Also it is important to note that within the categories above there is another category i.e the newly come of age honeyz. I assume that that needs no explanation. Please don't judge me, I only make do.

When I was 14 a conversation with Henry, changed my methods of pursuing members of the fairer sex.  
Flashback

Henry: Fam, you're doing it all wrong.
Afam: That's easy for you to say. Everything about you screams lady killer.
Henry: You really think so?
Afam: did it just pause to acknowledge a minor compliment during my hour of greatest need? This was whispered to the imaginary audience in my head
Henry: Yes the way you're going about it is quite wrong.
Afam: (filthy look). Every man knows that it is sacrilegious to correct another's courtship procedure. Again whispered to audience in head.
Henry: You see, guys like us are not so good looking that girls offer themselves on a silver platter. We must rely on other tools, like our wit and charm. So when you bounce up to Kokolet (the prettiest girl in our year) and ask "How you doing?" like Joey from Friends you are not doing yourself any favours. You haven't the physical qualities to distract her from the dullness of your chat.

From that day I was reformed. The current trends in technology have only improved my odds. So after going through several profiles, I select a worthy candidate and immediately brush up on her interests. There's nothing more exciting than hearing her exclaim "Oh my God!!", "we have so much in common. We're like completely on the same page", but I get ahead of myself. How can she say those things when you haven't even made first contact?

First contact is usually something that seems completely harmless. No sensible cheetah spooks off the gazelle before it has the opportunity to give chase. You like some status that's meant to be funny and write a comment underneath it commending her. She'll reply because it's only polite. The following day you write on her wall. It should be about something that's related to the thing you liked the day before. She'll reply, so that she does not appear rude. After this you send her another message asking about something of little or no metaphysical importance like the weather. If her reply is anything longer than "it's okay", then you're in. I guarantee it. This is exactly what happened between me and Jigglichu (for she's as cute as a jigglypuff, and more sparky than pikachu).

It's 2am on a Monday night, and Jigglichu stares at me from my computer screen. She's heard about my day and she's told me about hers, all from the comfort from her bed in London. 

As I write this feature, it is fifteen minutes to five in the morning. I just recently had the opportunity to examine the items that asos has on offer this summer. I apologize in advance for my sombre outlook but I can't be blamed. I have not seen the sun in over a week so I have come to the conclusion that the Manchurian sun has been kidnapped. I have to say that I was surprised at asos. They seem to have outdone themselves this time around. Well in all honesty, this is no huge achievement for they stock so many clothes that one would be surprised if they didn't have what one was looking for. Let's begin.

I began with the shirts.



What is it with the yellows this season. Maybe I'd be in a different mood about them if the sun was out. But as things stand now, I look outside and then I look at my screen. I struggle to understand how Richard Dawson came up with it. It is said that there is a fine line between genius and madness or that one man's madness is another's genius but I find this quite extraordinary. It is either the worst thing I've ever seen or the best thing humanity has created. It reminds me of some Nigerian traditional wear. How is the shirt so shiny? I would buy it just so I could stare at it. I have come to the conclusion that it was meant to be framed. Richard Dawson must be commended for he has undoubtedly outdandied the dandiest of us. Even Porthos (from the three musketeers) would be taken aback by the extrovertedness of this creation. It is not surorising that the shirt has been reduced from £160 to £76. If you think of it as a shirt then it's definitely overpriced, but if you think of it as a piece of tapestry then we're in business.

We are lucky that asos remembered that we are not all so bold as to attempt the above.

I know what you're thinking. This is just another denim shirt right? But yes you are quite right. It's not that special until you consider that the shirt is now £22.50. It's been reduced from £45. That my friends is a bargain.

This shirt was constructed in cotton Chambray. It looks refined. I did not know that asos made such nice items of clothing. Highly commendable effort. £18.

American Apparel deep V neck t shirt. Well, it is widely known that American Apparel make good clothes. For £15 you could do so much worse.

Don't judge me, but I quite like this. It's really practical! It has a water proof pocket in front, it's light weight, it folds well, it's orange and it's made by K-Way. I imagine that it's fluorescent as well. £60.

I love the colour, and I love the collar. At £32 they're definitely overpriced. Please refer to H &M for a better deal.

When I look at these navy blue dungarees by diesel. I can't help but smile. I have come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a fashionable pair of dungarees, but that's no excuse not to have them. They are £240 and may or may not be worth it. But really, who cares?

It's a nice jumper. Grey goes well with beige and with the way the summer's looking it's not a bad item to have in your closet. It's £18. Enough said.

Nothing beats a good shirt. £28

It's definitely a good way to show your depth in terms of music. It's also a good way to create depth because the world will assume that you're a twenty something year old Pink Floyd fan and that in itself is a great achievement.

This is a denim shirt by Ralph Lauren. It's been reduced from £75 to £52. You may think that it's still a little too expensive but a good shirt is an investment. It'll save you from buying 10 other crummy ones. You can make the lesson into a decent jangle. Twice as strong, twice as long.

Isn't he cool and patriotic? This is the SHIRT of the SUMMER because not only does it support the rolling stones who are infinitely cool, it also has the Union Jack on it's tongue. Between the diamond Jubilee, the Euro cup and the Olympics the Union Jack on a t shirt has never been more on trend. You needed this t shirt last year! But you can get it today for £18.

Following my posts about Topman and H&M it may come as a surprise to you that I have not become a fashion commentator. I love clothes, so it is only natural that I blog about them no? My reasons for resisting the allure are as follows:

• I love my Bank Account: Why put yourself through hours and hours of temptation. Chances are after three hours of checking out asos you'll find yourself buying a couple of items that you could do without. It is not financially viable.
• It is impractical: Several of my peers wax lyrical about designers far beyond their allowances. They feel obliged to declare to the world that they don't like the Rodarte spring collection. They fail to consider that the clothes aren't targeted at them. So their opinion about the clothes is moot. If I ever blog about a $20,000 dollar suit, be rest assured that I am prepared to sell my kidneys for the suit (I would be the best dressed corpse in the history of the middle class).  It is important to note that if I were paid to wax lyrical about clothes far above my station then I shall get on with the task without much ado at all. For there are much worse ways to make a living.
• I live out of my suitcase: As a get up and go individual everything I own that is of value can be placed into 2 suitcases and 4 boxes. So any item of clothing purchased puts another in the bin.

Happy Days
Afam.

I am like a child, I am capricious. I am human, I need... I want... I want even faster than I can think of wanting. Every thought seems tuned to the next thing I could possibly think about wanting. I am easily seduced by the things of the world. Had I the means I would be the ultimate consumer. I would make purchases as the fancy took me and even before I had derived full satisfaction from the product I purchased, I would have moved on to the next one, and the next one and the next one.

The above is the description of the perfect consumer. I learned this in my second year at Manchester. If we were to get technical then I suppose you would have to replace satisfaction with utility. Even before I learned about the principles associated with consumerism I learned about diminishing marginal utility. This theory can be applied to many things and most of these things are physical. When you have a bar of chocolate and you eat it, you enjoy it immensely. The more bars of chocolate you eat the less you enjoy each consecutive bar. Eventually you get to the point where every new bar of chocolate you eat makes you worse off than you were before you had it.

Sometimes we get like this with relationships. We race through them because let's face it they're fun. At least there's plenty fun to be had in the chase. Once we've consumed the object of your fantasies we're off like a shot in search of the next one. We forget that the concept of diminishing marginal utility still applies. You enjoy each success less and less till the success sucks the life out of you. In terms of relationships I think it's because with each new one you leave a little piece behind and if you fly through them too quickly there's not enough time for the bit that you've left behind to return.

This, Mena is what I think of when I hear the words smashed up hearts hung out to dry. If we would stop for a moment and allow the bit that we've just deposited in someone's jar to return then maybe we wouldn't be so smashed up.

Happy Days,
Afam.

Today I finished reading Pygmalion. It may come as no surprise to you that I enjoyed it immensely. The play by George Bernard Shaw is loosely based on the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea. Pygmalion has been adapted into one highly successful musical and two movies: My Fair Lady and Educating Rita. I have watched both. As I tend to do with these things I shall type the lines that filled me with glee.

Henry Higgins: A woman who utters such depressing and disgusting sounds has no right to be anywhere- no right to live. Remember that you are a human being with a soul and the divine gift of articulate speech: that your native language is the language of Shakespear, Milton and The Bible.


Pickering: I think you ought to know, Doolittle, that Mr Higgin's intentions are entirely honourable.
 Doolittle: Course they are, Governor. If I thought they wasn't, I'd ask fifty.
 Higgins: (Revolted) Do you mean to say you callous rascal, that you would sell your daughter for £50?
Doolittle: Not in a general way i wouldn't; but to oblige a gentleman like you I'd do a good deal, I do assure you.
Pickering: Have you no morals, man?
Doolittle: (unabashed) Can't afford them, Governor...
(a brilliant exchange. It's not the funniest exchange but I still find it quite entertaining. This reminds me of Henry's (my Knight errant) affairs. The love of his life was enamoured with My Fair Lady.

 Higgins: I've picked up a girl.
Mrs. Higgins: Does that mean some girl has picked you up?
Higgins: Not at all. I don't mean a love affair.
Mrs. Higgins: What a pity!
Higgins: Why?
Mrs Higgins: Well, you never fall in love with anyone under forty-five. When will you discover that there are some rather nice looking young women about?
Higgins: Oh, I can't be bothered with young women. My idea of a loveable woman is something as like you as possible. I shall never get into the way of seriously liking young women: some habits lie too deep to be changed. Besides they're all idiots.
(I agree with Higgins completely. Young women are indeed all nincompoops I refer to a conversation I had with some 2 years ago...

Enter Frog and Labi
Afam: My dream car is the 1980s Mercedes. If I could get a second-hand, third-hand or even a fourth-hand version I would be infinitely pleased.
Labi: Is he joking?
Frog: I'm afraid not.
Labi: Wow. That's different.
Afam: What's wrong?
Frog: Please don't ever turn up at my house in such.
Afam: Why not?
Frog: I shall turn you away. Isn't that right Labi.
Labi: Yes! How could I be spotted with a man who drives a second hand vehicle?

 It struck me that they should be happy to be picked up by a man with a vehicle at all. Furthermore, anyone who knows anything knows that the 1980 Benz I was referring to is undoubtedly a classic.
(See below)

Isn't she lovely. Isn't she wonderful. This beauty can be yours for £12,000 from classiccar.co.uk

 if you wish to purchase this vehicle click here

We continue...

Mrs. Higgins: Will it rain, do you think?
Liza: The shallow depression in the west of these islands is likely to move slowly in an easterly direction. There are no indications of any great change in the barometrical situation.
(GUFFFAWWWW!!!! Oh the hilarity! I'll be sure to use this in conversation. Such delightful complexity can only be met with befuddlement.


The next lines are equally brilliant. It is a pity that they aren't featured in my Fair Lady.
Higgins: Yes, by George: it's the most absorbing experiment I ever tackled. She regularly fills our lives up; doesn't she Pick?
Pickering: We're always talking Eliza
Higgins: Teaching Eliza.
Pickering: Dressing Eliza.
Mrs Higgins: What!
Higgins: Inventing new Elizas.
Higgins: You know, she has the most extraordinary quickness of ear.
Pickering: I assure you, my dear Mrs. Higgins, that girl
speaking together
Higgins: Just like a parrot. I've tried with every
Pickering: is a genius. She can play the piano quite beautifully
Higgins: possible sort of sound that a human can make-
Pickering: We have taken her to classical concerts and to music
Higgins: Continental dialects, African dialects, Hottentot
Pickering: halls; and it's all the same to her: she plays everything
Higgins: clicks, things it took me years to get hold of; and
Pickering: Beethoven and Brahms or Lehar and Lionel Morickton;
Higgins: been at it all her life. though six months ago she'd never as
Pickering:much as touched a piano -
Mrs. Higgins:(putting her fingers in her ears as they are by this time shouting one another down with an intolerable noise) Sh-sh-sh-sh! [They stop].
Pickering: I beg your pardon.
Higgins: Sorry when Pickering starts nobody can get a word in edgewise.

This is clearly a case of the pot calling the kettle black. 


Higgins: You see, Eliza, all men are not confirmed old bachelors like me and the colonl. Most men are the marrying sort (Poor Devils)

Liza: I know. I am not blaming him. It is his way, isn't it? But it made such a difference to me that you didn't do it. You see, really and truly, apart from the things anyone can pick up (the dressing and the proper way of speaking, and so on), the difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she's treated. I shall always be a flower girl to professor Higgins, because he always treats me as a flower girl and always will; but I know I can be a lady to you, because you always treat me like a lady and always will. (She speaks the truth.)

Higgins: If you can't appreciate what you've got, you'd better get what you can appreciate.

The best part of the play is the end. It's a sort of epilogue that is not written in the fashion of most plays. Shaw explains why Higgins and Eliza could not possibly be romantically involved and what happens next for those without an imagination. I was glad for this for I didn't want the story to end. I thought that the end was a big screw you to the makers of the movie my Fair Lady. I found that Educating Rita could hardly be called an adaptation of pygmalion because if it were Finding Forrester and any other movie or book involving a teacher and a student would be as well. In light of this the people at Netflix should read pygmalion lest they be sued for libel.  I shall now delight you with quotes from the end.

Shaw: The rest of the story need not be shown in action, and indeed, would hardly need retellling if our imaginations were not so enfeebled by their lazy dependence on the ready-mades and reach-me-downs of the ragshop in which Romance keeps it's stock of "happy endings" to misfit all stories.
The above is infinitely true. The endings that offer the most satisfaction are often the least interesting.

Shaw: (I had to paraphrase this one) The first necessity of a married woman is to come between him and his mother.
Shaw: "When you go to Nietzsche, "take your whip with you."
Just like that I find another name on my summer reading list, Nietzsche. It's looking like a long and hard June, July, August, September, and October.

Shaw: Galatea never does quite like Pygmalion: his relation to her is too godlike to be altogether agreeable.

The closing line of the book leaves much to be considered. Is this why we never quite like our parents and teachers? Moving on; I'm currently reading the Importance of Being Ernest.

Happy Days 
Afam

Enter Miss Leggy.

For a while now I had been carrying this odd feeling in my breast (maybe odd isn't the right word to use here as my affliction is perfectly common) for a certain Miss Leggy. Miss Leggy is as aptly named as Miss piggy because her legs are as long as Miss Piggy is pig-like.

Miss Leggy and I met in September. When I first met her I wasn't too impressed. I assumed that she was a leggy waif of a thing too uptight to be any real fun. I still believe that this is true. It formed the majority of my opinion about her until I saw her legs. Her legs are a work of art. Slender, unscarred, almost statuesque; it seems a shame that the legs do not have a life of their own that they may be appreciated in isolation. She uses this to her advantage by wearing the shortest skirts known to man. I find it surprising that she manages to be fully functional without revealing her secrets (It is important to note that on Saturday I found her secrets on full display. I was amused.). Miss Leggy is about 80% leg, 20% torso. She is also height appropriate. This is perhaps the most important trait when I look for a suitable candidate on whom to thrust my unwelcome affections.

Miss Leggy was present at Dabi's party. Her dress had once been a peachish pink chiffon tunic, but someone replaced the body with a black cottony spandex material and cut it so severely that it only covered no more than 6 inches of leg. The over zealous tailor had also seen fit to cut panels out of the waist of the dress. The sleeves of the original tunic remained. I think my analogy is wrong because if memory serves me correctly it was not a sleeve but a capelet. The tailor is obviously a legend.

Initially, I had planned to do nothing as nothing hurts more than rejection, but upon seeing some charlatan pursue the object of my infatuation, I was simultaneously enraged and emboldened. I restrategised. PHASE 1: the flight of the Peacock When i turned 19 my brother gave me a book called the Game. This bible of the decadent bachelor introduced me to peacocking. The book describes peacocking as dressing ridiculously in order to attract female attention. My version takes it a step further. I bless the dance floor with a series of movements so statistically unlikely that they stun the subject of my ministrations into silent acquiescence.(No, this is not a dream. Yes, I just wrote that. No, I don't have a dictionary beside me. Summary? BOOM CHAKA WAWA) I begin the ceremony by offering libations to the "ledengary" inner me, to coax him out of hiding. On that night I did not succeed in pulling out as much of the beast as I would have liked because Mike had finished the "chudeneaufa du dè poopie"(Correct pronounciation of Chateauneuf du Pape ). In spite of this I pressed on. It may come as no surprise to you that peacocking failed epically.

PHASE 2: Seduce the mind so that you can have her body (don't take this too seriously. More specifically don't apply any sexual connotations to this statement. I run a "PG" establishment). I planned to search for her soul after I had executed phase 2.

Afam: Hey Leggy can I talk to you? (Leggy was conversing with a friend.)
Leggy: Yeah.

we walk to the centre of the room

Afam: ... Awkward pause
Leggy: Looks at Afam intensely...

Afam: How has your night been?
Leggy: Pretty good thanks. How has yours been?
Afam: Brilliant.
Afam: Where are you headed after?
Leggy: Home; in Edgware
Afam: Edgware?! That's a little far!
Leggy: (giggle) I know. Where are you staying?
Afam: Just round the corner, with a friend...
Leggy: Cool, I have to go talk to my friend now. Do remember to say goodbye.

Yes friends, that was it. I retreated to the dining room with my tail between my legs. Thanks to Mike I could not drown my sorrows. Thus ended the saga of love.

Happy Days,
Afam

As some of you may know this weekend I stepped out to London town to attend Dabi's 21st. To those of you who know "Dabi" I apologise for my deconstruction of her name. Dabi's party was nteresting for several reasons. I will dissect the party into sagas and each saga shall contain a reason for it's specialness.

The Saga of Love
On twitter I'm married to Lia. Our marriage was spontaneous. On one day last year I was so overcome by her wit that I popped the question. To my surprise she accepted my proposal but I've come to understand that she was suffring from brain touch at the time. Lia and I had an epic marriage until I negelected her. When I returned to the marriage I found several strange bed fellows in it. There was a Mike, an Uncle Yori Yori and several others who I did not (do not) know about. We were divorced shortly after this. You shouldn't feel bad for me because being the legendary trooper that I am I rebounded instantly. I married my cousin on facebook to spite Lia, but it didn't have the desired effect. She was undisturbed. It wasn't until I posted a particularly good picture of myself that my situation improved. She was eager to be whole again, and I was delighted. I should have known better for all the bed fellows that I had left her with came back with her.

At Dabi's party I had the pleasure of meeting Mike. I was distinctly pleased that Mike had ignored the dress code and showed up in clothes that could not be referred to as black tie. Even if the observer had been blind the vulgar pink with which he dressed his breast would have managed to leave an impression. Mike had crashed the party. However I could not fault him for this as this was how I had met Dabi in the first place. Three years before I crashed her 18th party with Dej and I left drunker than any of the legitimate guests. I maintain that I had the most fun as well. Anyway I confronted Mike and I was not surprised to find that he was very unapologetic. I should have known then that he would leave his mark on my night (I blame him for the wine scarcity. His name should be replaced with fish).

My romantic problems did not end with Mike. It turned out that I was seated at the same table with Rabs and Betty. I was friend Zoned by Betty when we were 14 and I had the displeasure of being friend zoned by Rabs when I was 20 (Rabs did not do her friend zoning in a very gentle manner. I was violently imprisoned there without any concern for my well being.) As if this wasn't bad enough, in attendance was the sister of a lass that I pursued a year and a half ago. The courtship was ill fated. My confession of love was greeted with an "oh".

Also in attendance was my first school wife. I can't think of a pseudonym to give her. Our fake relationship ended very peacefully and there were no hard feelings but still I think that this is the danger of remaining within the same circle of friends. After a while it becomes impossible to start afresh as your past relationships will be dragged into your new ones. 

TBC
Happy Days,
Afam

I apologise for the unprofessional length of time between this post and the last. I decided to take a break from blogging to experience life. So that I could then blog about it. It turns out that all I had to do was talk to my university pals. Sometimes you gaze outside when what you seek can be found in your backyard. This is what happened to me on Sunday.

Sunday was my cousin Shola's confirmation. I was to be his sponsor. It is miraculous that I made it to the confirmation in the first place but that my friends is another story. While enjoying the confirmation spread set out by his mother I received a phone call from a friend.

Friend: Afam I need you.
Afam: Pourquoi?
Friend: You know how you warned me about my disposition towards the married?
Afam: Yes?
Friend: Well the shit just hit the fan.
Afam: I'm lost.
Friend: It's a long story.

Sensing the potential levels of gob smacking faffery here I stole away to the garage where the walls have no ears.

Afam: I've got time.

Friend: Last year, while having drinks at the Hilton to celebrate Tolu's 24th, I met someone.
Afam: Yes! I remember. The well kept lady about twice your age.
Friend: The very one. Anyway we got talking and I felt that we had several things in common so I asked her for her number.
Afam: Yes I remember this. You were awarded several lad points for your success.
Friend: The story didn't end there. If you recall I left early because i was suffering from indigestion.
Afam: Yes, but you didn't miss much. I envied your timely exit at the time.
Friend: Well my indigestion was a fabrication, and I didn't leave alone.
Afam: Legend!!
Friend: Well I thought so too.
Afam: What has changed since then?
Friend: Well today's my dad's birthday and she just walked in with one of my dad's closest friends.
Afam: Sloppy seconds?
Friend: No they've been married for 16 years.
Afam: Shit.
Friend: They've got two children.
Afam: You didn't know?
Friend: Of course not! I had met the husband and the children several times but I'd never met the wife. She was always away.
Afam: Has she acknowledged you?
Friend: No. What do I do?
Afam: What can you do? You must pretend like the day never happened.
Friend: I know but I find the current situation rather interesting. I think it would be hot.
Afam: Yes it would be (at this point my imagination is working over time. This is right up there with the Importance of Being Earnest and Pygmalion) but I would advise against it.
Friend: Why?
Afam: Because he would kill you.
Friend: This is true but starting an affair would be for the best.
Afam: I'm not sure i follow.
Friend: The woman is undoubtedly quite loose. Think of all the me's she's had all over the place. They must add up to hundreds and hundreds. Wouldn't it be better if there was only one? Then there would only be two men in her marriage as opposed to a hundred.
Afam: Good point, but he'd still kill you.
Friend: Only if caught.
Afam: You are without a moral compass.
Friend: You have the right of it.

Is it wrong that though I advised him against it, I will not exercise the powers vested in me by the friend contract and dictate that he never see the woman again? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to witness second hand a once in a lifetime affair. I cannot find it within myself to discourage him seriously. I fear that we shall both go to hell together.

I no longer have any doubts my friends, I am definitely cursed. A few posts ago I complained about the universe guiding me to the most ridiculous and enjoyable films in the world. It seems that the universe has turned its ever present gaze to television. I just sat through 47 minutes of a new dating show on Fox called the Choice. The Choice is the Marriage of the Voice and So you think you can dance because it comes complete with Cat Deeley who is also the host of so you think you can dance and the revolving chairs of the voice. Stu Heritage needs to see this show, if he does I think his head will explode.

Basically, there are 4 bachelors in revolving chairs. A woman comes up and speaks for 30 seconds during which the four bachelors can turn around if they like what they hear. Each bachelor is allowed three women. The next stage is the speed dating round. Here each bachelor gets 15 seconds to speak to each of the three women chosen. At the end of this rounds one of the three women on each team gets dismissed. In the final round the bachelors ask Cat to ask the women from each team a question. At the end of this round they choose the girl they like the most.

The bachelors change every week. In this episode the bachelors are Romeo, "Days of Our lives" actor Jason Cook, Olympic skier Jeremy Bloom and Pauly D from the Jersey Shore. Against my better judgement I get involved. It takes a matter of minutes before I'm pumping my fist shouting yeah in my cubicle of a room. It feels like I'm watching people from a different galaxy on a quest for love because in as much as I do not support this new development in television I find myself enjoying it.

We get to see what happens on the dates tomorrow night. I'll leave you with one of the most important questions ever asked- What kind of buggery is this?

Happy days,
Afam.

Every man is entitled to his opinions. This is why I entertained a conversation with one Aran Koch about the handsomeness of a woman. I shall now relay the conversation.

Aran: Women can't be handsome fam :-s. (Smileys are the greatest gift given to us by the 2000s. Can you imagine life without them?)

Afam:They can

Aran: The women I'm with would disagree

Afam:Pah! They know nothing. A woman can be handsome. Take for example, Keira Knightly. (Keira Knightly is probably the most handsomest woman in all the land see below for proof.)



Aran: Afam, I feel as though you are digging yourself a hole from which you will have grave difficulty climbing out . To suggest that Keira is handsome would be a gross misunderstanding. She is a lady and therefore beautiful. Please correct this as I feel you're very much in the wrong. Kind regards.

Afam: There is nothing wrong with calling a woman handsome. Keira Knightly's jaw could have been surgically transplanted from a construction worker hence her face can no longer be described as being classically beautiful. Please refer to this quote you overgrown turnip “By a handsome woman, we understand one that is tall, graceful, and well-shaped, with a regular disposition of features; by a pretty, we mean one that is delicately made, and whole features are so formed as to please; by a beautiful, a union of both,” writes John Trusler in 1783's The Distinction Between Words Esteemed Synonymous in the English Language.

Aran: Regardless, I challenge you to find a women who would like to be called handsome ;) (That my friends is a wink). 

Afam: Crikey! Challenge accepted! 

enter Sir Tolu

Sir Tolu: How about this woman?(See creature below)

 Afam: Well done Tolu. The next time I see you I shall replace your head with a limousine.

I decided to do some social research.

enter Coks
 In primary school I believed Coks the height of beauty and good breeding. Her skin was the colour of the flesh of a mango. Her limbs were long and supple. As if all of that weren't enough she towered over me by more than a head. What can I say? I had good taste.

Afam: If someone called you handsome what would you think?

Coks: Me? As in a girl, handsome? 

Afam: Yah.

Coks: Personally I'd be fine... lol.

Coks: I'd assume the person had used the wrong word.

Coks: Don't call a girl handsome.
 
Afam: Would it be a compliment or...?

Coks: It really depends on how chilled she is as a person.


That wasn't very encouraging. I embarked on even more social research. This time I turned to my good friend's younger sister, Keji.
enter Keji
Afam: If someone called you handsome what would you think?

Keji: Lol, handsome??? (three question marks?)

Afam: Yes, handsome.

Keji: That I look like a man. :(.



My cause was losing steam. So I called on Starmix. She's usually a stronghold of support.
enter Starmix
Afam: If someone, I'll rephrase that, if I called you handsome what would you think?

Starmix: That I looked like a pretty boy.

Afam: Would you take it?

Starmix: I might, but why not spring for beautiful, or pretty. Surely you can find it within yourself to do better. 

Afam: But handsome is 2 parts better than pretty and less than a part worse than beautiful.

Starmix: We'll agree to disagree. I'm quite sure that there's a word for what you mean and it isn't handsome. Please refrain.

I know handsome may seem like an old-fashioned adjective when applied to women, but even the Urban dictionary defines a handsome woman as "A woman with the kind of refined beauty and attractiveness that requires poise, dignity, and strength of mind and character."

In conclusion, failed to complete my challenge for I could not find one lady who would be content with being referred to as handsome but the New York Mirror had the right of it when they declared “A handsome woman is handsome only in one way; a pretty one is pretty as a thousand.”  in 1832.

Many thanks to Coks, Starmix, Keji, Sir Tolu and Aran. Extra special thanks to  Autumn Whitefield Mandrano for providing me with several of the interesting quotes used in this post. http://open.salon.com/blog/the_beheld/2011/11/01/thoughts_on_a_word_handsome.

Happy Days,
Afam

The time has come for me to examine the shorts H&M has in stock. I beg your pardon in advance if this feature (yes I will call it that, for I am now an official social commentator) is a little unfriendly. It is 3am and my neighbours have felt the need to bless the world with karaoke. Yes, even as I write this the drunken voices chanting True Colours by Cyndi Lauper waft in from my window. This is the sound of the English summer.

Luckily H&M provides us with equally vulgar and unfriendly shorts to keep the madness from spreading. Looking through the website i discovered that the clothes weren't too different from more expensive ones sold elsewhere. The shorts are so bold that the majority of them provide eccentricity where there was none before. In my opinion this is a good thing. I'll give you an example, it takes a great man to pull off these shorts off. (See below).

Bring in the hardest criminal in all the land. Be he e'er so vile, these shorts shall gentle his condition. They are remarkable. The individual that succeeds in pulling shorts this particular shade of yellow off should be knighted. The shorts are so bold that they stand above all criticism. But if you aren't so daring then the shorts are also available in the following colours:

Brown. (Fairly decent. Rather conservative.)

Camel. (These are quite nice. They're the colour one has come to expect most shorts to be)

Light turquoise. (For reasons unknown these make me uncomfortable)

Raspberry Red. (Epic! #winning TotesAmazeballs! Fantasticals)

Turquoise. (I quite like these. #trueblue)

White. IThese are so impractical that they're almost vulgar)

It seems that the shorts can also be rolled up. That quite frankly is a case of three birds one stone because

1. Most of these are great
2. You can have them as short as you like and as long as you like within reason (a "toofer" if there ever was one.)
3. Things always look better rolled up.

Happy Days,
Afam.

After visiting topman.com, I thought only fair that I pay the same respects to H&M. I'll be honest, I don't usually shop at H&M so I was a little skeptical before I looked at what they had to offer online. The first thing I did when I looked at the website was tilt my head ever so slightly to the left. It really was not what I was expecting. These guys know how to sell their stuff. The second was that the clothes weren't bad at all. There was not a nasty item in sight. The third was that someone on the H&M team had peeked into my head and produced the clothes I pictured myself in this summer.

See what I mean about selling clothes? I was initially going to explain what I meant by this but I need not comment. It's a great shirt. I really like the classic vibe. I think it's fairly priced at £20. If you aren't sold on it yet, then wait till the end of the summer. H&M is known for their sales, I'm sure that you'll be able to get it for £10 then. However if you're an impatient poseur like me you'll ensure that that shirt has a firm place in your closet before you end up missing out.

It's the same shirt as the one above. I have no complaints. It is a great shirt for the summer. Quite smart and chilled. It definitely looks more expensive than £20.

This is a nice t shirt. This summer I'm all about the grandfather collars. I think it's a little bit of a steal at £8.

I wanted to give you a different view of the shirt. It's rather unfortunate that they cropped off the top off this poor models head. In fact they seem to be quite mean to him. They consistently cut the top of his head off.

See they've done it again. Only half his hair features in the picture. Having said that it's an awesome grandfather t shirt. It comes in dark blue as well. This shirt is £9.

Remember what I said about awesome sales? This shirt is almost identical to the one above but it is a whopping £2 cheaper. BARGAIN!

                                                                        
It has become clear to me that I really only like white, blue and black clothes. As a fop I find this shameful. I will be more adventurous in the future.

Happy Days,
Afam.

I fear I am cursed. In the early hours of the morning I was forced to endure bedraggling levels of fuckery and buggery that left me scratching my head in shame. If you recall, I did myself the favour of watching Heartbreakers starring Sigourney Weaver and Jennifer Love Hewitt. I never thought it possible, but I seem to have bested myself.

You see after the incidents of this morning, I sought to forcibly raise my taste levels by reading a piece of literature so well renowned that it would wipe away the blemishes left by my cravings for rubbish and hopefully leave me with a new craving for the finer things in life (artistically). With this goal in mind I turned to Netflix for research. Right up there on the list of things I should like was an adaptation of The Importance of Being Earnest and Educating Rita. The first of these is an adaptation of a play of the same name by Oscar Wilde and the second is a relatively modern retelling of Pygmalion. I will discuss the latter later.

Armed with mild curiousity and the knowledge that I shall be reading the play in the near future, I embark on the task of watching the film (There may be Spoilers). The script is light and witty, the cast   formidable and skilled. The Director however, is rather heavy handed. The script is so witty and sharp that there is no need for so many scene changes. I found it a little distracting. Peter Bradshaw of the Guardian and Jason Best of the BBC hated it. They hated it so much that they both described it as a collapsed souffle.

In my opinion a collapsed souffle can be just as tasty as an upright one, and this one certainly was. I guffawed for half an hour. Such intense levels of faffery should be banned. Towards the end I could hardly take it, there was revelation after revelation and each one was funnier than the last. I have never seen Colin Firth act so foolish in role. If you combine this with the epic script your left with a something so spectacular, that no words in my vernacular, could describe this grave event, I was dumb with wonderment (Surely I don't need to reference Moulin Rouge?)

Below are some of the lines that I found remarkable:

Algernon Moncrief: The only way to behave to a woman is to make love to her if she's pretty, and someone else if she's plain. (So TRUE!!)


Miss Prism: The good end happily and the bad unhappily, that is what fiction is. (When speaking about fiction to Gwendolen Fairfax)


Lady Bracknell: I have always been of the opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either everything or nothing. Which do you know?
Jack Worthing: I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.
Lady Bracknell: I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delecate, exotic fruit. Touch it, and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did it would prove a serious threat to the upper classes, and probably lead ot acts of violence in Grosvenor Square.


Jack Worthing: How you can sit there eating muffins when we're in this terrible trouble, I can't make out! It seems to me to be perfectly heartless...
Algernon Moncrief: I can hardly eat muffins in an agitated manner. The butter would probably get on my cuffs.


Lady Bracknell: Are your parents living?
Jack Worthing: No I have lost both my parents
Lady Bracknell: To lose one may be described as misfortune, to lose both is carelessness


Lady Bracknell: At their age the idea is grotesque and irreligious, Algie I forbid you to be baptized!!


Lady Bracknell: The general was essentially a man of peace except in his domestic life.

Happy Days,
Afam.

Me With Hackett, Didi and Georgie in the Kensington library 2008

My wardrobe is full of clothes and shoes. This isn’t very surprising because wardrobes, closets and drawers are meant to contain these things. In other news I turn 22 today, and my mum in a spot of some particularly good mothering and head shrinking asked how I felt about it. I’m sure she did this because like an Ostrich puts it’s head in the ground at the first sign of uncertainty, I become increasingly introspective and self critical.

My wardrobe is full of clothes and shoes. There are the £60 Jack Will sweat pants that I don’t wear that often. I got these pants 4 years ago when I was 18 and convinced that they were the coolest thing since sliced bread. Every one in my year had a pair and being the new kid on the block I didn’t want to feel left out. So I devoted a large proportion of my allowance towards their purchase. I used to wear the sweat pants with a bright yellow t-shirt that had the logo "fabulous disaster" plastered across it. A shirt my little sister has since confiscated. To be honest the t-shirt was unbearably tight, however while I had it I couldn’t stop wearing it. I just couldn't help myself. My dad had bought it when I was 15 in Australia. But as the yellow T-shirt was being phased out of my daily attire it was replaced by another. My mum got me a Salvadore Dali T-shirt with the Galatea of the Sphere painting printed across it’s breast. It took me three years to realize that it was the picture of a woman and not frog spawn. Two months ago the T-shirt suffered an unfortunate accident. It got caught in a door handle and I tugged really hard to get it out. As a result of my tugging it tore. Rather than replace it I stitched it back together very unprofessionally. I still wear that t shirt today. How could I not? When the t shirt had seen me turn 18, 19 an 20. When the very same t shirt had assured me of my coolness time and time again.

When I was 19 on a routine trip to Bicester shopping village I picked up a scarf I immediately named Rob/Hackett/Ade. This scarf has it’s very own story. A few months before it’s purchase I had become borderline obsessed with gossip girl. One of the lead characters of gossip girl Chuck Bass had a scarf which he wore with every thing. So I set out to obtain my very own fashion statement. The scarf I picked out was on sale in the children’s section. It was red and blue and fluffy. It was £35 and I loved it from the second it’s scratchy surface came in contact with my bony neck. It was rather challenging to wear at first as my neck had never been clothed so finely before. Prior to meeting Hackett afore mentioned neck had only been in contact with cottons of varying finery, so it’s only natural that it was stunned at the novelty when swathed in wool.

The last article of clothing I’ll mention are my Timberland Deck shoes (currently bed ridden). My dad got me these shoes when I was 16. At the time I fancied myself a size 9, I really really wanted to be a size 9, so you can imagine my shock when the shopping attendant declared me a size 7. From that moment I hated the shoes for they had shattered my illusions of grandeur. However the Old man was determined to make us into fast friends for every time that we weren’t together he barked at me and made me put them on. It worked because before long I would go entire summers without taking them off. They were with me at Disney Land, we went on every ride together, they joined the CCF with me and we learned to Kayak, drive and sail together. For five years I did my best to hold the shoes together, but last year the soles became unusable. We will be together again, when I get them resoled.

The point of this is the older I get the more attached I get to these seemingly inanimate things. My friends are not particularly talkative nor are they charismatic but they’re consistent. They’re my entourage. They’ve got my back.

Happy Days,
Afam.

I would be ashamed and embarrassed if I posted all my affairs on here. For instance if you knew me, in the real world, how would it feel to be informed about the changes in my life by reading my blog? It would be really impersonal and I am fairly sure that my mum would find it offensive. Especially as she’s one of my two subscribers. If you check the sidebar on the left you’ll discover that the ramblings of a mad man Afam has three subscribers, my mother, Zephia and myself. It’s vaguely reminiscent of the times when I’d buy myself a birthday card because I was fairly certain that none of my friends would. However when something as monumental as this happens it’s impossible not to write about it. My whole world is engulfed with it. Surely you can see my dilemma, how do I talk about it without talking about it? Is such a thing possible? I suppose I could write it story style and give my story to someone else but that would be incredibly obvious. The only thing I can do is to try to deliver the essence of the feeling in the order in which it tends to occur without being too obvious.

Typically you walk around in some sort of mist. It’s not really a mist but that’s the best way to describe it I think. You’re like a plug without a socket. You go through the motions and live life ordinarily, but you have an inkling that if you could find someone to groove with everything would be that much better. Someone with whom you could share the most secret parts of yourself. Someone that could see through some particularly odd thing that you do and discover that the reason behind it wasn’t all that peculiar. We know on some level that this person exists. We have no means of divining their whereabouts, but we tend to look for them in everyone we meet. You look for the signs in everyone.

You’ve got your headphones in, you’re on the train heading back to school. You probably have a book in hand. You aren’t really reading it, you’re merely keeping up with the story and you spot her looking your way. Your eyes meet. You find that you’re amused and intrigued at the same time.

You’re at a gathering. You’re going through the motions. The hellos and how are yous that our current society seems to be obsessed with. It’s fairly similar to religion as the exchange is singularly uniform?(can I say that?). It’s likely that at some point you’ll come across someone whose answer shocks you. I mean literally shocks you. The reply sends delicious tingles along your hairs, like the goosebump of a goosebump.

These things confuse you. In reality I don’t know that they do. But it seems natural that you be confused by the sudden intrusion into your world. The place that no one gets to, not usually. It doesn’t mean that the person actually does, it’s that you sense that given time they might be able to and this alone is enough to disturb your inner zen.

Glances are exchanged, secret words are said. The feeling that you’re finally waking up from a dream, or a dream of a dream. Everything becomes more vibrant, more exciting. In all honesty it’s a drug. It’s equal portions of passion, obsession and desperation. We’re either on it, about to get on it, recovering from it or wondering why we aren’t on it. There’s not a day that we don’t think about it.

Happy Days,
Afam