It's that time of year again; the clouds are stirring, the temperature's dropping and there's already been snow in Durham. In the words of Ned Stark from a Song of Ice and Fire "winter is coming". Winter is coming but it isn't quite here yet. Currently it's autumn or fall. I apologise for stating the obvious. I fear that I'm beginning to sound like Rebecca Black who famously informed us that thursday came before friday and that saturday and sunday followed it.

It is Autumn and it is glorious. In Manchester we only see the sun one day out of every 15 and normally this would be reason enough to sink into the worst depression but I Afam being made of happiness, joy and all things uplifting have managed to avoid the lows of the season. Even as the filthy rain streaks past my window I manage to beam truly stupendous levels of effervescence on the unsuspecting public. The secret to my climate defying glee is completely drug free. Yes, I don't even so much as sniff caffeine. My coffee order is always a Decaf Venti Pumpkin Spice Latte with soy (The soy milk is because I am lactose intolerant and I really dislike farting and sharting in lectures).

By the way did you spot the rhyme in the previous paragraph? Glee and Free. 

My better than average mood can only be attributed to my newest playlist "Awfully Nice Dreams of Plastic Trees". I don't think there could be a better name for the gravity defying chunes I have for you.

You might have forgotten the definition of chune so I shall remind you. a chune is a chune so infinitely delightful that it defies the rules of spelling and all good sense. Its capabilities of filling one with felicity and gaiety are both uncharted and unchartable. Lastly, whenever the tune comes on, you are visited by the irresistible compulsion to gel CHUNE!!!! at the top of your lungs.


40 Day Dream by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
Bye Bye, to that too good to be true kind of love... It sounds like the beginning of some some great movement. It may not be everyone's cup of tea but once the opening sequence starts I'm lost in the 40 day dream that they speak of. It's the perfect song for autumn. the heaviness of it matches the brown mush broken up golden leaves you trudge through on your way to town. It gives you a new appreciation for the season.


Something Good Can Work by Two Door Cinema Club
This is the musical equivalent of Caffeine. It adds that extra spring in your step and anyone who knows anything about anything knows that a step can never be too springy. It's what you need to listen to on your way to classes or the office . You need to hear that "you've got to step up your game to make it to the top, so go!" and that "Something good can work and it can work for you."


Ready for the Floor by Hot Chip
It's a little odd and definitely more than a tad quirky but it's so brilliant. It was partly inspired by the first Tim Burton Batman film. It reminds me of The Shawshank redemption when Morgan Freeman says get busy living or get busy dying. In the song they sing "Instead of carving up the wall, why don't you open up we talk, we are ready we are ready for the floor". That's kind of similar isn't it?


Ready for the Floor by Duffy (Cover)
This one isn't actually on the playlist but it's quite possibly the best cover I have ever heard. It's an entirely different song. I think it's totes ahmazeballs so chances are that you will to as my awesome is your awesome. This is because I am Afam and you are all like me. (I kid!!)


Down River by The Temper Trap
The band is most famous for Sweet Disposition, and while sweet disposition is applaud worthy I believe that the success of that song put a bit of a downer on some of the other brilliant songs that they've recorded. Take this one for example, it adds a little bit of colour to the gray colourless days that this time of year tends to deliver.


Half Mast by Empire of the Sun
The drums provide the perfect pace for walking, especially if you want to seem like an individual with purpose. It resonates with me on a musical level. Sometimes I don't even care what they're saying but that's pretty good too.


Melancholy Hill by Gorillaz
When I found out that this was by Gorillaz I was shocked. I didn't think them capable of such lightness. I'll concede that it's not the happiest tune but it makes me happy anyway and I love the lyrics. As someone who used to make regular trips to a melancholy hill it's nice to know that there might be pastic trees and plastic beaches there to lighten the mood.


Gangam Style by PSY
I just had too. I don't listen to it that often but when I'm out painting the town red, black and purple as I do, this song drives me nuts in a good way. If you have not already learned the dance, then you are a social failure. It's twice as important as the migraine skank, the dougie and the single ladies dance. Get after it buddings and broskies .


Happy Days,
Afam

I must apologise for the lack of decent content on the good old blog but you must understand that being a student pays better than being a blogger. If I were to blog full time my earnings would be lower than a dollar a day. Yes my friends, and foes, I would be living below the poverty line and I would be unable to afford my studio in the broken castle I currently inhabit...

Student Castle in all its splendour.

Life in the student castle has improved somewhat. I haven't had to wait 10 minutes for the elevator in forever and my shower has stopped trying to murder me. All would be perfect if my neighbours were not devils. Actually there is probably only one devil but I use the plural form of the word for effect. Yes, the Alarmist effect. On Sunday morning I was having the best dream. It was quite the epic. Lord Christian Grey (this is a real person, who is actually a Lord. After hearing about the success of one Christian Grey from the 50 shades of Gray, my friend Howard Grey legally changed his name to Christian Grey. He purchased his Lordship soon after.), Montesquieu (This is quite the mouthful so we all call him Monty) and I (Afam) transformed to form Optimum Pillock. We patrolled the hallways of Student Castle arresting evil doers and protecting the peace.

Optimum Pillock

Maybe it wasn't a dream after all. I still like to think of it as one, for the above picture is very sad indeed. I cannot and will not explain what was going on there. Truth be told, I can't remember.

Anyway, where was I? I was dreaming about the adventures of Optimum Pillock when a truly evil noise reached me (This was fairly remarkable as I was quite deep in Dream Land. I was so deep that I believed that it would take me at least another 4 hours to navigate my way to reality).

I fought hard against the beast but my efforts were in vain. I opened my eyes only to be assaulted by a truly other worldly sound system. It lambasted its way through the walls like they were made of paper. I looked at my sleeping partner (curb your enthusiasm, it's only my laptop) and saw that it was 7am on a Sunday morning. Is this not evil? Are they not wicked? What student in their right mind willingly forgoes his/her Sunday lie in to punish one Afam. This is tantamount to a declaration of war. Unknown cretin, I will find you... Your punishment will be equivalent to your crime.

In other news my building, Student Castle seems to have relapsed. After a very intense squash session with the lads and lasses from the University of Manchester Squash society, I wanted nothing more than to collapse on my bed and rest my tired muscles (my buttocks were particularly sore for one must perform an inhumane number of squats and lunges when playing a decent game of squash) but this was not to be. When I tried to get a lift up to the 21st floor the lift system informed me that the lifts were busy. I was a little puzzled for I had never seen that message before. I went to investigate. It so happened that only one lift was working. After about 7 minutes, one other lift returned to active duty. Once in the lift I was greeted by the following scene...


That is the cctv camera dangling like an aerial contortionist. No, there was no technician in the lift at the time so I can't tell you if maintenance work was being done or not. I would say more but pictures really are worth thousands of words.

Happy Days,
Afam

Courtesy of the Daily Mail

My typical Saturday night is an ITV special. It starts with Take Me Out at 7pm and concludes with the X factor.

The X factor has been on air for 8 years and has produced stars such as One Direction, Leona Lewis, Alexandra Burke, JLS, Cher Lloyd and Jedward.

This year the Characters on the show are:

James Arthur:
He is a talented, indie guitarist that specializes in looking constipated while he sings. Nothing else can explain the looks of heart wrenching pain he bestows on his audience. I'm often compelled to scream at the television, " Take it easy buddings, I too have had to force out shits larger than my head. I feel your pain."


Lucy Spraggan:
She's a lesbian singer song writer in the style of Kate Nash. I don't have that much to say about her because she hasn't filled our ears with sob stories. She may or may not be a recovering alcoholic.

Union J:
It's made up of four louts who I will not name because they are poor caricatures of One Direction. They also tend to pull the most ridiculous faces while they sing. It's quite excruciating really.


Ella Henderson:
She's almost certainly going to win this year's competition. In fact it's hardly a competition because she's miles more talented than the rest of the bunch. She's got a voice that makes Leona Lewis' seem squeaky.


Jahmene Douglas:
He's the self processed son of a gangster and he hails from the hood. No, I don't quite know what the hood is but this is practically what he said the other week. Upon hearing him sing it's unlikely that you'll ever come to that conclusion. He says that he hasn't fallen in love with a girl yet and I'm not surprised. He's got quite possibly the most annoying giggle in the world. It sounds like the cross between a chicken and a cat.

Kye Sones:
Last week his rendition of Don't you worry child put me to sleep in a minute flat. As an insomniac this is quite the feat. That performance landed him in the bottom 2. I forgot to mention that he's a Chimney sweep. When I heard that I asked myself a very silly question, "Are there still Chimneys in England?" That's an industry that's unlikely to see any growth in the near or far future so it's a good thing that Kye found the X factor.

Chris Maloney: 
The Public's choice. The man has the tear ducts of a teenage girl! I did not think it possible for a grown man to shed such unreasonable tears. It's quite appalling. He belongs on a cruise ship that I Afam will never get on. He's also quite possibly the least marketable of the lot. Why would I want to buy the record of a crying man? It's not very charming is it?

District 3:
Their harmonies often go flat and sharp simultaneously. That is a rather impressive endeavour. They are frequently called the best harmonizers in the competition. Yes, that's how bad everyone else is. What they lack in talent, they make up for in athleticism and energy. They did a back flip in the last live show. It was quite possibly the most entertaining second of the competition so far.

Jade Ellis:
This Lesbian mother of one hails from a council estate somewhere. She wants to provide a good life for her daughter. This is admirable. I fail to see why she shaved one half of her head. She would be so much prettier if she had a full head of hair.


Rylan Clark:
Words cannot describe this fellow. He can't sing, and he can't dance but he's wildly entertaining. He is wildly entertaining the same way a farting pig is entertaining but at the end of the day I'm never going to pay to see a pig fart am I? I might drop a penny in his hat if he ever performed on the London Underground but that would probably be to get him to stop passing crushed glass through my ears.

Gary Barlow:
He is not a contestant but the man is hopelessly dull. Every time I look upon his foul countenance I feel the life being sucked out of me. He makes me feel like I'm 70 and on the verge of death. He is the last thing that television needs. I can also confirm he and Mama Afam use the same perfume (Neroli Portofino by Tom Ford). When I informed Mama Afam of this she very nearly destroyed the bottle.

This frightful combination of characters has ensured that for the first time in a long time, Strictly Come Dancing is more popular than the Xfactor.

Happy Days,
Afam

The room without a view

I don't know how I ended up here. There was a bang and a flash. No! I think it was more like a gurgle and a splash. Most people would expect a bang and a flash before they end up where I am, but these things rarely ever happen the way they're told in stories. Most peculiar…

Forgive me. I don't know where I am either. i do know that I have just made a fatal error. I just let you know that I who am most undoubtedly myself don't know where the Charmander I am!!

It's a white rectangular room, without furniture or much of anything at all to be honest. the only thing remotely exceptional (please note that when remotely and exceptional are used together it can only mean that the thing that is being referred to as remotely exceptional is hardly exceptional at all.)

Where was I?

The only thing about the room that is worth mentioning is that is has si fluorescent lights suspended by chains.

When I arrived I was lying flat on the concrete floor which is just as white as the rest of the room. I was, I am, naked. I was wondering what to do when a cheap parker fountain pen and a note pad belonging to one Jack Wills appeared before me.


On Jack Wills

You're probably wondering how I, who don't know much of anything at all knows that the book belongs to one Jack wills who is also probably a girl. At girl I frown a little. My reaction is most involuntary.

Girls are fickle,
Made out of pickles.

Apologies. I don't know where that came from. Every time I try to think about the source of that thought, mu chest hurts. It's probably a bruised rib.

I know that the book belongs to Jack Wills because, on the cover of the book (a blue book with white feathers) are the letters J A C K  W I L L S in pink. I stared at it for a while. The way a man who does not know whether or not there is a suicide bomber in an abandoned suitcase in an airport would stare at it.

 I think this is the next terrorism craze.  We've had suicide bombers and we've had suicide bombs in suitcases but we've never ever seen suicide bombers in suitcases. This makes sense to me.

 I wasn't sure what would happen if I touched them. At the time I considered the following options.

1. I would be bound to the pen and notebook forever!! The book would never run out of paper and the pen would ne'er run out of ink. I would be writing forever!

2. Upon touching the pen it would morph into a viper and bite my head off. There's a thought I very nearly had right after this but it was so horrid that my brain killed it before it had time to develop fully.

3. Once I opened the book I would be sprayed with acid and blinded! My looks would be ruined forever.

Am I good looking? (This question seems familiar).

4. The pen would turn into a sword and then I would be forced to pretend I was St George and I would have to slay an imaginary dragon for eternity.

5. The book would reveal to me who I am, where I am and what I am doing here.

I thought I had it. I thought I had stumbled upon the reason for the abrupt and surprising materialization of the book by Jack Wills who is a girl. In that instant I performed an extraordinary flying leap towards it. I opened it with bated breath.

 On the front page was written two words, "for you." I flipped through the book feverishly and found that those were the only two words inside it. At that I screamed to the ceiling, "Who else could it be for? I AM THE ONLY ONE HERE!!!"

Here I am still, writing. I know that I wasn't much of a writer before I got here but how else will I pass the time?

Happy Days,
Afam

When I was younger, I believed that society had an unspoken rule, "One must always fail to notice anything about the looks of other men." When asked by the girls in my year who the best looking guy in the year was, I would always name myself and say, "how the hell am I supposed to know?". While I do admit that I am rather good looking you must understand that I was hardly attractive then. Not only did I wear glasses and braces, I also lacked two things necessary for any male to be called handsome; front teeth.

If you are like I used to be and give the answer "how the hell am I supposed to know?" when asked about the physical attributes of another male then you sir are a liar! Are you blind? If you discovered that a good looking chap had recently befriended your girlfriend would you not be worried? Or would you claim that all was fine because you were unaware of how your girlfriend could find such a man attractive? No! You would seek out his motives and take action.

I really don't know where all of that came from.

 Happy Days,
Afam.

I must apologize for the reduction in the number of  posts. You must all be suffering from withdrawal symptoms, but you mustn't worry I'm here with the required fix of me, Afam. I'd rather you stayed addicted. 178 page views a day is not a statistic that I appreciate (#justsaying). As you must know by now I have returned for my third year at the University of Manchester (is it at or in? I think it might be both but who cares?). I have only been here for three weeks and I am already monumentally busy. It is impossible to be any more occupied than I am but I am to blame for this. Yes, I am to blame because I have joined all or most of the societies that Manchester has to offer. I am currently a member of the following societies:

The interesting board games society, the Mancunion (this is the student newspaper, I have already written two articles for them), Squash, Trampolining, Dance, (My mating dance has been lacking inspiration. My moves on the dance floor have not been drawing as much (any) desirable attention and as such business has been slow. As a result of this I have gone to the Dance society for some lessons. We seem to stretch an awful lot but I don't mind, flexibility is a thing to be encouraged in all young men.) Swimming, Athletics, Cross Country, Photography, Anime, Creative Writing, Literary, and a thousand more. If I were to mention them all you would grow bored and I can't have that.


Even though I have been busy it seems that the Universe has still provided me several opportunities for fun. Take Monday for example. My bag was laden with books from the library, my eyes were puffy and tired, my shoulders were stooped with stress and my gait was deflated. My step was missing the extra four springs I'm accustomed to. As I trudged between lectures the Universe delivered me a Deus Ex Machina. Like a beam of sunlight passing through the clouds I saw the most divine contraption. It was just by University Place (aka the tin can building, because it is shaped like... yes! you guessed it, a tin can!!) I was helpless to it's allure. I had to ride it, and ride it I did. I rode it until my eyes danced in their sockets.



Can you see my smile? Does that look like the face of a man who has just had a full day of lectures? This is why I love the University of Manchester. I have been to several other universities and I have never once encountered such an exciting contraption. I suppose that I should thank Linklaters for providing such an entertaining piece of machinery.


Linklaters is a global law firm that's currently hiring. If you fancy your chances, then feel free to apply there.

I thought that I would have no more excitement that week, for good things normally come to me in trickles not floods. I was wrong. On Wednesday I stumbled upon something quite shocking.

I wasn't dressed like that for fun. It was the theme of the squash social... Retro Sport. I dare say I fulfilled the parameters set before me. I was very retro indeed.

 Yes, that's the name of my old school plastered across the arse of a first year student who plays water polo. What are the odds?


 At this I was puzzled. I am well versed with the dynamics of fancy dress but why on earth did he have to consign a dead fish to his buttock? Surely this is a violation of the fish's rights. In hind sight he made me feel a little better about my ridiculous apparel, so un-named Cheltonian, I thank thee.

At the same event I witnessed the initiation of the University of Manchenster's Varsity rugby squad.
:) . He was drinking a pint of lager (beer) from his shoe. Most of them had to do this. After downing the pint he slipped his shoe back on and I thought that that was the most cruel part of the challenge. Can you imagine his fowl toes sloshing around in beer? Vile! Or how badly his shoes would reek in the morning? Worse than a homeless man's dog!

After all of that, it is hardly surprising that I broke my phone later that night. I should have known that my entertainment would come at a price. As they say the Universe giveth and the Universe taketh away.

Happy Days,
Afam

My country is magnificent! It is a thing of beauty! It is a piece of moving, living art. It must not and cannot be criticized for any events that happen within her borders. It is a 52 year long epic. Were the full story ever to be captured in film the even the preview would be so marvelously exciting anyone with half a mind would be forced to see it. What news headline have we not obliterated? We have done it all. I fear that we have exhausted all possible avenues for excitement. If you have no idea what I am talking about then feast your eyes...

You can count a few pairs of legs here. It does not appear to be some organised lynching but a spontaneous lynching. This makes it all the more spectacular for an organised lynching is a common occurrence. It is much harder to get a group of completely unrelated people to observe a the beating, then stoning and burning of four teenage boys.

That's one of them burning.

They've started quite the blaze haven't they? We should make this a poster. I dare say that it would be just as popular as Thích Quảng Đức, the Vietnamese monk that set himself alight.

Had this been an impromptu burning I would have said that the mob was angry. I would have said that it was an irrational heat of the moment sort of thing but I don't even have that excuse. Like I said earlier, they beat them, and then they stoned them (the stones were not at all small, I would say they rocked them but it doesn't quite have the same flair.) and then they burned them.

This is the real Nigeria. A country where we complain about violence, injustice and corruption but it's all a farce because deep down (or maybe not even that deep down) we are all like this. We are the type to beat, stone and burn four young lads on a mere suspicion. It doesn't even matter what they did because I can't say that any man deserves this.

They say show me your friends and I'll tell you who you are. This phrase is infinitely adaptable. Show me your people and I will tell you who you are. The answer stares us in the face. We are Babarians, We are Animals, We are Nigerians, the purveyors of Jungle Justice and other such practices. The people scream do something! I say if screaming is all you're doing then you are obviously one of the above.

You need not do anything now. What you do need not be perceptible. You're not doing it for the praise of men, you're doing it for your safety, because you see it now don't you? I know that your vision may have been clouded before but it must be clear now. You are one of those burning boys. In the right circumstances anyone of us could be them. So save yourselves.

As always, Happy Days,
Afam

Student Castle in all it's glory. Is it not tall and modern looking? Is it not aptly named? It is definitely the modern day interpretation of a castle... from the outside at least. Image was taken from Ghostly Tom's Travel blog found at toms-travels.net

My blood was boiling, my bones were on fire. Excitement permeated my entire being. I was electrified. If you were to observe me at that time I assure you that you would not have been able to see me very clearly at all. I was vibrating very hard indeed. This is how I get when I am excited. You're probably wondering about the cause of all this strange activity. It was the day I was to move into my studio in Student Castle Manchester.

The building is a wondrous thing to behold. I'm fairly sure that it is one of the 10 tallest buildings in Manchester. As you can imagine the view from my Studio on the 21st floor is magnificent. I can see the Manchester moors from my bed. The only annoyance I have regarding my view is that I can see Old Trafford from my bed too. For me this is like a fly in the corner of my eye. No matter how much I try to ignore the fact that Old Trafford lies infront of me I can't. I find my eyes drawn to the stadium nine times out of ten. I wonder if Van Persie can feel the daggers I'm staring his way? (Probably not... *traitor* *cough*).

My room itself is quite small, but it is also just big enough. Yes, big enough to host about 3 squatters. I'm sure that it shall do this at some point or the other through out the duration of my stay. I know I seem positively taken with my room but this was not always the case. Before I moved in I thought that I would be free from the interference of the Universe in my humble abode. I thought that I was owed this common courtesy but this was not the case. The universe reminded me of this on the night I moved in.

I was very grimy, and filthy when I rocked up to manchester at 10pm or so. You see 24 hours before I had been at Aburo's 21st chugging mojitos by the bucketload and being strangled by one very drunk Odz (no, his name isn't actually Odz. Odz is a character from the exceedingly popular manga and anime series One Piece). I had also passed the night in the stables. I would have showered the next day but I had to make a speedy departure from Cirencester to London, and once in London I would have to attend Starmix's 21st. There was scarcely any time to brush my teeth talk less of having a shower. A little perfume and deodorant would do the trick, and I expected every one to ignore the fact that I still had strands of hay in my hair.

After that event I barely had enough time to bid Asquith a hasty goodbye and thank him for his hospitality before I was due back in Manchester.It is not surprising that the first thing I sought to do upon moving in was have a shower. I did not expect my shower to attempt to kill me. I stepped in the shower expecting to be washed by deliciously hot water. At first the water was icy. As I Afam am both a legend and a trooper I endured the cold in preparation for the warm goodness that was sure to follow. The temperature increased gradually until it was just right. I was about to begin my littany of shower hits when I realized that the water was no longer tolerable. I was being boiled alive.I went to bed very sad indeed. I need my daily shower to feel like a human being. I reported the problem hoping that it would be fixed before I had to leave for the freshers week fair the following morning. It wasn't, just like that I had gone three days without having a decent shower. I should have known then that my first few weeks at Student Castle would be peppered by numerous maintenance issues.

Because they are so many I find that I cannot go into detail about all of them. They are listed as follows...
Internet issues, impromptu restarting of the boiler, frozen by shower, retarded elevators (Do you know that I once had to climb down 21 flights of stairs after waiting 15 minutes for the elevator? Ridiculous!!!), leaking pipes, no water, an extreme lack of communication (I'm well aware that work needs to be done in any apartment building, but I do not think it appropriate that men appear at my doorstep to fix my air conditioning without me having any prior knowledge of it), power cut, dodgy policies (Why should I have to pay £5 to be let back into MY studio in the event that I forget my room key inside my room after paying a SMALL FORTUNE in rent?), and despotic policies (I know that there's CCTV for my own safety but please try not to threaten me with it. I am a MODEL tenant).

You might think that I hate the building but the truth is that I don't. You see as a Nigerian - especially one who just spent an entire summer in Nigeria I am familiar with all these issues. In fact, I dare say I'm terribly well equipped to exist with them indefinitely. In the mean time I'll do the Nigerian thing and put the state of the building in my prayers. Yes, right after I thank God for myself and my family and just before I pray about Global Warming.

 Happy Days,
Afam

Yes, I fear you heard right. No this is not a dream, and yes this is Afam not Linda Ikeji or some other charlatan. Why have I STOOPED so low? I'm sorry I really couldn't resist. It's unfortunate that my name isn't Uncle Obama and it's even more unfortunate that my banana shop is currently closed for business.
                                      
I will transcribe and attempt to interpret the interesting parts of the song,

We've come a long way haven't we? When I started this, I didn't mean for it to get so big. Well it's hardly big at all but you know what I mean don't you? I started this so that I could make sense of the world as it occurred to me. I suppose you could call it a journal of sorts.

I haven't had the best year. When I say that, please don't pity me because there are so many souls far more deserving of your pity than I. Even if you were to find a soul that was in dire need of an attendee at his pity party I'm sure you could look ten yards and find another. But no, I have not had the best year. The summer months were particularly difficult. It was then that I turned to the blog and churned out an astonishing number of posts about everything and anything. I suppose it was my way of screaming at the heavens and demanding that the world pay attention or jumping in a pool just to see how many ripples I could make.

I thought that I would grow tired, that I would outgrow this. To be a writer you must immerse yourself completely in your work. It must be your life, your bread, your butter and your water. You must write because if you didn't you would die. I don't mean physical death because there are more ways to die than being shot or hanged or poisoned or ill and there are far worse things than death. The man on the tube who works an 8am to 9pm day every working day but would rather be a clown is dead. The woman trapped in a loveless marriage of convenience is also dead.

I see now that I may never grow tired. That even if you didn't read or sometimes find me mildly entertaining I would still write. I fill pages and scraps of paper with thoughts. I read and try to imitate those I respect. I use tools that others use just because I can. For instance when I wrote about the spirit of Mcdonalds in my first rant about Vodafone (The Unfavourable Marriage Series: Vodafone, RIM, and Afam part 1. ) it was me doing a little of what Shakespeare did. Or when I used the drunken lout in Tales from Captain Reginald: Anything goes that was also a little bit of Shakespeare. I read and reread passages from the Count of Montecristo because I adore the flair that Dumas has. I love how overly verbose he is. I read books translated from Spanish because I love how musical they are.

But don't get me wrong if I didn't write I would not die... I would simply do something else. I would ride horses and go trampolining and sail, and wake board, and watch movies, and read books, and play squash, and drive badly, and sing badly and tease my parents and play squash and study Economics because I love all those things too.

I am infinitely grateful for everything. If my heart held any more gratitude I fear that it would burst. So to everyone that has ever given this blog so much as a glance, thank you. To everyone that has commented, thank you. To everyone that liked my facebook page http://www.facebook.com/theramblingsofamadmanafam thank you. To anyone that has supported me and this in any way thank you. To God for things so many that it would be impossible to write them down, partly because they are far too many and partly because I myself do not know all the things He has done for me thank you.

Never fear because I will not write another post like this until I have written at least 500 or until the blog makes £100 or until it receives 100,000 views. So until next time I wish you the Happiest Days, and the most felicitous nights now and always.

Love,
Afam.