Ah my famzers! Life is terrible indeed. I was milling about at home when my father, the great and esteemed Papa Afam called me.

Enter Papa Afam and I, Afam

Papa Afam: Afam!

Afam: Yes dad! What have I done?

Papa Afam: Don't worry about that. I'll sort you out later. Go and get a biro.

Afam: What for?

Papa Afam: I have these papers! I have been recording the election results.

Afam: Manually?

Papa Afam: Yes. I don't trust those machines.  Have you got the pen?

Afam: Can I open a spread sheet?

Papa Afam: Don't over complicate matters. That is your problem. Someone will ask you to do A and you will start thinking about A, B, C, D, and E.

Afam: If you insist. But I'm going to get the laptop and live blog the election results.

Papa Afam: What is that?


And that my friends is why I am still a blogger. Also I cannot sit upstairs idle, writing numbers down on a sheet of paper. I'm not a dull person. 

BREAKING!!! The dailypost Ng  reports that there are Massive protests in Enugu over the outcome of the national assembly election held in Enugu East senatorial zone. Apparently the people in that zone didn't vote for Senator Gilbert Nnaji of the PDP, who won, but for Governor Chimaroke Nnamani of the PDC. Yes the PDC. That is the People for Democratic Change. 

By the way I'm currently laughing my buttocks off at this tweet.

@Gidi_Traffic I need an avian vet. My Congo Grey Parrot is de feathering himself despite been placed on vitamins. Tx.
— Creative Brat (@CreativeBrat) March 30, 2015

It's a reminder that we should chill a little. Not every time fight on twitter, sometimes laugh about Congo Grey parrots.

But let's get back to the main matter! Where is Jega? It is 8:24! What if he has been taken? Because of my ignorance I decided to consult with Papa Afam, who is generally quite knowledgeable about these things.

Papa Afam: Jega is in his house in Abuja.

Afam: Isn't he 25 minutes late?

Papa Afam: Don't worry he'll come out at nine.

Afam: Do you think he's under duress?

Papa Afam: I don't know.

That wasn't very helpful was it. We're currently listening to Femi Fani-Kayode talk and that's enough to make anyone grumpy. He is one parrot that could do with a de-feathering.

20:30pm... not exactly breaking but still relevant... The Edo Deputy state Chairman of the All Progressives Congress has actually been taken. PM News Nigeria reports that soldiers from the Nigerian Army School of Electrical and Mechanical Engineering stormed his house in Auchi and took him. If anyone knows where he is, please tell someone. It's actually quite sad. I hope he's safe.

20:37pm. There've been a few Anti-Igbo rants on twitter because the Eastern states have a PDP bias. APC only got 14,000 votes in Enugu, and that my friends is an epic fail. Here's an Igbo rant that I saw.



The guy's obviously a moron. I don't think I can say any more than that, about that. Just because someone knows what a qwerty keyboard is doesn't mean that they went to school. #theend

20:50... The returning INEC (Independent National Electoral Commission) official for Enugu just said that he made a mistake with Enugu's results. Apparently APC polled 22,690 votes not 14,157. I smell a fish. You can't just ruck up to the podium and change your story without first giving us a story. Enugu smells like fish at this point.

21:00... And APC takes Kano. 1,903,999 to PDP's 215,779.

21:05... It's a little bit tense now. All the banter has died. Jigawa's up now. I should probably give a special shalla/shoutout to KOWA (a political party that isn't doing very well they got 423 votes in Jigawa). APC takes Jigawa 885,988 to PDP's 142,904. APC got 85 percent of the vote there.

21:14... What is up with Channels' live feed. The thing is so scraps right now. Anyway in Katsina, APC got 1,345,441 and PDP got 98,937. There were no cancellations in Katsina, Jollificate! That means be jolly, and party and stuff. Mama Afam's been chased to her chambers by Papa Afam, because there are no phones allowed in the collation room.

21:19... And now we're in Kwara. APC got 302,146 and PDP got 132,602. APC snagged 69 percent of the vote there guys. APC seems to be doing quite well. There were no cancellations in Kwara either. More grease to your elbows Kwarites. It isn't easy.

21:23 - It's all going so fast now. I have no time for conjecture and silly fantasies because now they're in Kaduna. On a side note it's thundering and this is scary because the cable is fiercely incompatible with rain. Anyway,  APC is doing some heavy damage in the North. They got 1,127,760, to PDP's 484,085. APC got 70% of the vote and they're currently leading by about 4.5 million votes.

21:34 - It's an APC bloodbath in the East! I guess the Igbos want anyone/anything but Buhari which is fair enough. In Anambra, PDP won with 660,762 votes and APC virtually died with 17,926. Anyway you look at it, it's just terrible. This is the stuff of nightmares. And now we've got more Nightmare content because it's time for Abia.

22:05 - This break is a little bit long. Papa Afam is currently giving predictions, but I can't see the sense in it.  The results will be the way the results will be. But if you're interested in that sort of thing, we're predicting a win for APC. Don't look at me anyhow, Jonathan winning would be a tragedy. Mama Afam's prepared some nibbles! Three cheers for the woman!!!


Anyway I'm going to see what the tweeps on twitter are saying.

😂😂😂😂 “@iamforbes: As in, please, talk to us. RT @SappyJnr: My Igbo folks, I never knew y'all felt this STRONGLY Ahahn 😳”
— ErrMaGerrrd (@MotleyMusings) March 30, 2015

This is true. Igbo's what's up with you? Let's talk about this. Are you hurt? Is there a bee in your bonnet that you want to share with us? Sharing is caring? In other news, I'm looking a Protesting APC Women in Port Harcourt being tear gassed. Odikwa serious.

I don't really get what Jega is doing to be honest. Why do they need so many breaks! And I understand Black People's Time but since when did 10 minutes turn into an hour; such bad behaviour! I'm about to become a Naijacan't, or even more of a naijacan't than I am already.

This Jega is a typical Nigerian Professor, making you wait 3hrs for a 10min chat
— A.A-A (@SirDorian_Gray) March 30, 2015

22:47 - Sorry about the lack of updates. I went to get a plate of Suya, because you know that the Mandem can't be hungry while watching this election results announcement. You see, I'm not about a struggling lifestyle. If you can't gbadun (enjoy) the somtin, then don't do it.

22:53 - Akwa-Ibom has produced some shocking results! What has APC done to the Southerners? Everyone knows what PDP's done (allowed Boko Haram to rape and pillage unchecked, tanked the economy, turned the Nigerian populace into Rihanna (we're all saying Bitch better have my money). That's enough preamble for now. PDP got 953,304 votes and APC got 58,411. Chai!

22:57 - Now we're in Imo state. Apparently Mama Afam knows the INEC official reading the results, Professor Ibidapo Obe. My parents are mysterious people. He seems like a good guy though! Cracking jokes. He's also quite clever! He made his own summary sheet. Jega (the bossman) told him to heat up some of his cool and read the thing from the original document. PDP trounced APC 559,185 to 133,253. It's better than a lot of the other eastern states, so I think APC will be happy with that. It's great to know that you're not completely loathed.

There were cancelled votes in some local governments because the Polling Officers were playing where is the polling officer? with the voters. Diaris God Oh!

23:08 - It's Plateau's shot at the podium! PDP - 429,140, and APC - 549,615

Papa Afam: Goodluck has lost!

Mama Afam: Amen

There's a lot of conversation here about Plateau being a swing state. Papa Afam said, "It could go either way." All I could think of after this was the bisexuality of the state. Is there something wrong with me? To be honest, APC and PDP might as well be different genders.

23:17And that's it for tonight guys. They've literally just called it a night, after doing half the work! Holy Jehoshaphat! As a result of their tardiness, it's cloudy with a chance of violence.

Stay Safe. Happy Days.
Afam

Oho! My afamzers! My body is tired, but I know that if I do not do this blog post now, then I shall never do it. And even when I eventually get round to it, it will be so far out of your minds that it wouldn't be worth my while. I love the blog and stuff, but I'm in it for the page views and the retweets. Well, that's not strictly true but, there are the posts I write for me, and then there are the posts that I write because the blog needs to grow. Anyway, that's enough of an introduction. If I write too many words, the strangers that will flock here because of the fact that it's the AMVCA's I'm writing about and not my relationship with the toilet will leave. Naughty Strangers. My bowel movements are even more interesting than the AMVCA's. For example, yesterday I had the most efficient blasting session ever! It only took 5 minutes, and when I wiped, I discovered that my bumbum was as clean as a whistle. This is good; clean bumbum, happy heart.

It turns out that I'll have to split this blog post into 2 parts, and this is fairly annoying because, that means I'll have to work twice as hard. Harrumph. No matter. My name is Afam. I am a trooper. When the work concerns the blog I work like a madman who doesn't need sleep. My mind is so blog oriented now, that I stay up late looking at the statistics, and crying and wailing.

"Why, Why, Why, did I only get 100 page views today. Oh help me somebody! Help me! Oh Help me I say. What can I do to make the blog more trendy? I shall tweet it. I shall tweet it like a crazy person."

And so that's the reason why I've been on twitter, tweeting links to the blog. With only 800 and so followers my reach is only so large. Sometimes I get a retweet, but it's been fairly dire. I'm not going to be coy about this. Go now and tweet the link. I'm incredibly grateful already. Yes! You are lovely, and kind and good. You will never do a fart that will embarrass you. Pimples will not grow on your forehead. You will never encounter an Indian Cockroach. Amen.

And so, and so, I'm going to talk about the things that I saw behind the scenes at the AMVCA's. It isn't going to be as rich as the version I did last year, but you'll make do. Last year, I didn't have much to do, but this year, I stole these pictures while doing my actual job. Clap for me! I am great!

I do this a lot. I know you give me compliments, but I always give myself compliments for insurance. Don't stop complimenting me. They give me life. When I feel shitty and completely out of my depth, I remember that 

This right here is my mate Jason. He's a radio host on Cliff Central, which is a South African Radio Station. I've never been to South Africa you know? It's such a shame, but I have a feeling that I'll make it there some day. Maybe I'll even get a South African accent. The question is, should you work on the accent before you go or when you're there? I'll think I'll do the former, because Nigeria has taught me that accents are like pure water.

And this is Osas, with the lads. Before I took this picture we had a really long chat about journalistic integrity, but enough about that. When I'm with fleeker than the average women, I tend to act like I'm on drugs. My gaze lingers, my palms get sweaty, and time slows down. I'll say more about this later.

She did the opening spoken word dance hybrid of a thingy at the AMVCA's and during the performance I remember thinking that she had such flexible arms.

Can you see what I mean? I took three pictures of her! No, I can't explain why I did. She's engaged, and I haven't got room for anyone but me and the bitch, Sabrina. Sabrina is actually a bitch. She's an old bitch but I'd be lying if I didn't say that she's a good bitch.

And here we have the Mavin children. I was going to call the guy who's probably old enough to be their father randomer, but calling people random isn't very nice. Gentleman is better. The two Mavin children in the shot are Di'ja and Reekado Banks. Reekado's good, but Di'ja is probably better. I mean look at her looking like a soul sister! Afro on fleek.  I really have to stop saying on fleek, the word gives me a headache.

Yass. Sometimes two is better.

Eheh! Now we've got my very good bantering companion Stephanie Coker. The day Stephanie refused to let me, Afam, hellur, get my picture of her, I was very miffed indeed but it looks like she's recovered from her camera shy Afam hiding ways. Stephanie, it was good to have you on the big daddy DSLR. For those who don't know who Big Daddy is, he's my camera. Now, let's talk about how she looks. Yes, she's pretty, and her hair's alright, but that t-shirt. Some of you are probably thinking that I'm about to say rather mean things about it, but I'm not. It's a great tee. I think I'd wear it. It says talk Disney to me, and this should serve as a manual. If you are a man, or a woman, or anything inbetween and you're confused that Stephanie is Bae, please go get some good pick up lines from the Disney Channel, and I predict that the both of you will have a happily ever after.

Here we've got Diamond, the Ugandan singer. He's really quite good. I haven't seen the AMVCAs yet, but from what I saw he's good. No, he's better than good, he's brilliant! And that his feature wth Waje, Coco baby, is actually kind of banging! When I first heard it, I didn't really feel it, but it's grown on me. Good music always grown on you. But you knw? I haven't met Waje yet. I need to rectify this.

That's him again. I'm not sure why I'm still commenting underneath every image you know? Ah! It's because of that guy in the jersey like t-shirt. Look at that smile. You can tell that he really enjoys what he's doing.

This shot is a bit over exposed but is that really so bad? I like over exposed things. Over exposure for the win.

Yaaaaaaasss. I need to duplicate that dance move. It's the original shake your tail feather.

I really can't find anything to say about this one. I was feeling myself that day. When I was still young in the business of collecting pishos for my personal use, I had to take loads of of shots before I got one barely usable one. I didn't even care that much then, all content was good content.

And here's Eddie Kadi. I expect that I'll get more pictures of him at the gidi culture festival.  Eeesh, I've got to  apply for my press pass. :(.

And here we've got P square. I'm still not sure who's who but take it like that. I haven't eaten today, and that's probably why I'm so glib. But I'll power through. I didn't get to speak to them because they're a weee bit diva-ish, but that's to be expected isn't it? They're like the Nigerian version of One Direction or something.

And here we have Ebuka Obi-Uchendu before he changed. I know quite a lot of you are looking at his face and his physique but I can't get over the size of his feet. They look like they're a size 13. Aren't large feet inconvenient?

Lastly we have my buddy Ill Rymz who showed up in a Porsche. He calls me Spanky Lou, and I'm not sure that I like this. It sounds like a porn name.

Happy Days,
Afam

Dear Mama Afam,

The last time I wrote you a letter, I was 12. I was a terrible 12 but then again when I was 12, I thought you terrible too. You’d sent me away to a boarding school that I didn’t really like, and I refused to stay completely gone. When your peers were celebrating their freedom from their children, you were dealing with lengthy letters, and weepy phone calls from the Vice Principal’s office. And then let’s not forget the times I fell ill (one life threatening illness a term for the first two years) because that school was in the middle of nowhere and the malaria that the mosquitoes gave there was vastly superior to that which I had encountered in Lagos. You must have worried till you were nearly as ill as I, and I was pleased. I’ve always been a little bit of an attention monster so I spent all my time in hospital smiling secretly because I knew you were worrying yourself ragged.

So forgive me if I’m not sure how exactly I should go about this. Our emails, are significantly less flowery than this, and our iMessages are even worse. I bark demands at you and you bark counter demands back. And what’s more, this letter isn’t just for you. It would be nice to apply copious amounts of tunnel vision to it, and bang it out, but I can’t. It’s for everyone. That makes it more difficult, because our jokes would be lost on them. I find it difficult to believe that anyone who reads this will be consumed by the giggles every time anyone says monkey bottom. I just cracked up. I’d explain it to the lot of you, but you wouldn’t get it. I think it’s a genetic thing. There are some things that simply can’t be got.

There are only two things I want to say, and those are I’m sorry and thank you. I’m sorry for a lot of things. I’m sorry that I break more things than I fix, even though you and Papa Afam are partly to blame for that. I cannot understand how you did not consider that some of your worse traits would be transmitted into one of your children. Of course you couldn't possibly have predicted that I would  be the sole inheritor of the disorganization, carelessness, and the lack of coordination that the both of you are afflicted with.

I’m sorry that I do not tell you that I love you enough. The thing is I don’t think I need to. Words can be so inefficient! There is no one word that can summarize everything I feel when I think of you, so love will never do. I suppose it would be better for me to say that I cherish you, but that hasn’t got the same ring to it as love. Love sounds nice, but it means too much while managing to mean too little. How can I say I love my Macbook pro or my car aka loser 644 damaged, and then go on to say that I love you. You bought me the Macbook pro and loser 644 damaged and as such you cannot share adjectives with them. The very thought of it is ridiculous. I’m sorry that I don’t listen. Well, I do listen, and I do agree, but my brain suppresses the instructions that I find distasteful and only focuses on the ones that I find agreeable.

Lastly, thank you for everything. I’m aware that everything is very broad, grand and unspecific, but it will have to do. You’ve done too much for me. You continue to do too much. Sometimes I cannot believe that you’ve read everything I’ve ever written, and that’s a lot. I write more than the lot of you know. Thank you for not disowning me after seeing me do some incredibly cringeworthy things. I cannot believe that you survived the Mammy Water halloween incident, and the sexy clown debacle, and the flash costume unzip me scandal, and the my son has been dancing on instagram debacle and the help my son just bought a cat onesie thingy.

I'll wake up tomorrow when you come to wake me up for church, because my just woken up mind is incredibly adept at hitting the snooze button. And I'll probably forget that it's mother's day then because I'll probably be the victim of hang over amnesia. But even as I groan, "ready in 30 minutes", you'll know that this entire declaration of love was completely unnecessary because you carry my heart in your heart, and I do the same for you.

Love you like Always,

Afam

 Ah well! We started from the bottom, reached the top and now we here, which is somewhere in-between the top and the bottom. It isn't a good place to be, but I'm content all the same. I use too many buts these days. I don't think I can help it. Something is always one thing, then another.

Take me for instance. I'm Afam, son of Mama and Papa Afam, acquaintance of many, friend to a few, gifted by birth, and punished by life. It's all so dramatic here, but I imagine that this is why you love me. The words come so painfully tonight. It must have something to do with the fact that I'm watching Little Women on television. I'll labour on for a little while.

I hang out with all sorts these days: vagrants, creative people, designers,  industry perps and the like. To them I'm at best a content co-ordinator and at worst a hanger on. When I talk about being a blogger, they make me out to be some gossip monger. I dare not tell them that they over value their own importance, and that the readers of the good dear old blog, are far too refined to care about their daily proclivities. You care about culture - about things that are large enough to stop or start conversation; and you care about me. You do not so much care that Linsday Lohan photoshopped her buttocks on instagram, or that Seyi Shay went grey, then brown, and God knows what else. These things change too quickly for anyone in decent employment to notice.

I cannot bring many of these people home for Papa Afam would despise them the second they set foot in it. He wouldn't quite despise them, but they would be the face of his frustration with me. It's one of the weird things here, what is a successful actor to a self made man like Papa Afam. If it came to a pissing contest, he would ask them how many exams they'd written and they would fail to impress him. They would fail to impress him even if they owned the whole world, because love means seeing those you hold in your heart to better than either you or they can imagine, and Papa Afam loves me.

Last week Sunday, he made us lunch. Please note that his making us lunch isn't a sign of his love, it's a symptom of his indelible sense of duty and propriety. In Papa Afam's mind, it is customary that families sit and eat lunch together on Sundays. We had been slacking on this family tradition, so Papa Afam decided to step into the kitchen to ensure that no-one deviated from the master plan of his perfect Sunday afternoon. I could not bring myself to refuse him. To skip a Papa Afam cooked meal is to dance with disaster and misery. It's the sort of thing that leads to conversations like this,

"Good morning daddy."

"What's good about the morning?"
..............................

"Dad, I'm going to Stranger."

"Only a madman would go to a place called Stranger."
................................

"What is this blog of a thing?"

"I don't know really?"

"Why is it called the Ramblings of a Madman? Do you know that people will actually think you're crazy?"
..................................

The thing is we're all crazy. I think it's crazy that on Christmas day we had both turkey and duck, and that on New Year's day we killed a Ram. It was great, I loved it, but it's nuts. There's a shanty village not 400 metres from here! That's bonkers no? And last week Sunday, we had Pheasant. I don't even want to tell you how insularly weird that is.

With life the more things seem to change the more you realise that they never did in fact change. We hide our sameness in tales of growth and and lovely things. However the things are always just things, we remain the same underneath.

The other day I was sitting with Mama Afam in the living room upstairs, when a cockroach appeared. Mama Afam couldn't see it because she didn't have her glasses on but that didn't deter her. She walked in the direction of its scuttles and bent toward the floor with squinted eyes. When she saw it, she exclaimed,

"Ah it's a Cockroach!"

 She hobbled away to find a good slipper to finish it with but as she returned to do the deed the cockroach took flight.

 "Ah!" She screamed.

"It flew! It must be Indian!"

After she'd changed slippers - because Indian cockroaches require different slippers for the killing - and killed the roach, I said,

"Stop this! That's how people will start to suspect that I wasn't born on the Island."

And I wasn't. 

I am weak. This weekend was beyond tough. Sorry, I've got to stop for a minute because the music playing at Cafe Neo is just so bad! It's worse than bad! I've got ants crawling in and around my head because of this. Normally, I wouldn't complain about bad music but their music is usually good and when it's not it's low enough that it doesn't bother you. Oh well, what's an Afam to do?

Ah my Afamzers! I'll be honest with you. When I decided that I would write this one, I had some difficulty populating it with words. I wanted to say other things that had little or nothing to do with what I wanted to say, like, I'm getting a new dog. I'm not sure what I'm going to call it yet, but it will be even more awesome than Captain Reginald. Now, you're probably thinking,

"so what was it that Afam wanted to say?"

Thanks!

You made me a fan club on instagram the other day, and I damn near died. You fulfilled my dreams! Well, sort of. I mean, you must really love me if you've made me a fan club right? So thanks for the love and stuff.

Oh Lawd! 

This one's going to be one of my most self indulgent in a while. But first let's have a brief flashback shall we?

Back in 2013, I was even more mad than I am now, because I didn't care so much about consequences. I could say anything. When I realised that it was the same people I was chatting shit about that I would be looking for work from, I dialled it back a bit. You know how it is don't you? You can't call your future boss a flying nincompoop. If you do, all that cash money will never reach your bank account. But...

Butts are the stuff of life. There's always a butt. 

But... when the Genevieve magazine instagram account did what it did yesterday, I couldn't help but laugh myself to sleep. It was terrible. I was revelling in the night nurse high when I saw the gbammest gbosh I'd ever seen. Lawd... it was terrible. But before I continue, I need to tell you lot, what the what Genevieve Magazine is.

Genevieve Magazine is a Lagos, bigs boys and bigs girls magazine. It's quite large and it may just be profitable. Ah my afamzers and friends, it is very difficult for magazines to be profitable here. The owners often have extreme chop all the money syndrome, and adverts are slim and hard to come by. Also, employees are lazy, I don't mean to be a bitch, but have you ever been to the TW magazine website?

The one problem with being alive that I seem to have is that there are so many people giving bad advice for all the wrong reasons. Don't worry this one shan't be very long. I'm quite offended. I'm too offended to wax lyrical about the cold that I have. Yes, I have a cold. It is quite terrible, but don't worry, tonight I'm rejoicing because I'm going to be out like a light sedated. Night nurse for the win.

Once upon a time, I was feeling a bit down about the blog, and I said to this useless friend of mine, "Friend, I don't know what to do to move this blog forward."

Before I continue I think its only right that I tell you all how useless this friend is. Ah! My foes! He is so bad that it would be better for me if I had never made his acquaintance. I mean have you ever had a friend with a basket mouth? All the gist you dispense will just keep coming back to you like your words are boomerangs. One day, I had to make that dreaded call. Yes, I called him and said, please, please, please and please, don't talk about me to anyone ever. I now it's a little bit over the top but what else could I do. I don't need anyone telling me about the brief moment of madness I had when Captain Reginald died. I really don't. If you do give my stories away, then please don't give it to people who are so tactless as to bring it back to me. 

I do quite like his company, but I don't know why I'm either hearing about my matter from someone that I hardly know, or hearing about someone else's matter. Nothing is privileged. Nothing is sacred. I don't like this very much. You see, I don't like being tickled or poked. I absolutely despise being touched. So when this individual chose to reject my vehement protests against being carried, and lifted me in the middle of the road, I was ready to do murder. My body is my own. It is not anybody else's. I own it. And if I say that I do not want to be touched, carried or tickled, then I shall not be touched carried or tickled. It is a big deal. It is the biggest deal. You don't treat the holy Afam temple of Afamness like it's a dustbin. How dare you? Do you know what has been spent on this temple? Do you know how many prayers have been prayed over this temple? So when the temple says, Thou shalt not touch me! And you do, you're going to get it. And he did. At first I panicked, and seized up, then I remembered that I had the control. He got a double punch and an accidental head butt. It sounds extreme but it isn't to me. If you touch me without permission I shall die. I'm not joking. I will literally die.

I can't stress this enough. Sometimes a hand on my shoulder is like a line of fire. I lost myself there. Let's get back to it.

"Afam, both the story and the way it's written cannot be funny. Only one of them can be funny."

"Friend, say what???"

"Afam, I know what I'm talking about. I have an English A level."

I didn't say anything after that. I couldn't. What could I have said? When someone demeans everything, you can't teach them value. My words have no value, my body has no value, and my stories don't either. It's sad, but it's really not that sad. For some reason, I still think he's a friend, even though he isn't my favourite friend at the minute.

I'll conclude this now.

If blogging were easy, everyone would do it. If writing were easy then everyone would do it. Because not everyone does it, and even among the ones that do, so few do it well, it is safe to assume that it is actually ridiculously difficult, and that the impression of ease when it's done well is an exercise in mastery.

Happy Days,
Afam