Your Russel and Bromley's a taste of infinity.

I can see my PR friend's face now.

Enter Afam and PR Friend...

PR Friend: Afam!!! I can't believe that you're going to devote an entire article to Russel & Bromley. 

Afam: Why not? I love them. They're like some of the best friends I've ever had. They're always there for you when your wallet is fat. 

PR Friend: They're not paying you for this, are they?

Afam: No. 

PR Friend: They're not giving you any deal?

Afam: No.

PR Friend: Why? Tell me before I announce that you're actually a foolish kind of guy. 

Afam: Love is free, and beautiful. I gave it to them because they make lovely shoes. I'm sure that if I turned up at the pearly gates in a pair of Russel's Peter wouldn't turn me back

PR Friend: You're actually crazy. 

Afam: I can't do anything about that. I have a therapist and I've been on pills but the crazy hasn't gone anywhere.

PR Friend: What are we to do with you?

Afam: Love me as I love my shoes. 

After suffering repeated exposure to the reagent known as Papa Afam, it should come as no surprise to you that I am quite particular about my shoes. I'm not as bad as Papa Afam, who once spent 5 hours in Bally and only bought one pair. The man is truly singular. If I ever met another like him, I'd run away immediately. One Papa Afam is an unquantifiable blessing but two would see me dead within the week. My relationship with the old man is complicated to say the least, but I'll never forget the moment he got me my first pair of Russel and Bromley's. They were the plain black tassled penny loafers. It was love at first sight and I loved them till they died.

This is one of the problems with being a rambling madman. You start off thinking that you're going to be talking about shoes, but you end up talking about your daddy. What's up with that? Now, you guys are probably thinking that every conversation we'll ever have will end up returning to my daddy. It isn't too sexy. Anyway, as a modern day poseur, dandy and fop. I am here to inform you that it is absolutely impossible to reach the true heights of foppishness and dandiness if you do not have a pair of Russel's.

When you look at them you think, "Oi, these are some dang smart shoes. They should only ever be worn to business meetings and rich people parties" but you're wrong. THEY ARE GOOD FOR EVERYTHING! After the first month of pinching when you'll be living off blister plasters and hourly doses of paracetamol, as the leather stretches, they're suprisingly comfortable. They're so comfortable that I didn't think anything about walking 11.2 Kilometres from a night out that I wasn't enjoying to my house in them. When my last pair died (the sole started flapping about like it wanted to have a conversation with the world), I was distraught. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't put them in the hands of some 2 bit cobbler, and I didn't want to send them to be fixed through any person going to the abroad. My Russel's and I had a very intimate relationship. After enduring my toe jam, and odiferous feet for five years, it seemed disrespectful to leave them in the care of another. I mourned them for about a week then I came up with a solution. I decided to replace them, with a pair that was virtually the same as the old pair.

In my opinion, this is what it means to be human. It is a human thing to want the same but different. I wanted the same but different. It cost me, but in this case money bought happiness. And now, I shall toast to dancing on tables, on tip toe, bashing down walls and sleeping on couches, because there's infinity in all of those things, and who wouldn't kill to feel infinite even if it's just for a second.