The first real post of the year is always difficult. New years are always difficult. We hit the reset button and aspire to be better or worse and this is not something that is easily done. It takes a lot of thinking, and introspecting to avoid the goldfish resolutions that plague us from year to year.

Now you're probably wondering what a goldfish resolution is, and as always I am here with the answer.

A gold fish resolution is a plan of action that is forgotten almost as soon as it is made. Some of you have probably already realised that you are guilty of this. Your diets have failed, and the gym membership you got with the last of your early Christmas salary has gathered dust, because you have learned just as you did last year that the treadmill is not for you.

This year, I didn't make any new year resolutions and with good reason: I am terrible at them. I learned this in 2014. In 2014 I made the incredibly foolish choice to spend the year being offended. I raged against the idiots, and the vagrants, and those who had the great misfortune to look at me the wrong way. My resolution led to displays of such immaturity and stupidity that I would prefer to forget that the entire year happened.

2015 was better. I made no resolutions and I managed to get my life moving on what looks like a semi decent path. I'm still a long way from having a concrete plan, but I can tell you without a doubt that where I am now, is infinitely better than where I was a year ago.

After the lessons taught by the last two years, I have decided to do the following.

• Never make a new years resolution, because I am not a goldfish and I do not intend to die this year. 
• Make life resolutions because I will not be young forever and I need to not be poor. 
• Be genuinely good to myself and this includes doing good things that I absolutely loathe, like eating tomatoes. Raw tomatoes are disgusting, and radishes are evil.

Many things have been said about the African waist and the booty that follows it. It's said to be the most flexible waist in all of waistdom, capable of thrusting in any direction, from every position. The African waist is so incredible that Tiwa Savage released an entire song about it called African Waist.

I quite like Tiwa Savage even though my affections are completely one-sided. First she married Tee Billz, and then she blocked me on instagram. But has that ever stopped any determined blogger? Though she may deny me access to her completely unprivate pictures, she cannot prevent me from listening to her silky voice on youtube.

As far as songs go, African Waist is  terrible. It drags on without rhyme, reason or agency, and some of its lyrics are senseless syllables that were probably written by a donkey on drugs. In most cases, entirely unoriginal references to lady buttocks are forgivable as long as they are accompanied by a devastatingly catchy chorus. In the case of African Waist the only thing you're likely to catch is a yet undiscovered visually transmitted virus that makes you believe that you're trapped in the newest iteration of the yet to be created television show, Nigerian Horror Stories. 

As if all of that weren't bad enough we've got Don Jazzy appearing as the perverted uncle who took life advice from fluorescent adolescent from the 1980s and a serial sex offender.

It's been a while since I encountered a loaf of music as unpalatable as this, but I have found a way that it may be enjoyed.

To enjoy this truly ridiculous offering you must do the following:

• Slam your head into a wall repeatedly.
• Snort Paracetamol through your nose.
• Crucify your eardrums.
• Colour out your eyes with a Sharpie. 

 If you make it through all that, then I'm sure that the lousiness of the song won't bother you. Ninety nine and three quarters per cent guaranteed.

This song gets no loaves from me.

Happy Days,
Afam