Summer's here again and as you prepare to embark on trips, holidays and work experience you're well aware that society has one rule about summer time; that during the course of your summer you find an individual who you shall, tease, flirt with, date or shag for the duration of the summer alone. This relationship may be referred to as a summer fling, and the individual you choose to embark on such a venture with may be called your summer "p" or you may use the following lengthy description; guy or girl with whom I had a summer fling with. It is obvious that summer "p" is more appropriate.

A while ago I received an email from a friend complaining bitterly about his failed summer investment. He had chosen the wrong company to invest in over the holidays as a result when we lads were trading our stories of success, he was sharing his tales of woe and misfortune. It was a great misfortune indeed.

Please find below a copy of the email I received at the end of the summer last year.

Fam,

I was on the phone at 2am proclaiming my undying affection for Sam- my imaginary girlfriend. To be honest she wasn't that imaginary and the last time I checked being teased mercilessly for three months is a prerequisite for getting promoted to boyfriend status. Sam said that she didn't have any answer to that. She also apologized several times. I thanked her for smashing my heart into a thousand little pieces. I know this sounds really dramatic but truth be told I was only heartbroken for an hour. This is a massive improvement from my high school days, when I would descend into a trance like state for several months. In the context of this email the trance would be represented as several blank lines.



Four blank lines (You see, I am greatly improved.)
 
Unlike a certain *cough* Stephenie Meyer. Of course just by saying her name I've lost man points. Sam for all intents and purposes is a troll. She makes a blue whale seem tiny, only captain Ahab would find her attractive at this point. At least that's how my dreams portray her post 2am conversation.

Ogilvey

 I fired a quick reply. When a friend is in need, a reply 2 days later will not suffice. One must drop every darn thing and galvanize oneself to activity. 

Gil

I am very sorry to hear about your misfortunes and I sympathize with you about the state of your heart. I can only hope that the pieces are coming together as we speak. How did she manage to tease you for three months? Furthermore, I must question your taste, for you permitted yourself to be ensnared by such a beast. I fear that you haven't told me anything at all. You have my deepest sympathies in your hour of need. Feel free to call on me whenever and however.

Afam.


His reply didn't take long.

Fam,
 I was introduced to this beauty by a great friend of mine. You might have met her at my party last year, Liza. She told me that she knew the perfect girl for me and that she was on the verge of leaving her boyfriend. So I thought that it would be prudent of me to swoop in and catch her on the rebound. Liza agreed. I began wooing her ardently. We would go to movies and hold hands. We would text all day and then talk all night. I believed that I was falling in love. She was all I could think about. But there was a situation. While she and her bf continued to fight bitterly they hadn't called things off. I was called away to Malta by my internship. During my absence she and the boyfriend reforged the links of their relationship with titanium. Even worse was the fact that I wasn't informed of the reforging during my time away. I returned to a hefty phone bill (I may need your help paying that off old chap) and no girl. Is it not tragic?

Ogilvey.

Gil,
I'll try not to be too critical of you because you appear to be depressed and broken. There's no fun to be had kicking a dog while it's down. But be rest assured that when you do get back up I'll be the first to land a firm kick (this kick may be physical). You broke two cardinal rules here. The first was that you allowed yourself to be advised by Liza. She knows nothing! Straight girls don't know how to get girls. If they did they would be lesbians. We learned this together from L'auberge espagnole. Where Isabelle (a lesbian) played by Cecil De France, instructs Xavier played by Romain Duris on the art of seduction.

Left to right, Isabelle, and Xavier

The second crime is that you involved my bank account in your troubles. I know that it's bros before hos (whores) but money comes before them both. I find it immensely annoying that you gambled my money as well.
Having said all that, yes it is quite tragic. We can't travel through time. If we could I would make it that it was her who ended up hurt. We can only build on this. If you have promised to be the best god-damn friend she's ever had then you're going to have to break that promise. I'm not going to listen to you whine about being so close but yet so far. And I'm certainly not going to pick you up after every scheme you plant to break them up fails. You'll be severing all ties with the wench effective immediately and should she complain you'll be as mean as humanly possible. I know that you'll find this difficult, but remember that she wasted your time and my money(My money is obviously more important than yours).

Love you lots,
Afam.


Fam,
My deepest apologies. You know me too well, because I had promised to be her best friend, because we do banter well together and we have a lot in common. No worries though, I'll heed your advice. I'm sorry about the money bit.

Love you like always,
Gil.

That folks is how I roll. As you embark on your summer flings, I advise that you tread carefully. Of course I shall be here if the shit hits the fan.

Happy Days,
Afam.

Female poseurs... I see you. You may have thought that one Afam (Hello) had neglected you, but this is not the case. You have been in my thoughts. I'll admit that I haven't been online window shopping for you yet and I know that you have every right to scold me. But never fear, I have been watching the tennis at Wimbledon. What does this have to do with you? It has everything to do with you. Tennis is an amazing sport. It's great for fitness, and your figure.

I imagine that several of you have not taken it up for the singular reason that you do not want to look like trolls while you play. In light of this, I (Afam) have been studying the latest trends at Wimbledon for your benefit. Wimbledon is the London fashion week of tennis inspired sports wear. The designers and models have displayed their wares and I have the winning look from the entire period. *drumroll*






Yes. The look of the tournament was provided by Venus Williams, who has her own clothing line called eleVen by Venus. In this dress she looks like a Nubian Queen. I would proclaim her Naett, the Princess of Elissa. It's a form fitting dress, with an assymetrical neckline and a beautiful back. Simples.

On a side note Venus is a joker. This dress is not yet available in stores. When it is it will probably be $96. You might say that the dress may bring bad luck on court, but who cares? With a dress like that you won't be going home alone.

Happy Days,
Afam

Today has been as much about Serena as it has been about me. I saw her Semi-Final match against Azarenka and I'm currently watching her doubles match against Kop-Jones and Spears. It's hard to believe that the Williams sisters have been swimming around my mind for the last 14 years. I can't remember what match it was where Richard Williams said, "If you think she's good, watch out for her little sister. She's going to be better." (I paraphrase but you catch my meaning). I'm not going to give you a full description of the careers of the Williams sisters. If you want that you can head on over to Wikipedia. No, I will not provide a link. I'd prefer it if you remained here.

Serena saw off Azarenka in two sets (6-3, 7-6). During the match she served 24 aces and was only broken once. I can't imagine what goes through the minds of those that face her. When she crouches into position she resembles a beast, or some heavy piece of machinery. I find it baffling that one so stocky has the audacity to be so quick. The camera never fails to linger on her focused gaze as she attempts to stare down her opponents. I can only imagine that she succeeds because even I who watch from the comfort of my couch am intimidated. At thirty they call her the best server in the game. At a press conference when asked if this Wimbledon was her last hoorah she said that she is as tough as nails. I don't know that womens tennis has ever encountered a force as strong. Several fans assume that the only edge she has is her overwhelming power. They neglect to mention her amazing touch and feel for the sport.

Venus has not has an easy go of it lately. We all know that she's been diagnosed with Sjorgen's syndrome, an incurable autoimmune disease. She says that she wakes up each morning unsure of how she's going to feel and that if not for the dream of winning another Olympic medal, she might not have come back at all. She made to the second round of the French open where she lost to Radwanska in two straight sets. This was not as bad as most reporters made it seem for Radwanska will be facing Serena Williams in the Wimbledon singles final on Saturday. Venus made it to Wimbledon, where she was removed in the first round. It was the first time that this had happened since her debut in Wimbledon in 1997.

The William sisters are through to the Wimbledon Doubles Semifinals in two straight sets (6-1) (6-3).

You might think that Serena carried the weight of the victories but this isn't the case. Venus has also played well all things considering. Her serve is still huge and her awareness of the court is brilliant. She's a devil at the net. In doubles their biggest advantage is that they are sisters. They seem to know when to yield to each other. That is something that cannot be gained through training. They move in sync and present in each of their games, is shades of the other (shades of the other sister).

They're beautiful to watch and I shall dread the day that they retire because I doubt that women's tennis will be as exciting.

Happy Days,
Afam.

I don't like children (you shouldn't find this alarming). I am of the opinion that I was never a child, I was merely an adult in child fancy dress. A stork dropped me on top of my mother fully formed and bearded. Okay, I'll be honest. I didn't have a beard, but my face was lightly dusted with hairs that closely resembled bum fluff. As a result of this, I cannot relate to children for I was never one. Should I ever have one I can only assume that it'll come the same way I did; via stork. So when I was asked to attend a buffet with my aunt and her children (those one's are fine, they've passed the ten year old cut off mark) I was worried because I knew that several children (miniature people) would be in attendance. I wasn't going to go but thoughts of meat overcame my reservations.

The meat at the buffet was glorious. Every part of the cow but the brain was served. That day I'm fairly sure I ate tongue, tail, intestine, stomach, stomach lining, muscle, skin and foot. We Africans don't like to waste any part of the gentle beasts. After I had consumed all this meat I needed to take a nap. So lay my head on the table and took the train to the land of dreams. It was at that very moment that the following scene ensued.

Afam: I was asleep at the table, minding my own business when I heard the children around me discussing my welfare.

Enter Mariama. She's a feisty 7.

Mariama: Afam, you're a child too!! (I didn't have the heart to tell her that I was more than thrice her age)
Afam: Be quiet and let me finish.
Mariama: I'm just filling in the gaps. I'm sure that you won't tell the whole story. For starters, you weren't asleep.
Afam: I was.
Mariama: You weren't! You were just pretending
Afam: Let's move on shall we? (Without waiting for a response I continued) While I was sleeping, your discussion reached me. I was so pleased with the love being showered upon me, that I looked up and smiled with a twinkle in my eye.

Enter Matthew. 11 years old. The last time we met he beat me 9-0 in Fifa.

Matthew: Yeah right.
Afam: Yes that is exactly what happened.
Matthew:We all saw it. There's no need to be ashamed.
Afam: (perplexed) I don't know what you're talking about.

Enter Shola. 13 years old. A decent adolescent.
 
Shola: So your smile had nothing to do with her?
Afam: Who? I don't remember seeing a her.
Matt: The girl your age that stood across from you a few minutes ago.
Afam: I don't know what you mean.
Mariama: Liar.
Matt: He's also naughty.
Afam: How?
Matt: Afam you were responsible for a nine year old child running away from home.
Afam: I don't recall.
Matt: I have evidence.

The table goes silent.

Matt: Just this morning, when I asked you about Pampam (the child I supposedly made run away), you clearly stated that you thought he was an annoying, disruptive, and irritating child.
Afam: Yes.
Matt: There!
Mariama: But he was wasn't he?
Matt: Yes, but you're not supposed to say.


And just like that an entire table of minors was glaring at me.
  
 Happy Days,
Afam

The more I write, the more I realize that 1+1 is always 2 and 2+2 is always 4 but 1+1 might just as easily be 3, sometimes 4 and more often than not 5. I wish I could explain the thoughts behind every line but now they're written and I can't do anything about them. This one's about the end of a relationship. I apologize for the heavy metaphors.

The questions have started,
they'll likely remain unanswered,
the questions will remain.

How are you?
How are you really?
You ask me twice but there's no reveal.
If I could tell you, I wouldn't need to.

What happened?
I don't know.
All I know is that all was fine,
Then all too soon the spark was gone.

Explain yourself...
I knew I would have to,
I found that I no longer cared to.
The truth is I had forsaken us.

I can't understand.
I gave you everything.
You lacked nothing.
I know I lacked something.
What it was, you wouldn't guess,
I believed it punishable by death.

The date was set.
There was nothing left,
I would leave this day or next.
Nothing today mattered,
I could see the end.
After all, I would go someday,
That day might as well be today.

As quickly as it began it was over.
I had started the cycle of disrepair.
We would have several conversations after,
But the questions remained unanswered.

Happy Days,

Afam

Greetings comrades. I looked at my 2 suitcases and the pile of clothes therein and I thought that they must be lonely because I hadn't provided them with any new friends for  a while. I'm convinced that my clothes have nightly parties when I'm asleep. Do you know what partying with the same people for a year is like? Frightfully dull!! So I turned to American Apparel to see what they had in store.

I think the name American Apparel is a misnomer because these clothes don't strike me as being very American. Take these shorts for example...

Yes those tiny things. No they aren't swimming trunks. Yes, they are in fact made of denim. No, they haven't got pockets. Will I be buying them? Probably. The only fault to be found with them is that they are an unreasonable £30. If you can buy a decent pair of jeans for £30 why on earth would you want to spend the same amount on a fraction of the fabric? Having said that my clothes would be thrilled if I added these shorts to their ranks because as my grand father says "Every good party must have a few conference materials (working girls)." These shorts would be the conference materials.

You'll see that the infinitesimally short short is a consistent theme in American Apparel's summer offering. A few weeks ago I might have declared this revolutionary, but now, I think it's depressing. If the British Isles had been bathed in sun shine, 0ne Afam would certainly have raced to the nearest American Apparel store to grab a couple of shorts. It is unfortunate that I have resigned myself to online window shopping. The following caught my eye.

Blue and White stripes, and it's got pockets. I like this one, especially as pockets seem to be rare at American Apparel.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. The answer to the question is no. No, they're not boxers. The website describes them as slim fit poplin shorts and they are £14. They're also available in blue and pink. I'm shocked to silence. Whoever wears this must have the confidence of Brad Pitt. I'm not even sure that Brad Pitt would dare.

These are thick knit Jersey P.E shorts. At this point of the proceedings I'm going to assume that these are legitimately intended to be worn during the rigours of physical education and not for trips to Alton towers. Actually, I think they're Alton towers appropriate. If you don't like these colours they come in black, white, yellow, red, blue, pink, purple, navy blue, cobalt blue, sky blue, green, dark green and grey. £12

I have to admit, I dig the pink more than I dig the navy blue. I think it's odd that the most feminine colour in the world can be so masculine. The shorts also come in royal blue, sea green, jet black, dark grey, silver, and off white. The other pictures are a little questionable see here. £30

Finally, you've got these mocha latte (their words not mine) cotton twill postal shorts. These are really well done. I like the tiny slit on the side, and they appear to be well tailored. In my opinion they are worth the £32. These shorts also come in midnight navy and medium charcoal.

I did not take any of the photographs. All photographs are the property of American Apparel and were taken from americanapparel.com

Happy Days,
Pray for sunshine...

Afam.

In a previous post I spoke about my struggle for content (Would it be wrong if I called it Mein Kampf?). So I've taken to carrying my journal around with me and scribbling anything and everything that comes to my mind. I was lying on my bed admiring the vocal gymnastics of Pentatonix when I was visited by the shits.

(that link will take you to their performance of the dog days are over by Florence and the Machine. Tolu prefers their performance of Video Killed the Radio Star but it's not his blog :P)

Yes, I felt the sudden impulse to blast. I quite enjoy taking dumps. There's something cathartic about them. When I'm having a hard day, I know that I can always retire to my toilet seat and exercise my abdominal muscles. The more constipated I am, the more satisfying the work out. It's important to note that you have to get the constipation just right. If you hold that baby in for too long you'll require some local anesthetic and a team of nurses fisting you to relieve you of your load.

(True story: An enema at the time was about £290. My school nurses like Mr. Shalford from the 1967 movie, Half a Six-Pence believed in three things above all else: system, efficiency and economy. So rather than take me to the hospital, they decided to operate on me in house.)

The only thing different about the ritual was that this time I dragged my journal with me to document the experience. With a Hey and a Heee and a Ho Ho and a Ho and a Ha and a Hey Hey, I was done. I grabbed some bog roll for the wipe, 1 swipe, 2 swipes, no stains (LUCKY BARRY!!!). Moments like that require a victory dance. After my victory dance I retired to my computer and wondered why I was more comfortable than any normal human being had any right to be with the working of their bowels. Most people shy away from discussing the activity, but I relish it.

The answer did not take long. Any one who has spent any decent amount of time with my family will tell you that we're altogether too comfortable with the movements of our nethers.
I will recreate one of our dining table conversations.
Characters: Afam, Mum, Dad, Gbaddy, Tintin
Afam: (FARTS)
whole table pauses looks around
Dad: Who did that?
We all look around. I know that after quick analysis of the fart it will be clear that only two people could have produced that particular kind of fart; light and nutty.
Afam: It was my mum. It's her particular brand.
Mum: It wasn't me.
Afam: (blush)
Gbaddy: What have you been eating?
Afam:(scowl)
Tintin: You didn't even have the common decency to make it silent.
Afam: It took me by surprise. All the others were silent.
silence
Dad: When last did you visit the toilet?
Afam: A few days ago.
Dad: You're supposed to do one at least once a day!!
Afam: Never!
Mum: Your dad is right. Once a day yields the best results. Since you seem reluctant I'll make a big pot of vegetable soup for you tomorrow. (This particular soup is called Afang. It's flushing powers are off the charts.)

Deeper analysis of my memories proved even more damning.
I have a cousin called Pompom. When he was a little tyrant, he always forgot to wipe up. So we created a process for him.

• Blast.
• Analyze blast
• Wipe
• Deliver Analysis.

So whenever Pompom came sprinting out of the toilet, if he failed to deliver his analysis we would know that he had only completed stage 1. That way we could reassign him the mission and prevent civilian casualties.

So comrades I advise that you gain some insight into the mood altering powers of your blast. It really does make for happier days.

Afam

Perfect moments, sad in their perfection,
Surround me with bars of eight.
To know that it was as beautiful as it was short would be the ultimate gratification.
There'd be no joy if every note was a crescendo,
Just as music would be dull without some moderato.
The best things are never saccharine sweet.
The so called perfect moments are only perfect in their imperfection.

One of the problems associated with being a rambler is that we often forget to listen. We ramble about this and that. We make noise about everything and anything. We even forget to pause for breath. We scream ourselves hoarse and asphyxiate ourselves with our banter. Then we find that we have nothing to talk about, for because of our incessant yammering, we have missed whatever it was that happened while we were chanting. This is exactly what happened to me tonight. I came on here, ready to start going on about something and I realized that I had nothing interesting to say. So I turned to twitter. Twitter, is a bank of half formed ideas and unanswered questions.

Tonight I stumbled upon this gem of a quote from one Yam who writes poetry.

"One's more likely to risk being themselves at night than say the day and I think that's because the morning seems so far away."
AZone

When I read things like this, I find myself doing the craziest things, like counting syllables and wondering where else I could read something like this or wondering about the sort of individual that would say such. Would it be a Master talking to an Apprentice or a middle aged man feeling nostalgic about his youth. I think it's the latter. At first I couldn't make sense of it. So I mentally inserted a comma after each word thinking about where it was I was supposed to pause so that the couplet would gain some meaning. When the meaning did come I still stared at it, trying to wrest even more from it.

Would it mean more if I read it like this:

One's more likely to risk being themselves at  night than say the day,
and I think that's because the morning seems so far away.

The top line has 15 syllables and the bottom 14. There's some assonance at the end of the first line but not enough that it is immediately obvious. What could it really mean?

 To come up with a reasonable answer I decided to have a conversation with myself.

Afam: Are you more yourself at night?
Fam: When are you ever not yourself?
Afam: I'm not sure I follow?
Fam: Well, regardless of what you do, it's still you that has done whatever it was that you did so it must be part of you. To decry some of your actions as not being you because they are unlike you would be a farce because the fact that you did those things would mean that on some level they are you. So the you at night is exactly the same as the you in the morning, even though you might behave differently.
Afam: True, but maybe you're taking it a little to literally.
Fam: How do you mean?
Afam: Well, it's dark at night
Fam: You have a gift for stating the obvious
Afam: Thanks. And when it's dark we tend to do things that we hope no one else notices. Like the time we went dancing on the streets of Manchester in the pouring rain because we were feeling a little jolly.

How I remember the experience.

Fam: That was a thoroughly enjoyable experience. Don't knock it.
Afam: True, but we did this at night when we thought no one would see us because had they seen we would probably have been institutionalized.
Fam: Again with the obvious.
Afam: Stop being pedantic. That's the answer. There are only some parts of ourselves we reveal at night when no one else is watching and that's only because the morning, which in this case is a metaphor for discovery, seems so far away.
Fam: I still don't see how this is of any real importance. The price of fish in the market remains unchanged.
Afam: Away.

This my friends, foes and frefoes is a lesson in madness.

Happy Days, Mellow Nights.
Afam

A few weeks ago, inbetween my sets at the gym I found my ears assaulted by a vaguely familiar but new and altogether outrageous sound. For a second I was afraid that Nigerian music might have infiltrated the gym. Not that I'd mind, but, I can't deny that I would be shocked. The song (Girls Talkin' Bout)  has that Nigerian funky house vibe to it, so I thought it might be the new offering by WizKid or Dr Sid. I turned towards the television unsure of what exactly it would be displaying. I was even more surprised when I saw not one, not two, not three, but four little adolescents dancing. They're known as Mindless Behavior and their member are Prodigy, Ray Ray, Princeton and Roc Royal

It wasn't that the music was bad- and it really wasn't. It might have been several things but bad wasn't one of them. It was that they seemed to be stepping straight out of 2003, the year that I saw B2K in concert. Since B2k  and 112 were confined to obsolescence there hasn't been a successful black boy band. I thought we weren't due to see another for at least a decade and that even if there was one they would never be big enough to cross the Atlantic. Obviously I was wrong, for there I was at the gym watching this.

Like I said it isn't a bad pop song. That pretty much sums up everything about the song. While it is quite catchy, it isn't catchy enough to be addictive. It's no wonder they have the American tweens and quite a few cougars talking about them. Their debut album #1 Girl debuted on the Billboard Album top 200 chart at number 7.

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!