<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746</id><updated>2011-07-08T04:23:59.510-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Free Man In Paris</title><subtitle type='html'>"I was a free man in Paris,
I felt unfettered and alive.
There was nobody calling me up for favours and no ones future to decide.
You know I'd go back there tomorrow but for the work I've taken on stoking the star maker machinery behind the popular song". (J.Mitchell)</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>14</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-8703416848511672351</id><published>2009-07-10T02:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-10T02:40:32.998-07:00</updated><title type='text'>R.E.S.P.E.C.T</title><content type='html'>I once read such a beautiful passage in a book. It suggested how the essence of every life is the same as that contained in the smallest seed, of the smallest plant. That how from the smallest seed and its roots, all of life grew and all of life is connected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve always had the deepest of respect for each living thing in this world – whether it is human, animal, plant or tree. I’ve always believe that the same soul of life is contained in each thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently watched a very harrowing, and emotional film about the civil war within Africa. It has the usual Hollywood undertones of the American army saving the day – carried out by the obviously true American hero, Bruce Willis. Bruce was given a mission to find and rescue an American doctor working in a mission in the midst of the war. His mission was to rescue the doctor, and the doctor only. The doctor, on her own mission to save as many lives as she could, would not leave her people that she cared for. Bruce ensures her that if she stays then the African soldiers who were not far behind would kill her instantly. She stands her ground. Why should she be the only one who is saved? She simply states &lt;em&gt;“Yes, I may be an American, but all of us here are human”.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of the Second World War, when all captured and imprisoned Jewish people were liberated throughout Europe, a small group made a gift for their saviour. The famous Oskar Schindler did his best through money, crime and bribery to save as many Jewish lives as he could during the Holocaust. The gift that they gave him was a simple gold band, which was engraved with a Hebrew proverb. It read &lt;em&gt;“He who saves one life, saves the world entire”.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One life. Just one life, no matter race, or creed, colour, human, animal or plant, is a gift. This same life and soul – I believe – lives within us all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So as I sit here on my air conditioned train, drinking my Starbucks, listening to my iTouch and looking across the beautiful sunlit countryside, I do realise and appreciate how lucky I am. This is my life, and my soul is happy. This is why I respect every human and living thing in this world, as the same life that is within me, is within them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel that it is when this respect for life is forgotten that our world and the people within it turn upon themselves. War, murder, racism, homophobia, hate – all are born from a lack of respect of life and love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is a gift, to love should come naturally to everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I worry how this simple understanding is rapidly disappearing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-8703416848511672351?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/8703416848511672351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=8703416848511672351' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/8703416848511672351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/8703416848511672351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2009/07/respect.html' title='R.E.S.P.E.C.T'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-1872865678496850089</id><published>2009-06-13T04:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-06T06:22:46.048-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You'll never know how much it meant</title><content type='html'>The simplest of memories which I will cherish forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three soul mates of different varieties in a room. Two bound to each other, and the same two bound to the other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An unexpected visit. A visit necessary to solve a heart ache, a problem that was solved as soon as the three of us were together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sat in a simple front room, in a simple home. One of the happiest places I could be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conversation and red wine. Conversation turns to song. Red wine turns to more red wine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An old guitar which has played the soundtrack to some of my lifetime highs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A song which will be with me forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two of us singing to the strumming of the talents of a man beyond anyone else I have ever known.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Laughing. Drinking. Getting the words wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was myself for the first time in a year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will remember this for the rest of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-1872865678496850089?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/1872865678496850089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=1872865678496850089' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/1872865678496850089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/1872865678496850089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2009/06/youll-never-know-how-much-it-meant.html' title='You&apos;ll never know how much it meant'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-2217772167606877613</id><published>2009-06-13T04:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-13T04:11:35.766-07:00</updated><title type='text'>These are the dreams...</title><content type='html'>Dreams - &lt;em&gt;Dreaming is defined as the subjective experience of imaginary images, sounds/voices, thoughts or sensations during sleep. Dreams represent a world of imagery in which our darkest fears, deepest secrets, and most passionate fantasies break out from the unconscious mind and only at this time become present to our own consciousness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always been a morning person, and I pull myself out of bed as soon as I open my eyes. There are 24 usable hours in everyday and I don’t like to waste them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After what my unconscious mind projecting in to my deep sleep last night, I wished to not only stay in bed forever, but to my lost in my dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was so real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not just that, it felt so right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt so alive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had never felt happier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I even remember thinking in my dream, this has to be heaven, I have never felt like this.&lt;br /&gt;I felt it. In the core of me. Even as I slept I could feel that excitement in the pit of my stomach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was simple.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came over to your house, as normal. It felt normal. It wasn’t your actual house, but in my dream it felt like I had been there a thousand times before. The door was open. I came in, went upstairs. As I reached the top of the stairs I headed to your bedroom. You surprised me. You appeared behind me out of the bathroom. You wore a white towel. You smiled. Walked toward me. And took me in your arms. You hugged me. A simple strong hug. And then whispered. I missed you. Then we kissed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mind in my conscious and unconscious worked overtime. I melted. The kiss ended. I woke up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up feeling indulged, the feeling of excitement still there in my stomach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then anger. Anger that it was over...but it will always be in my dreams.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-2217772167606877613?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/2217772167606877613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=2217772167606877613' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/2217772167606877613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/2217772167606877613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2009/06/these-are-dreams.html' title='These are the dreams...'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-4938692094062507891</id><published>2009-05-22T01:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T01:49:08.264-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trying...</title><content type='html'>To write...what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I keep opening this blank page and up until the moment that I do tens of thousands of thoughts, ideas, feelings, dreams, and nightmares scream inside my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can’t get one of them out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Content.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Discontent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deciding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Indecision.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Disruption.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Awake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So very tired.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-4938692094062507891?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/4938692094062507891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=4938692094062507891' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/4938692094062507891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/4938692094062507891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2009/05/trying.html' title='Trying...'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-4335260670703325334</id><published>2009-02-11T12:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T13:01:01.328-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Something new...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It started with a feeling. No, it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;wasn&lt;/span&gt;’t  a feeling. It was an awakening. He woke something from deep inside me. The second he shook my hand I was changed, I felt it rupture from my head to my toes. I knew then he was set to change my world, to change the person that I was, and the person who I was going to become.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I tried to fight it at first, but after a few months I knew it was useless, I knew I had to give myself up to him mind, body and spirit. Easier said than done, letting go of your sanity. Letting go of everything you know to be true. The first several months passed quite uncomplicated, him being nothing but a whisper and a brief encounter at the back of my mind. Never leaving me however. Even from that first meeting he never actually left my thoughts. But it was later, on our next happening upon ea ch other ,that that slight, quite whisper which I had buried deep in my darkest thoughts then slowly crept down into my body. Deep through my veins, deep in to my loins, deep, and piercing into my heart.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Now hear I stand. My head more congested than it has ever been. My heart, even now, full, pounding and screaming his name. And my hands...my hands covered in blood.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-4335260670703325334?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/4335260670703325334/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=4335260670703325334' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/4335260670703325334'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/4335260670703325334'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2009/02/something-new.html' title='Something new...'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-8985139783945223156</id><published>2009-01-16T03:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T07:54:52.100-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Willing to wait...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Just over a year ago I was told by a lady who did not know me, but knew everything about my life, that I was to do great things in the years to come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told me that in May of last year I would take up a job that I would excel in, that I would be happy in, that I would stay in for a number of years. But that it wasn't what I was supposed to be doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told me that after several years that something would happen in my life. That my path would shift. That I would wake up one day to start something new, and that once I started I would look back at my previous years and wonder why it had taken me so long to get here. She told me that I wouldn’t regret the years that I had worked in pointless jobs, as my time there had taught me lessons, but that I would know that the journey I had then taken up would be what I was meant to do and that everything before hand would become unimportant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told me not to just sit around and wait for it. Not to sit around and urge this thing to come quicker. That I was meant to spend the next few years doing what I’m doing, and live my life the way that I am. But eventually day to day worries - money, material things, peer pressure, social dramas, and the like – would fade away, and I would know that I was on my path.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each day as I do what I am doing, her voice plays around at the back of my head. When I tell someone of what she said, even as I type, it makes me tremble with excitement, and a little fear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She ended by saying to me that I had a lot to do in this life, that in the future I will realise that I have a job to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can feel it sometimes. Sometimes I have moments when something sparks inside of me, and my body and mind feel different momentarily. It’s usually as I travel around with my job and I daydream out of the window and look at the beauty around me, I feel it – whatever it may be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So sometimes when it’s only half way through the month and I don’t possess a penny, or when work piles stress on me, or I feel less than worthy for whatever reason, I remember about the path that I am yet to walk, and the work I am yet to do and it calms me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-8985139783945223156?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/8985139783945223156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=8985139783945223156' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/8985139783945223156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/8985139783945223156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2009/01/willing-to-wait.html' title='Willing to wait...'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-6868093049449754830</id><published>2008-05-26T11:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-23T03:31:24.962-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blessed.</title><content type='html'>When I was young - in my teens - I never really thought that I had very much. I never had very many friends in high school, I spent most of my weekends alone and not partying and going out like everyone else my age. I'd always thought that since my parents divorce that I'd never really had a great family life - I know now that this especially is not true and that a lot of it was down my teenage dramatics!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;But recently it hit me just how much I really have. With turning 25 last week, I started to assess exactly what I have in my life, and not just material things but things, which I can say now with a relaxed heart, I will have for the rest of my life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have two sets of amazing parents who would do anything for me at any time. A mother who I class as a best friend, who I can turn to and talk to about anything and who understands. A step father who treats me and cares for me as if I was his own, and is always willing to help me. A father, who even though he has been through so much emotionally and mentally, has picked himself up and is the best Dad I could ask for. All of them except me with no questions asked and love me no matter what I do. Some people have the unfortunate luck of not being able to claim to have one parent...and I have three of best. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My brother was my childhood bully. A lot of it was regular sibling stuff but it went a lot deeper than that at times. We were so different and instead of letting that be how it was I think he somehow resented it. Now, I can honestly say that we are like best friends. He would stand by me through anything, listens to me when he needs advice, and in his own way takes care of me when I don't ask him to - he just seems to know I need it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsIGuy3TbI/AAAAAAAAACI/bGE9DXc1ukw/s1600-h/Birthday+013.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204762706090347954" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsIGuy3TbI/AAAAAAAAACI/bGE9DXc1ukw/s400/Birthday+013.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsISuy3TcI/AAAAAAAAACQ/N0Qlu7lPrsI/s1600-h/Hol.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204762912248778178" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsISuy3TcI/AAAAAAAAACQ/N0Qlu7lPrsI/s400/Hol.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will always be close to my family, but I know that I will always need in my life the family which I chose for myself - my friends. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;After not having very many friends in my youth, except for one who I even now I class as my family, I came never to expect to have any. Starting University was a blessing as it was a new start, but I hadn't gone with the hopes of finally having a great group of friends. I figured that if I didn't expecting it then when it didn't happen I wouldn't be so disappointed. However, I ended up having an amazing three years and and that was done to a special few who will always be in my heart.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;But it was when I returned home, and my adult life really began, that I found my urban family.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This group of people, who I know now I could never live without, are my world, my insides. I never thought that I would have them, and now I have them I never want to lose them. With all of them it's as if there is a 'no questions asked' policy, just totally acceptance. I would do anything for them, and them for me and I know that when it came to it they would be there for me no matter what.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I spend my time with them all differently - meeting for coffee, spending weekends in the countryside, nights in fueled with drinking games and laughter, going out and dancing like fools in bars, or only being able to email each other all day and hope that there will be a chance we could see each other that month. But all of these times have one thing in common, love. The love I have for these people and the love that's shared between us is practically visible.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Two of them are about to make the ultimate vow to each other. Two people who I look up to, who I care for, who I hope to know for the rest of my life. Two people who were meant to be together but also two people who I was meant to know. Our time together is very special as we don't get to see each other as often as we'd like, but in a way that makes it all the more amazing. Even when we are sat in total silence, enough is being said. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsLv-y3TdI/AAAAAAAAACY/Rk4hhCTOlYg/s1600-h/Swans.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204766713294835154" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsLv-y3TdI/AAAAAAAAACY/Rk4hhCTOlYg/s400/Swans.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsL6uy3TeI/AAAAAAAAACg/nONIaVUTrQo/s1600-h/Birthday+029.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204766897978428898" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsL6uy3TeI/AAAAAAAAACg/nONIaVUTrQo/s400/Birthday+029.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsML-y3TfI/AAAAAAAAACo/i4hD4c4vEqg/s1600-h/Planners.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204767194331172338" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsML-y3TfI/AAAAAAAAACo/i4hD4c4vEqg/s400/Planners.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsM8uy3TgI/AAAAAAAAACw/Gq8TsSoAgNs/s1600-h/Lex.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204768031849795074" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsM8uy3TgI/AAAAAAAAACw/Gq8TsSoAgNs/s400/Lex.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsNU-y3ThI/AAAAAAAAAC4/2YYLL5LmG7k/s1600-h/Craig.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204768448461622802" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsNU-y3ThI/AAAAAAAAAC4/2YYLL5LmG7k/s400/Craig.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Looking back through this blog, I just can not believe how lucky I really am. I have a good job, a home which I love and countless material things which make me happy. But none of these things compare to the truly important people in my live. I pray for them each day and each day I am thankful that I have had the chance to love and know each one of them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am blessed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-6868093049449754830?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/6868093049449754830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=6868093049449754830' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/6868093049449754830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/6868093049449754830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2008/05/blessed.html' title='Blessed.'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SDsIGuy3TbI/AAAAAAAAACI/bGE9DXc1ukw/s72-c/Birthday+013.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-3104029063596358440</id><published>2008-05-06T12:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-06T13:03:03.377-07:00</updated><title type='text'>They say you can choose your friends...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SCC5LlLkMvI/AAAAAAAAACA/qmNOAgwAPwY/s1600-h/BBQ+and+extras+002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197357578595873522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SCC5LlLkMvI/AAAAAAAAACA/qmNOAgwAPwY/s400/BBQ+and+extras+002.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;but not your family. I'm glad that this one was chosen for me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-3104029063596358440?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/3104029063596358440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=3104029063596358440' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/3104029063596358440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/3104029063596358440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2008/05/they-say-you-can-choose-your-friends.html' title='They say you can choose your friends...'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/SCC5LlLkMvI/AAAAAAAAACA/qmNOAgwAPwY/s72-c/BBQ+and+extras+002.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-1814022831698250845</id><published>2008-05-06T12:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-06T12:54:39.929-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Everybody loves the sunshine...</title><content type='html'>How is it that a hot day can transform everything? I love it when that day comes around each year that you realise that summer finally might be on its way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every where smells different, every where looks different, and you feel different. The mundane half an hour walk to walk turns into a glorious stroll down a sunlight catwalk. Your whole body feels lighter, your breathes come easier and deeper. The usual cafes and bars you walk passed have a new smell of fresh coffee, summer food and the promise of good times with friends to come. Everyone at work is happier and more relaxed and you get more done because the quicker it's done the quicker you can get home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then when the afternoon starts to fizzle out, and the earth starts to cool down and the warmest, sweetest smell of a summer's evening descends and you can almost smell your most recent summer holiday and the memories made there. You read your book in your garden, on your balcony or even by an open window and somehow your imagination is more alive. You long for fresh bread, fresh tomatoes, olives, garlic, olive oil...the Mediterranean. The breeze is warm, and your heart is warmer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am such a huge fan of Christmas and being all wrapped up for winter, and look forward to it from as early as I can. But today, when I realised that summer was coming, I wish it would stay like this forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everybody loves the sunshine...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-1814022831698250845?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/1814022831698250845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=1814022831698250845' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/1814022831698250845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/1814022831698250845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2008/05/everybody-loves-sunshine.html' title='Everybody loves the sunshine...'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-6508040846606516280</id><published>2008-04-23T11:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-23T11:21:08.814-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I think a change would do you good.</title><content type='html'>It feels almost stupid now that I have put the rest of my life on hold whilst I finished my time at the job I have just left. A good friend said it best recently, it has literally taken all of my energy to stay positive about my employment situation and everything else has had to take a back seat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I can say, with a happy heart, that it is done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to write about how working there has made me feel at times, I don't want to give it any more energy than I have had to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, the passed three months have brought with them something pretty special. I finally feel like I have found my spiritual feet again. I finally feel like I am back on my path.&lt;br /&gt;I found that over the this period of time I have really had to look at myself, I've had to look at who I really am, and who I want to be. All the qualities that I seemed to have misplaced went hand in hand with my spiritual path.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My previous job, to the one I have just had, brought with it a whole lot of fun . I lived out the youth I had really missed out on. I was constantly out, constantly partying, meeting new people, spending money I didn't have, avoiding the 'uncool' people, and generally living it up. I put all material things in my mind as the most important things. What people thought of me was my biggest worry, not being good enough was my biggest fear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last few months have made me realise that what is important is my heart, my mind, my soul and how I can change my life just with my way of thinking. Love became the most important thing to me. To love. To see love. To feel it. Not just love for Dan, or my family and friends but everyone, and everything. To appreciate every single moment of every day, every time the sun shines, every time a stranger smiles at me, every blink of my eyes or movement of my hand. I have remembered how important  living is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Personally, I have had a pretty bad time recently, but if it has taken going through that to remember how I feel about the world, I would go through it again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-6508040846606516280?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/6508040846606516280/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=6508040846606516280' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/6508040846606516280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/6508040846606516280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2008/04/i-think-change-would-do-you-good.html' title='I think a change would do you good.'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-915607600674120110</id><published>2008-04-02T13:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-02T14:00:33.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It feels nice when...</title><content type='html'>when you feel free.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-915607600674120110?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/915607600674120110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=915607600674120110' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/915607600674120110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/915607600674120110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2008/04/it-feels-nice-when.html' title='It feels nice when...'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-3419357885938592037</id><published>2008-03-12T12:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-12T13:17:10.460-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Picture To Say A Thousand Words...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/R9g2MKlArII/AAAAAAAAABE/8VQh6-5zIlg/s1600-h/Malta.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176947354288303234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/R9g2MKlArII/AAAAAAAAABE/8VQh6-5zIlg/s400/Malta.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is one of my happiest memories of my adult life. Dan, my Dad and I drove up to Dingle Cliffs in Malta and stopped at a gorgeous little bar which was used as an airbase during the WWII. The bar was filled full of aircraft memorablia and this is the view from just across the road, looking straight across the horizon to Africa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this shot I was thinking of one of my favourite books, The Valkyries (P. Coelho), and one line which has stayed with me for several years...There is more to life than what is 15 feet in front of your face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next time you get a chance to see the horizon for what it really is, take a moment to breathe it in and appreciate it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-3419357885938592037?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/3419357885938592037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=3419357885938592037' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/3419357885938592037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/3419357885938592037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2008/03/picture-to-say-thousand-words.html' title='A Picture To Say A Thousand Words...'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/R9g2MKlArII/AAAAAAAAABE/8VQh6-5zIlg/s72-c/Malta.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-7723490106146745276</id><published>2008-03-08T14:11:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-09T06:30:11.834-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Someday, Sunday</title><content type='html'>As my job exhausts me throughout the week, each weekend I make plans in my head to make the most of my free time. This plan usually consists of going to the gym both Saturday and Sunday, go on the sunbed, meet up with some friends, visit the old library in town which I've been meaning to go to since it reopened, and a number of other things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's now 1.23pm on Sunday. I haven't left the house in over 24 hours. Today's activities so far include:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;watched tv&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;ate some cheese&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;had a shower&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;It's not that I don't want to do the things that I planned for, I just find it difficult to remove myself from the sofa. I need more energy! Which I know would be achieved if I actually went to the gym, but then I'm back to the removal of my body from the sofa issue and I just get no where. It is a vicious circle. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Lazing around the house with Dan, watching films and making dinner just seem to appeal to me so much more than anything else. I have never been a hermit, I've always used my time effectively and got the most out of my weekends but recently I seem to not have the energy to do anything. Something must be done before I get used to this lazy life.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-7723490106146745276?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/7723490106146745276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=7723490106146745276' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/7723490106146745276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/7723490106146745276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2008/03/someday-sunday.html' title='Someday, Sunday'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131005496666181746.post-6192470582074072410</id><published>2008-03-08T14:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-08T14:40:38.907-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Well it's about time...</title><content type='html'>Over the past couple of years I have toyed with the idea of creating a blog, I even created one and got rid of it after convincing myself that I have nothing interesting/fun/important to say. But that being said here I am, after much persuasion from  my best friend and my eventual understanding that what I have to say doesn't have to please others as long as it pleases me to write it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided to name it after a lyric from a song writer who I love and who inspires me, a lyric which I think of most days when I walk to work. Before I went inter-railing a few years back I used to listen to this song and promise myself that when I arrived in Paris I would play it &lt;em&gt;as I wandered down the Champs-Elysess&lt;/em&gt; and picture how Joni must have felt at her time of writing it. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, a moment where I had felt my most free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I was younger I have always written whether it be short stories or even the wanderings of my mind in a diary but now I have this place to put down my thoughts...and to share them.&lt;br /&gt;So to you reader, here is my first blog entry. May it be the first of many...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6131005496666181746-6192470582074072410?l=afreemaninparis.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/feeds/6192470582074072410/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6131005496666181746&amp;postID=6192470582074072410' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/6192470582074072410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131005496666181746/posts/default/6192470582074072410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://afreemaninparis.blogspot.com/2008/03/well-its-about-time.html' title='Well it&apos;s about time...'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06876654616410723490</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='19' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tYoaYivCPkQ/TP9FRWyhSzI/AAAAAAAAAGE/NI6i7kjneGg/S220/untitled.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
