For years, writers and philosophers have mused on the nature of happiness - how we can achieve it, retain it, grow it, share it. Well, screw Aristotle, Camus and Pharrell - for me, happiness is a big bowl of popcorn and a brand spanking new season of Game of Thrones.

Omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod, you guys, OMIGOD.

When your favourite characters do things you don't like...

Did anybody else start singing “Kill the Masters, Kill the Masters” to the tune of “Kill the Wabbit, Kill the Wabbit” by Elmer Fudd while watching the start of this episode? Was that just me? ‘Cause the philosophy of Grey Worm has turned into an Ear Worm and I can’t ... stop ... singing ... it.

How did we get halfway through the season already? Where did my life go? Why was there no Tyrion this episode? And what is this rash?

TYRION! Am I right, beloved Throners? AM I RIGHT?!?!

So you see, I’m only joking about you needing to remove your clothes to read on. It's up to you how seriously you take that joke... 

In which George R. R. Martin is a mean-spirited man.

What a corker of an episode. That guy getting shot off The Wall by that giant’s massive spear arrow, am I right? And that huge steel anchor swingy thingy slicing through those Wilding wall climbers, am I right? And then the heartbreak, oh the heartbreak, am I right?

Sweet merciful crap, I do not even know where to start with this one. I mean, there was the… and then the… and then he…. and did you see when she? And seven hells, that fight scene! And that fight scene! And that one! ZOMBIES! FIRE! BLOOD! DRAGONS! And then, and then, and then…