I’m a big fan of social media. Talk to me on Twitter, find me on Facebook, or picture me on Pinterest: I’m all over it like an Instagrammed rash. My husband is grudgingly tolerant of what he calls my constant ‘over exposure’. He recognises it as part of who I am, and – more astutely – understands it’s an essential part of how I now make a living. So when a work colleague sniggers across the briefing table about his wife’s latest exploits, or makes an off-the-cuff remark about something the kids have done, Rob won’t complain. With not a single social media network to his name, arguably no-one would hear him anyway…
My sole gripe about this modern state of affairs is that it leaves one with nowhere to hide. Desperate to blog about the mother-in-law’s drinking habits? Don’t: she subscribes by email AND RSS. Cleaner driving you up the bend with her bizarre hoovering technique? Be careful what you post on Facebook: she ‘likes’ your page and is one of your 478 friends, along with your beautician, hairdresser and the bloke who cuts the grass. Twitter is, of course, even more of a worry: unless you lock your account, the world and his wife could be watching your posts. It’s just not worth the grief.
I have discovered an upside of this online claustrophobia, which has both surprised and delighted me. With no safe virtual networks open to me, I find myself seeking out the company of real people. Yes, actual living, breathing people. There may be no retweets, shares or G+s, but there are LOLs aplenty, and that’s good enough for me. I’ll never abandon social media, but when there’s good gossip to share… I’ll catch you for a coffee.