I have a Twitter account, as does my Dad, Stephen Fry and the rest of the world and his dog. I understood the concept, and I wanted to love it - I still do, desperately, but do I really have anything to say that the world and his dog gives a half a hoot about?
I write something on Facebook and it's brilliant. My Mum's there, ready to endorse me, my aunties and cousins and my best friends. My dull statuses will stick around on their News Feeds like bad smells until they really have no option other than to like it.
Twitter is different. 140 words is small and I'm quite the talker. 140 words would reduce me to one of two things:
1. Tlking lik dis, bt I rely fink Im 2 old 4 dat lol.
2. Unimportant factoids from the vat of unimportant things that happen in my day.. "Just put a pizza in the oven - blimey I'm famished! #hungry" or "I do like bubble baths #warm #bubbly #bath" or "Just burnt my elbows on the pitta bread #onlyme #lol #hungry"
Perhaps the latter would only apply to me (how else do you squish the hot air out?) Anyway, the point is, I have this momentous occasion with Twitter and I click send. I watch the screen, too eager. Check my e-mails... Come back to the screen.. 3 tweets, oh wow!
Got the wrong end of the stick. 3 tweets from 3 other people.. awkward. I'm still learning. My 82 year old Grandad is quicker with his iPad.
Where Facebook would have my Dad putting LOL (always in capitals, why?) Twittersphere would not be an arid desert, salivating at the juicy minutiae of my existence. No, it's New York; a metropolis of importance, a hustly bustly exciting array of activity where nobody really cares what 140 characters you have up your sleeve. Unless of course you're Ellen Degeneres or Barack Obama.
I'm no quitter though, noooo.. just waiting for my Mum to get an account.
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