I'VE been toying with the New Year's resolution of throwing myself into the melting pot of social media.
This isn't going all that well and so far has amounted to one tweet. In fact, more of my energy has been expended distracting myself with plans to organise a gathering for all the people I know who don't Facebook, though actually I am on Facebook so it would be a bit of a fraud.
I also spend a lot of time coming up with reasons not to Facebook, which isn't helpful. So far, I haven't come up with many (keep thinking about calling a friend who is on a "Facebook detox" for help).
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Indeed, I would have to admit that I've come up with really only the one reason, which is this: if there's one thing socially that gives me a great kick it's a really good catch-up.
I'm not talking about a "Hi, how are you doing? Anything happened since you last posted that update about the scrambled eggs?" I'm talking about the big confessional, story-telling splurge that's full of gobsmacking surprises, like the one I had a few weeks ago when I visited a friend who told me she'd started an open relationship and now had two lovers and a husband.
This may suggest I'm not a very involved friend. It may seem to you that I'm groping for excuses – and probably I am. But the fear lurks that there is some romance lost in the sharing of each moment. I used to love the tale, for instance, one ex-boyfriend used to tell me about a friend of his he didn't talk to for years, but who would occasionally pitch up and restart the last conversation they had almost exactly where they had left it.
But, ho hum, that was the old days – I'll bet they're Facebooking now.