Caught between a rock and a social networking stream

I have a blog. If you’re reading this and you weren’t aware of this fact then something is wrong…

In fact I have three blogs. And a Twitter stream (again, in reality there are 3). I also have a plethera of facebook pages, mostly lying comatose in the dank and dusty corridors of a virtual hospice. Not to mention the audiboo, flickr, picassa and linkedIn accounts that are growing a subtle patina of mould somewhere in a musty server bank. I have so many platforms to post my content that I’ve developed ‘digital erectile disfunction’.

I’m so confused about what should go where I can’t even get a post-it note to stick on the fridge properly. It just drops off.

Do I post repeats on every platform? Do I edit each to suit the particular environment? Is my content worthy of publishing at all? Has it become the waffling, droning monotone that hohums it’s way into the pallid cerebellum of the exceedingly average mind. Christ, I recently posted a video of my puppy…

Perhaps google+ is the answer – a ‘one platform fits all’ solution where my random nature can nestle comfortably into the world wide web. Or maybe this post is just another shade of feed-filling beige that makes me want to eat my own feet every time I open up facebook. Maybe I should delete it now and save everybody the bother of ignoring it at a later date…

Here’s a photograph of a tweety bird sitting on my finger. Further compounding the theory that I shouldn’t be allowed to post anything at all…

I didn’t surf today. Too much pontificating to do.


  1. I think you could probably write a whole lot of stuff about that one picture. For instance: 10 reasons why ironing is overrated; how to lure a tweety bird to perch on your pointy finger, and most importantly, why the hell you look so worried. Was it because you didn’t want to release the wee one back into the wild? Or because it refused to go?

    Regarding your dilemma of where to air your thoughts, I suggest an easy and painless solution (well, for you anyway): call your dad.


    1. Why would you think that to be painless for me to call that old duffer?

      I didn’t think I looked worried. More a casual indifference to my instinctive bond with all things ‘Nature’… x

    1. You almost made me spew my coffee, DaddyP. Ironing + Penfold’s forehead never even crossed my mind. But I do see your point…now. Hee hee

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *