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I’ll be the first to admit I’ve got my tits in a tangle over Twitter. I feel a right twit, or should that be twot, or indeed twat, but I just can’t seem to get the tweeting thing going. I feel inadequate. Everyone, it seems, is happily tweeting away – except me – MPs in the House, a famous British actor tweeted “arse, poos and widdle” when stuck in a lift, even someone’s dog twoofed “I got a ball, I got a ball, I got a ball”. Try as I may, I can’t figure it out. I am condemned to a world of twilence. Consequently, no-one is following me and I am following no-one. It’s a lonely place. Contrast this with Britney Spears who has upwards of 700.000 followers. Maybe there’s something to be said for wearing no undies in public.
Facebook has 175 million members, My Space 100 million, Bebo 40 million, Flickr 44 million visitors a month, LinkedIn and Plaxo around 20 million members each, Twitter 6 million, Cafemom 1 million, and there are an estimated 200 million blogs in the world, of which this is only one. Not a great unleashing by any stretch of the imagination. – more a petit plop in the great ocean of virtual verbosity. I feel even more inadequate.
The nights are getting longer and colder and the blankets are being aired in the noonday sun. The dog has taken my sheepskin slippers under the house and has added them to a pile of cherished canon bones, a chewed Bart Simpson doll and a couple of old toothbrushes. Everyone is preparing to hunker down and hibernate, collect firewood, clean chimneys, bottle fruit and knit jumpers. “If you can survive a Waiheke winter” the refrain goes “you can survive anything”. I quite like the unexpected element of power cuts and rough seas, torrential rain and the ever-present Winter request “please remove muddy boots before entering”. There’s nothing quite like the smell of baking bread, or a fortifying broth, when you’re wrapped around a pot belly darning socks. Piping hot water from the wet back allows for extra soaking in well deserved baths. If only I knew how to tweet, I would have 140 characters in which to say “in bath, alone with candle, reading Tolstoy, listening to Wagner, eating feijoas, cutting toenails, blowing bubbles, scratching my…”
That won’t make the Top Ten Tweets, but this did, from a TV host at this year’s academy awards. “Ever wonder what happens if someone has to do go the bathroom on the carpet? There’s a portapotty behind the fan stands. Now you know.”
Bless.
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