Reverend Doctor Mother in Christ Fellows offered some reflections on the phenomenon that is Twitter (to read the woman, press here).
Her offering is virtuous, but just plain old good old wrong. She would tell us that it is like Cyberbucks where you can grab a latte and barf no more than 140 characters to the other regulars. 'Good Morning' she says - I know this 'cos I read it. 'Good morning back' they say - I know this 'cos I read it. Bleh ...
I fear to inform you all that a vile coverup is taking place, and that my mate is pulling the cotta over your be-freckled noses and with a sleight of hand, lets you think that this is warm bonhomy. No mate ...
...we tweet because we are nosey.
There you have it. Twitter is the electronic equivalent of phone tapping. Mrs Pankhurst did not burn her D Cup so that we could sit and eavesdrop, legitimately. My iTouch (the prince of gadgets, I might add) is now the glass tumbler that I put up against the wall of the world's private boudoirs, the grubby key hole, the chintz curtain pulled back but a little. Jimmy Carr and ++John Sentamu alike, I listen and watch. I feel like M.I.Farv.
What is worse, I then go and pour my giblets onto the Tweetdeck for the watching world to paw over. No longer am I merely nosey but a nosey exhibitionist to boot.
And a lesson to the rest of you, if like popster Hayley Williams you opt to snap your boobs and Tweet the picture, don't be surprised how widely they become distributed in four-fifths of a second. Needless to say, I looked away ... good curate I am.