Let's get ready to rumble: Facebook V Twitter

I've wittered on about networking socially (children) before but a year is a long time on the Internet and much has changed. Facebook is going downhill rapidly. For me it took a downturn when my mother signed up (sorry mother, I love you dearly, but the Internet is no place for you) but it's been plummeting further and further of late.

The front runners in the bloodthirsty battle of my grievances are ads (do I want to learn the latest celebrity secret to a flatter stomach? Of course! Let me just click on this link and give you my credit card details!) and 'inspirational' quotes with pictures of sunsets put together (badly) in PowerPoint. The latter, in particular, must STOP. I'm all for counting your blessings and looking on the bright side - as I've said before, more than once; in this world, if you know where your next meal is coming from and you're not having the arse shot off you, you're doing pretty well - but twee pictures and saccharine sick-making sentiment in flowery fonts do not inspire me. They make me want to punch people, especially the people that post them.

As for candy crush feckin' saga…Shove your invites. Shove them right up your arse. They're almost as bad as farmville. And to the 'like of you hate cancer'/'scroll on if you don't have a heart' brigade I say; If you care that much, don't share and like this crap – get out and do something useful. Raise some money. Give some blood. Not only are these posts a scam, they are patronising, infuriating and undermine people trying to actually make a difference. We all hate cancer – you take that as a given you fools.

This drivel must STOP

'Well why don’t you bin the bloody thing then?' I hear you ask. I would, but it does still have its uses, like staying in touch with people that I don’t have the time, or proximity, to catch up with individually. And I get to see what the offspring of friends and family in far away lands look like (yes I actually like the baby photos – WITHIN REASON. Don’t go too wild people…)

That said, there is also the sense of obligation to be 'friends' with people you barely know/like, especially those dull individuals who feel the need to update their status every time they have a cup of tea (we don't need or want to know). But you can hide their posts and carry on in blissful ignorance of the inane twaddle that's being spouted (yes – that includes my inane twaddle).

As my Facebook use has declined my Twitter use has seen a significant increase. I actually say things now (more of that inane twaddle) rather than simply chuckling and pawing at my phone screen. I don’t just follow famous people; I now follow strangers (some of them very strange indeed). Rest assured I do not accept sweets from them though.

Buoyed by partial or complete anonymity, people are far more honest on Twitter, and far funnier as a result. Very random people make me chuckle on a daily basis with their very random comments, indeed I often laugh out loud (note I do not LOL. The term LOL vexes me and also needs to STOP). It is especially amusing to read the running commentary on popular TV shows, especially the shameful ones (you don’t even have to watch said shows, you can get all the entertainment you need from the viewing tweeters).

No need to actually watch it. Thank god.

Twitter is a bit of a nut to crack. There's often a sense of 'you had to be there' and finding decent random strangers can be hard, but it's worth it for the resultant witty repartee and general silliness. To think I used to take the piss out of my friend and her penchant for Internet chat rooms at university, and here I am frolicking virtually in their mutated offspring (with actual mutants some of the time).

Sometimes 'you had to be there'...

There is, of course, also a serious side to Twitter. Several times in the past few years people have used it as a means of sharing information when traditional media fails, or is controlled by governments. But I wouldn’t know too much about the political side of things, I'm too busy retweeting fart jokes and making smart-arse remarks.

He he he

Topical Twitter

Can’t we all just get along?

In a word: no. I get on with most people, and try to give people the benefit of the doubt, but every so often I take agin’ someone and once I have taken said agin there is no coming back.

Just as I really really like some people from the first time I meet them, there are individuals I take a pretty much instant dislike to. I try to fight this and not make snap judgements. It doesn’t work. All it does is dampen the dislike so it festers, breeds maggots and becomes an altogether more virulent beast.

My hackles rise at the very sight of them, my ears smart at the sound of their voice and my lips purse violently in an attempt to avoid exclaiming 'oh do feck off / shut up!' as they whinge on about something incredibly dull. I find whinging extremely annoying and dull chat, well, very dull, so when the two combine it's like a perfect storm of pet peevery (it’s a word…)

It’s particularly unfortunate (for me) when I get stuck with one at work, where it is quite inappropriate to exclaim 'oh do feck off / shut up!' when they’re whining on about how hot/cold it is in the office for the 327^th time. I manage to avoid throwing things at these types through a mighty combination of self-restraint and headphones. Thank you Nathaniel Baldwin, thank you (for the headphones, you can keep the Mormon stuff).

Luckily (for me and my co-workers) most of my aginsters are of the celebrity variety and I can release the tension that builds up on sighting them by screaming at the TV. These ‘famous’ people I dislike intensely (hate is a strong word, but if the cap fits…) include:

• ·       Jedward (Louis Walsh – I will never, ever, forgive you for THEM)
• ·       Bruce Forsyth (national treasure my arse)
• ·       Piers Morgan (I think we can all agree on that one…)
• ·       Amanda Holden (fake phony forgery of the highest order)
• ·       Alex Salmond (trout-faced moron)

Please note that said intense dislike extends only to the aforementioned shouting at the TV. A troll I am not (although I do tend to look like one after a night out). This is merely my personal opinion and if you want to consider Brucie a national feckin' treasure, you go right ahead. But you might want to consider counselling of some sort at the same time. I find him incredibly annoying and mildly creepy (in a Yewtree kinda way…)

Hungover / hater

Broom Bloody Broom

Given my mild manners and temperament *ahem*, it may surprise you to learn that I suffer from the odd bout of motorous furious. A.K.A. road rage.

It is very much at the milder end of the scale, I hasten to add, and the ginger temper is kept within the confines of the car. No axes have been wielded (that actually happened to a friend of mine once…) and no fingers have been extended (how uncouth!), but my tendency towards offensive language goes into overdrive, and it's not unknown for me to use the recognised sign-language for 'what the f… are you doing you utter moron?!' (hands aloft, palms up, tongue stuffed behind bottom lip).

It's my poor passengers who really bear the brunt of it, as I cut off them off mid-sentence, bellowing 'FOR F#*! SAKE!' at the top of my lungs at the eejit who's just cut in front of me (yes, I know, how uncouth…) My friends and family know me well enough to let this wash over them, but there have been times when I've given work colleagues (or ‘fellow corporate whores’) a lift. As you can imagine, I work hard to maintain a professional image *ahem* and professionalism and prodigious potty mouth don’t tend to go hand in hand. How on earth I manage to secure AND hold down jobs I’ll never know.

The first time a friend of mine was in the car with me she was in the middle of a story when my travel tourettes kicked in (the aforementioned hollering of 'FOR F#*! SAKE!', or similar). We worked together at the time but didn't know each other very well, and the poor girl thought I was having a slightly mental reaction to what she got up to at the weekend. Luckily she's made of stern stuff and our friendship has lived to laugh at the tale. (I can’t remember what she did get up to that weekend, but knowing her as I do now it probably involved pampas grass, a bowl and some car keys, the filthy mare.)

The one that really gets my goat is drivers that don’t say thank you when I have extended a motoring kindness to them. Hence my more frequent, but less foul-mouthed, outburst; screaming 'YOU'RE WELCOME' at these ignoramuses (or ignorami, if you will). A wave of the hand/flash of the lights costs nothing when I've let you out, you boorish *bleeeeeeep*s. Did your mother not teach you basic manners?!

…and breathe.

Anyone want a lift?

Liz doesn't suffer motoring morons gladly either...

I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do

I've talked before of the wedding circus mafia and the arseholery that goes on, but there is also a very bright side to the nonsense. Being a guest. Sadly the wedding 'party' themselves often get too wrapped up in the photocalls, speech nerves and potential family feuds to actually remember to enjoy the day, but as a guest; no public speaking, no months (or years) of organising, no weeping wallet, just the bubbles and the dancing.

There is a little preparation involved, granted, but it never fails to amuse me how quickly the wedding visage crumbles. The hours, and sometimes days, we spend making sure we look as good as we possibly can (for some that's just about presentable, but all I can do is work with the ginger raw materials I was given) only for it all to be destroyed in a matter of hours.

We find ourselves on the dance floor in our bare feet, the shoes so carefully matched to the dress abandoned under a table, with a tie around our head and our dignity whimpering beneath an avalanche of Michael Jackson/Mick Jagger/Pigeon inspired dance 'moves'. Oh yes - we've got the moves like Jagger. The makeup, hair dos and manicures are long forgotten as we swing our sweaty mane in time with the 80s power ballads.

In addition to revisiting my rock star (*ahem*) youth, I tend to unearth a worrying passion for interpretive dance after a few dry sherries. My Kate Bush impressions are 'inspiring', so I've been told (look out for me on got to dance next year; I'll be the one who inspires the phrase 'would her family not tell her...?')

There is a delightfully unhinged quality that is unique to a wedding dance floor. Maybe it’s because it’s such a happy occasion, or that some of the guests don’t get out much, or perhaps it’s the unique mix of ‘performers’; where else do you get to share the floor with an 80 and an eight year old?

On a more serious note, I must issue a word of warning to wedding bands/DJs. If you will play Tiffany and Footloose back-to-back, be prepared with a crash cart/ambulance on standby. Some of us are not as young as we used to be, but we can’t seem to stop ourselves.

From this...

..to this...

...to Kiss.