By Madeline Harvey
Let me start this long story out with my realisation that Facebook is not for me. I know it sounds ridiculous. A social networking site where millions upon millions of hapless souls log in everyday to share what they’re noshing on and what abhorrent thing happened to them on their way to the office. And it isn’t for me? Shocked me too. As we all know, I adore eating and complaining.
With the plain truth to the side, I must admit, it was the impersonal aspect of the whole kit and caboodle that drove me away. In the end, I found myself cross-legged on my bed, clad only in a Twisted Sister t-shirt, hair unkempt and greasy, wondering where is the social aspect to this social networking thing?
I felt as though I was speaking into a spinning vortex of absolute nothingness, with only my best chum answering back. And I could do that with my mobile. No social media needed at all. Surprising, right?
Then, I got a pep talk from a couple Pankhearst girls. Actually, they insisted I swiftly removed my head from my arse and get back to the world wide web. Not because they missed me, but because I promised to help them with this project they plan on publishing. You know, stories about cars and girls, or scars and curls.
And as this take goes, just as I was about to sign in for the first time in months, literally the very day, I got in a hit and run. After making a pancake of this elderly woman, I simply drove off. Alright, that was a fib. What happened was much less glamorous. A teenager on a moped hit me. I didn’t die, but I did break my left wrist, the one I use the most.
Hunting about and pecking for words on a keyboard did not appeal in the least.
So, I watched a mountain of movies, listened to a mishmash of music, and healed. Honest, it’s still a bit tender, but here I am, making my grand return. At least I have a hundred and sixty-two movies to write about. And so I commence, tossing garbage into the spinning vortex of nothingness.