I have thought of myself as being fairly social media savvy. Not the fastest whizz but not stuck in the dark ages either. I’ve been using Facebook since, well longer than many… if I tell you how long you’ll be able to guess how old I am! I’ve even used Facebook for work, dragging that company into this century. I’m yet to link Tylda to Facebook but I’m sure that’s just a matter of time.
I had a brief dalliance with LinkedIn until the bejillions of emails they sent became so annoying I dropped the account into the sea and ran off without a backward glance. Instagram and Pinterest are old news to me, and I lose far too much of my life on mumsnet (is it really the weekend without a 34 page car parking thread? If you haven’t had the pleasure of reading mumsnet, have a peek, they’re not all mums, or female, or the pack of vipers they have the reputation of being).
But I have an Achilles heel.
I’ve never used Twitter. I’m a Twitter virgin. (Twirgin?)
Writing this blog has made me realise just how silly this is. It feels like there is this great big pool of people chatting away about all sorts of interesting things but I’m stuck on the other side of the door. Peering in with my nose pressed to the glass.
So I’ve decided to change. I’ve opened a Twitter account. I’ve not tweeted anything yet, because that little box with the numbers counting down characters is pretty daunting. But as soon as I have posted this I will. And then I’m counting the afternoon as completely lost to the pleasure of reading camping tweets.
Even as I’m writing this now, I have Twitter open beside me and I can see that BBCRadioCornwall has tweeted about discoveries archeologists have made at Tintagel. When I was there a couple of weeks ago I was desperate to sneak over and peek under the tarp they had left up there covering their workings. At least I assumed that was what the tarp was covering, I didn’t write about it in the post as there were no signs and it could just as easily been covering a bit of mud they didn’t want tourists to march over. Although thinking about it, that’s exactly what archeological digs are.
My irrational fear of Twitter that has stopped me joining all these years reminds me of a fantastic poem by Roger McGough. It is written into the pavement on Morecambe sea front. It warns of the dangers of feeding a canary steroids rather than seeds… until it becomes a hairy canary.
When we passed the inscription, my family would joke about the man-eating bird. We would imitate its imagined fat waddle, stick out our chests like a territorial robin and in our deepest voice bellow “TWEET TWEEET…. CHIIIIRP!” So whenever I heard someone say anything about tweeting, well, all I could think of was this giant canary.
Now I’m not saying Twitter is going to eat anyone, but it’s certainly going to feel like it’s eaten all my time!
Do you use Twitter? What are your tips for using it? What do you wish you had known when you first opened an account?