Agebook

I got in a bit of a mood with Facebook this week.  It wasn't serious, it didn't last long and we've made it up now but I guess this is normal when you spend so much time together. I'm a big fan of only saying something if you have something worth saying, preferably something that will either amuse other people or have some kind of important relevance to somebody else.  Luckily the majority of my virtual friends are the same, or else they are hidden.  The thing that annoyed me particularly this week was regurgitated photos. Pictures that have already been posted 1/3/5 years ago do not need to be posted again - that is serious self-indulgence.  If somebody wants to re-look at something you have posted then they can have another poke through your photo albums, otherwise, bore off.

Hiding people on Facebook comes with its own perils however.  I was having a conversation with a colleague the other day about their ever-increasing minor health issues.  I was making the appropriate noises and asking the right questions and wondering why they were looking at me curiously.  'But of course you must have picked most of this up from Facebook', they said.  Oh.  Not so much.  I was friends with you for about two days before I hid your boring arse.  Cue serious backtracking and more convincing affirmative noises.

I always think it is time to un-hide somebody and delete them when you cross the road before they see you to avoid speaking to them.  This happened to me last week as I decided that Lady X was probably somebody I could do without in my virtual environment if I couldn't bear to exchange a few pleasantries in the flesh.

I wonder what the future holds for Facebook.  It is definitely the social media of choice for our age group.  I have a few friends who have their teenage children on Facebook which must be a comfort for them.  It is a shame that the aforementioned teenage children never actually post anything on there and use every other social media site to actually communicate with their peers instead!  I rejected a friend request from my father a few years ago on Facebook as I thought I swore too much to be friends with him.  He popped up again the other day though and as I seem slightly less controversial these days I felt sorry for his friendlessness and requested him.  Only to be completely rejected and darked out by his 74 year old self.  Who does he think he is?!

If Facebook continues to be rejected by the generations following ourselves, it does not promise to get any more interesting.  Selfies over the next few decades may start being taken over afternoon tea and at the opera; check-ins could eventually be in a stream of retirement properties and one day we will be flooded with millions of regurgitated pictures of grandchildren.  Damn it.  Here's hoping that some people decide to grow old disgracefully and share it with the virtual masses.  I am sure I will be at the front of that particular queue...

Forget, Forget the 5th and Regret

We have seriously fucked up fireworks night for our kids this year.  I couldn't have managed it worse if I had put all my efforts into making it awful for them.

I had the bright idea a couple of weeks ago to take the boys to Nana's nursing home's fireworks display.  She always wants to see the boys but we don't tend to last more than 10 minutes when we visit her, every couple of months or so, as there is very little for them to do and quite a lot of havoc they can cause in a small-old-person's-bedroom.  I therefore had a rose-coloured vision of her in her wheelchair, great-grandson clasped in each hand, romantically watching the fireworks.  Error.  Sorry to spoil the end of the story but... big, fat, fucking error.

First up, having arranged all this with Nana, she then forgot.  We'll forgive her, she's 100, but the next time I asked her she said that she 'might possibly come down, if we were there, if she felt like it'.  No Nana.  If I'm haring across St. Albans, with children, after work, to watch fireworks at your Nursing Home - you can bloody come down and watch them. She then, pretty quickly, got it.

There was then a seriously complicated arrangement where my Mum had to meet me at my house so that I could leave my drama club as near to 5pm as possible, then leg it to my house, pick up my mother, leg it to childcare, pick up the boys and furthermore leg it across St. Albans in rush hour to make the 5-7pm party at Verulam House.  My mistake I'm sure, but when I arrived at 5.20pm I did not expect the fireworks to have finished.  Arse. Unfortunately I had bigged up the event to the kids quite a lot so that they seemed enthusiastic to Nana.  Cue two small boys welling up with tears standing around Nana's wheelchair.  Fortunately there were enough sausages hanging about for me to plug Zak's mouth shut with food.  Sebi sweetly gave Nana a cuddle and said 'perhaps it is just time you just died'.  Ahhhh - as my Mum caustically mentioned on the way home, 'she obviously hasn't come around to that idea however'!

On the long, tedious, rush-hour, car journey, across St. A again, I spent my time praising the boys for not being little fuckers and telling them it didn't matter as it was all about Saturday at Jersey Farm.  That was the proper fireworks night.

Come Saturday, the weather forecast for early evening was horrendous.  Stu and I had already agreed fireworks in the pouring rain were a no-go so we managed to bribe the children with a take-away curry instead (it's all about the food).  Having sat and watched the rain not appearing all afternoon I was delighted to see the torrential downpours start at about 5pm, only to fricking stop again as I brought the curry home.  The poor unfortunate kids watched the fireworks from a distance from Zak's bedroom, post-curry, only complaining that the neighbours had a tree that got in the way a bit.  I would love to think that Sebi was being sardonic as he thanked me for a lovely fireworks day as I put him to bed tonight; but for once, I think he wasn't...

It's all about next year kiddies.  I may even have to take up Halloween for once, to compensate. ;-)