I joined Twitter last week. Don't hate me. Stay here. I can't promise to never write of it again. I can't even promise to try, but I can promise to try to try.
I don't think I'm very good at it. I 'chip'. I'm a Twitter chipper. It seems to me the point is to be in constant care of it, updating one's every move and shake, but that seems more than a little invasive.
I check in a couple of times a day and I comment here and there, sporadically and uninterestingly. My comments on other blogs tend towards glib and ill thought out at the best of times. Add a 140-character limit and there's only so verbose a man can be.
I got a direct message from someone yesterday - a tiny missive aside from the madding cyber rush of gawkers and stalkers - telling me that they're a fan of the old Radgery but they've never commented. This pleased me, the narcissist within quelled in a warming blanket of self brilliance.
It was the best 'tweet' yet, before I went back to the feed, reading how people like their coffee and about the lonely man standing outside Brown Thomas.