I used to find pictures of other people’s supper slightly disturbing as I worried about their gastrointestinal systems and cholesterol levels. I shivered at the sight of surgically removed body parts and cringed at collections of children’s extracted teeth.
That all changed last week. Until then I was a creature of habit; I would wake at six o’clock on a good day (I’m a part-time insomniac) and turn on my phone. I would look at emails and social media in that order. I still do the first but since last Friday, I’ve stated to engage in displacement activities to avoid the second.
Usually by mid-morning I’ve psyched myself up to look at social media and the latest EU-related lamentations.
In mitigation, some have posted pleas for friends to stop, before failure becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy. To others, such posts are the trigger for another diatribe: ‘I’m entitled to have my say and if you don’t want to engage, you can scroll down.’
Yes that’s true, in the same way that I can move to a different railway carriage if a person is playing loud music and refuses to stop, even when asked politely to do so by other passengers.
Whilst free speech is the right of those of us lucky enough to live in a democracy, I’m unsure of the rationale of repeatedly haranguing friends.
Which is why, after a week of lectures, I find myself longing to see a post which features an enormous pork chop with a perilously high pile of potatoes on a dinner plate, an appendix sitting in a jar on the mantelpiece or a beautifully manicured lawn.
Yesterday I turned my phone off and went for a walk; this gave me an excuse to post another picture of the Cumbrian fells which were there long before 23 June and will be there long after this episode is consigned to history.