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I’ve been away a while gazing at my navel and wondering “what the hell?”, “why the hell?” and “who gives a fuck?” I came to no conclusions. I have been in the wilderness hunting for my own particular kind of agave that will bring me to my senses. Something did happen that pulled me up by my bootstraps, slapped me and apparently forced me to write exclusively in clichés. And it is very cool. More of that later.

I was also bitten by the Twitter bug. I signed up to this phenomenon months ago, used it twice and then forgot all about it. Somehow I came across it again, I think as a result of my recent iPhone acquisition (very happy about that too). Anyway, the little bird pecked at me until I could stand it no longer. I have been cyberstalking (at least that is how it feels) a bunch of individuals in various states of celebrity. I receive regular updates from TV stars, journalists, and a few folk I’ve never heard of. What’s it all about? Why am I bothering? Not sure, that is something for my analyst to answer. Whenever I get one that is.

I find the whole thing faintly voyeuristic. In a good way, if that it possible. It is “reality” Internet. It’s like watching Celebrity Big Brother in text form. Stephen Fry tells me of his little trip to the shops to get a transformer, Greg Grunberg posts photos from the set of “Heroes”, and Warren Ellis is charmingly belligerent. I’m sure it will lose its sheen after a while but for now I’m tweeting like mad with all my new buddies. OK so only Stephen Fry has actually bothered to add me as a friend so far, but it is early days yet. I’m still finding my way around. I still can’t settle on which application to use. More of that next time.

Follow me @marcaprice

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