Pokes

You have been poked.
Poking is not a usual occurance on facebook anymore. Merely a novelty at its creation, now just an unecessary button barely used. So when I saw this I was intrigued.
Turns out it wasn't that exciting. Like the work secret santa present, on opening the link I was greeted with disappointment and a slight uneasiness. The poker was in fact a complete stranger. A man from the 'Bournemouth area' who it was seem had wanted me to become aware of his existence. Mr Poke, was not attractive, was no where near my age of similar to me in any way.
Facebook kindly asked if I wanted to poke back but I declined as I deleted the poke from facebook existence, as if it had never happened.
It is deleted and forgetten from the facebook memory but now I realise I have clearly been affected by this random poker more than I thought.
As I study at university I have recently become aware of the problems I face when it comes to social networking. Facebook is like an addiction, a year ago I would have popped on once a day, maybe in the evening after college. But somehow it has morphed into now become a constant presence.
I recently became obsessed with how many facebook friends I had and in the first few weeks of university I went on a bit of a friend splurge, adding every person I held a drunken conversation with whenever out.
Once I had 'achieved' 200 more friends in 4 weeks I knew I had taken it too far and deleted many of the lecherous and unsavoury characters who I had willingly allowed to be my friends.
Having the Twitter app  on my blackberry and led to me becoming a complete TweetFreak. "walking to uni" "stuck in a lecture" "man its cold"... many of the useless comments I make on a regular basis. Up to 60 followers but WHO CARES?
Stop taking over my life social networking. I'm fed up of you. Although look at me blogging now.
I'm a social junkie.

Snow

The grumblings and problems of snow in Britain have spread through our media and society like the bubonic plague through London. The few inches of snow, which descend upon Britain annually, have once again been successful in demonstrating the pure idiocy of the human race, induced by unnecessary panic and fear for survival.

“The last food shop” sees mothers fighting over tinned soup in Tescos. The need to remain mobile sees fathers and their four by four’s arguing who should get their petrol first – its not his fault you didn’t think to use the exit as an entrance to skip this queue.

Headlines of couples found frozen to death in their gardens send guilty sons and daughters on snow bound missions to retrieve elderly relatives from their death trap houses – which are probably warmer and safer than their own homes run by tyrannical and spoilt children.

Phone lines down at the old peoples home? No, the old and weary just wish to remain old and weary out of your reaches.

After mastering the safety drills for the grandparents with military precision, the careless idiocy of British parents is exemplified in their children as they are sent into the freezing slush with a sledge and a pat on the head.

The cold surely won’t be the end of our young generation, oh no, the layers of woolly hats and scarves make sure of that. It’s the “I have a 4x4 therefore can drive at the normal speed on the roads” people. The middle class who firstly increase the CO² emissions of our cities with their unnecessary tractors now remain pompous and ignorant to the change in weather condition.

But also the squadrons of yobs, lying in ambush for passing cars and buses, will pummel any gaggle of children, just for laughs.

But some delight may be taken from this cold weather. As the snow thawed and people returned to their work the de-icer sprays emerged from the cupboards under the stairs. For one suit-clad 40 year old this was clearly the highlight of his week.

Watching the 007 of the ice fighting world attack his frost-covered car with the pump action de-icer spray would bring a smile to anyone’s face. Hopping from foot to foot he tried taking down his opponent with the deft moves characterised by James Bond. His own realisation of his stupidity came when his eyes met mine. His gun became a spray again and fell to his side, the twirling patterns on his windscreen mocked him and he retreated indoors, muttering about keys. It was 8am, he thought his road was empty. Idiot.