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08:03:19 pm on March 12, 2010 |
You might not think it from looking at the drivel I post on Twitter, but I have standards. I also have rules. In fact, I have three rules: (1) Don’t tweet if you haven’t actually got anything to say; (2) Try and make your tweets halfway amusing when you have got something to say; and (3) Never be in such a hurry to tweet that you misuse “to” and “too” or “your” and “you’re”.
Given that I’m my own harshest critic, I try my very best to observe my own rules.
But something’s gone terribly wrong. I’ve just read through my Twitter timeline from the past five days and realised that, with the exception of one or two half decent tweets, I’ve been the most supremely boring Tweeter this week. It’s a timeline that could bring a sponsored smile to an abrupt halt, leading to the devastating closure of a small well-building charity in Africa. And it’s definitely been a week of instantly forgettable, 140-character toss that’s unlikely to trigger an avalanche of #followfriday mentions.
I’m not going to lie: I like getting #followfriday nods. Who doesn’t? It’s the ultimate endorsement from your Twitter peers that your phenomenally witty/bed-wettingly funny and/or interesting and erudite tweets are simply not to be missed. It’s sort of like a guest being welcomed into a party of strangers and being told by the host: “I must introduce you to Andy – he’s hilarious!” Of course, the alternative is for the host to whisper in the guest’s ear: “Try not to get stuck in a corner with Andy. I swear to god, you’ll start self-harming.”
So when the virtual tumbleweed danced across the #followfriday landscape today – following a week when several #ff’s had been gratefully received – it was difficult not to feel like I’d suffered a catastrophic loss of form.
Originally, before reviewing my timeline, I thought I’d had a decent week on Twitter. In my analogical mind, I thought I’d run a fairly respectable marathon. However, the nod-less #followfriday suggested that all I did, analogically speaking, was fail hard, do a humiliating poo at the roadside, start crying…and ultimately fail to cross the finish line.
So what’s my Grrrrrr? Well, I’m annoyed with myself for being rubbish, and for drying up, and for not having anything remotely interesting to say, and for being bereft of inspiration. I’ve finally run out of things to say on Twitter! And I’m pissed off that I’m now racked with self-doubt (because I tend to worry about these sorts of things).
Anyway, ignore me. I’m just having a massive moment.
I’m off to see if I left my mojo in the men’s toilets.
Grrrometer: I’m not angry; I’m just disappointed.
UPDATE: I did actually receive an eleventh hour #followfriday from someone I don’t actually follow. I suppose I should be grateful for any and all #ff’s, but I couldn’t help but notice that I was grouped with a Chartered Management Accountant; a learning and development specialist; and Alan – “doing his best for local businesses”. That sort of confirms that if I left my mojo in the men’s toilets at all, I probably accidentally flushed it away too.
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04:38:05 pm on December 11, 2009 |
Who: Old people at the self-service tills in Tesco
When: This afternoon
Event: It’s busy enough in our local Tesco in the run-up to Christmas, so the last thing our busy Tesco needs during the Yuletide season is old people holding up the self-service tills with their pitiful grasp of simple technology. I saw a slightly bewildered-looking elderly couple today who were having every item in their large shopping trolley scanned and bagged by a cashier. Now, that’s not really serving yourself, is it? Could they not have just have gone through the normal tills, where, traditionally, the cashier is supposed to offer that kind of hands-on service?
I think the self-service tills should have certain barriers to entry, like height restrictions on fairground rides. If anyone over the age of 60 can pick up a Sky Plus remote and series-link ‘Heartbeat’, and then send a legible text message to their grandchildren (in under 20 seconds), only then should they be allowed to use the self-service tills. Anyone who fails those tests should return to the junior tills, where full assistance will be given.
Grrrometer: 2 (well, it is Christmas!)
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02:36:44 pm on November 22, 2009 |
What: Average speed checks and traffic cones
When: Yesterday
Event: The total population of the World is 6,798,427,270. Remarkably, there are more traffic cones on the M6 than there are people on earth. How do I know this? Because yesterday my girlfriend and I headed north to visit my family, which took us through eight (yes, eight) sections of motorway – on the M40, M42 and M6 – that had 50mph average speed checks in operation. There didn’t appear to be any road maintenance going on (i.e. an overweight foreman reading the Daily Star in a portaloo, while his colleague sits in a stationary white van eating a bacon sandwich); there was just miles and miles and miles…and MILES of traffic cones lined up along the hard shoulder. So why the speed restrictions? Somebody tell me!!
After going through so many average speed checks (which is actually quite exhausting), I was absolutely furious to enter another one shortly before we hit Spaghetti Junction on the M6. Furthermore, it was at this point that I saw a workman dropping even more traffic cones onto the motorway from the back of a Flatbed lorry, like a minelaying vessel run by a crew of cu*ts wearing hard hats and fluorescent tabards.
The D-Fens in me wanted to pull the car over and ask the workmen why they were coning off yet more motorway. But I doubt they would’ve known the answer to that question anyway. Morons.
Grrrometer: 5 (but probably more around the 9 mark)
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01:53:12 am on November 3, 2009 |
Who: Overseas call centres
When: Yesterday morning
Event: I had to send some important documents to a company in Leeds yesterday, but wanted to call them first to see if I could fax the paperwork in case the originals got caught up in the postal strike. However, in spite of Leeds being just a couple of hours up the motorway, my phone call was subsequently re-directed halfway round the world. Added to this was the fact that the call-centre operator appeared to have been equipped with a woolly sock to place over the mouthpiece, while at the same time the ridiculously ropey connection cut out at regular intervals (usually as the operator was about to impart some important information to me). “The number you need is 0 – – – – – – – – – 2.” (Yeah, thanks for that).
The launch codes for the world’s nuclear weapons should be sent to this call centre operator. I guarantee, it would be as effective as decommissioning every single warhead on earth. Because even if East and West eventually came to blows, how far is WW3 going to get with this kind of service:
“General, thank you for confirming your bunker address. The nuclear launch code is: – – 7 – – – – 4.”
Grrrometer: 3
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10:40:42 pm on October 30, 2009 |
Who: Other drivers
Where: Birmingham/Stratford-upon-Avon
Event: I hate driving in the dark. But I hate it even more when I’m constantly blinded by people coming towards me with Jean Michel Jarre’s lighting rig fixed to their front grill. Look, morons, you don’t need your bloody spotlights blazing when travelling in perfectly clear weather. It wasn’t foggy tonight. It wasn’t even slightly misty. There wasn’t so much as a mouse fart hanging in the air. So turn them off! Also, to any and all members of the ‘wonky light club’ (one dim headlight, one full beam), why not part with a few quid and replace your knackered bulb. That way, you won’t blind me when you’re trying to fit your car up my exhaust pipe.
Grrrometer: 5
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10:09:41 pm on October 30, 2009 |
Who: Cashier at Tesco’s petrol station
Where: Stratford-upon-Avon
Event: Dear cashier…Look, if I’m going to spend £45 on petrol I expect a bit of customer service thrown in when I hand over my debit card. As wonderful as it was for you to largely ignore me throughout the whole transaction – while you debated with your colleague about whether Strepsils had the edge over Lockets – I think I would’ve preferred eye contact and some level of interaction (however fake). Before you serve me the next time, get some customer service training…and some manners.
Grrrometer: 3.5
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