Saturday night (cabin) fever.

Now that the X Factor has finished my Saturday nights have lost a certain amount of impetus. The sense of social media community was exciting, it had meaning. The meaning was mostly ‘here are several thousand other people who have no lives and are trying to redeem the situation by being witty on twitter’. It was special.

This last series of X Factor was one of the first times I’ve sat and watched a programme with a palpable sense that there were so many other people watching it with me who weren’t with me. Water cooler chat is one thing (has anyone ever actually had a water cooler chat? What a stupid expression. Like the only time you would talk to someone at work is if you happen to bump into them whilst fetching glasses of water at the same time), but real-time dissection is another. It was fun. It was suddenly cool to be in on a Saturday night. Then suddenly it wasn’t.

Twitterising about Casualty or the Lottery Draw just isn’t the same – I feel the need these days to lie about where I am on the world’s premier social networking micro-blogging messianic saviour of the world but the Daily Mail still doesn’t like it dot com website. Should I post things like ‘At the #pub. Having a popular overpriced alcoholic beverage.’ or ‘In a nightclub. Look at the tits on that. www.twitpic.com/ahfbr568’ ? It’s not often the case that I actually do go out, I’m mostly sat doing nothing. Perhaps I should go dark (as in not post anything, I’m not being racist like), or just tell the truth in a post-modern ironic sort of way. ‘Not in a nightclub. Playing Globs on Facebook FTW.’

More of the unanswered-and-probably-unasked questions of modern social etiquette that plague me daily.