The new paranoia...

If this were a hard copy diary rather than an electronic vanity exercise (sorry, personal brand enhancer) for, if anyone were ever to swing by, public consumption, things would be very different. I could write down everything. But, as I have pointed out previously, this, this thing, is not the sum whole of my life (although, I admit, huge aspects of my existence are aired here). Ah, how I would like to tell you about them. But I can't. Although it would all be true, I wouldn't like to get caught up in a messy defamation action. Occasionally, out of necessity, the odd moment(s) is (are) captured on paper. You have to get these things out of your system, I feel, otherwise they nag and gnaw at you and the whole situation can become quite, well, as I am reading Simon Gray, cancerous. Or I might just be saying all this on the offchance that they might be reading. Does my hard copy version of events actually exist? And, if it does, do I adopt the bitchy Kenneth Williams stance or that of everyone's pal Michael Palin?

In the digital age, paranoia is rife. Why? Well, a huge conversation is taking place. And lots of people who are out of that conversation and can't quite work out how to get in to it have started to think that, well, they must be talking about me. Apparently, another tweeter suggested, my tweets are being monitored by my enemies. And, for that matter, my entire web presence is being logged and filed away for a future appearance in the High Court. Although perhaps I am suffering from the new paranoia and they're not doing that at all?