MAN’S WORLD: I’m Billy Two Mates

I suppose he’s out there somewhere.

The man – and it’s an absolute certainty that it’s a man – who buttonholes you at a party, eyes shining with the fervour of the true believer and says, “I’m absolutely passionate about LinkedIn.”

Along with “I missed my children growing up” that must be one of the saddest statements a man can make.

But there you go; there are plenty of them. 500+ connections and a gold star for sending ‘networking messages.’

Or spam, as normal people call them.

You’ll have gathered by now that I’m not a fan.

But needs must when the devil drives and there are men in suits – who have access to the company chequebook who don’t trust you if they can’t furtively browse your profile.

So somehow I’ve managed to acquire 194 connections, the vast majority of whom I wouldn’t recognise if I was trapped in a lift with them.

And a special thanks to all the people I’ve never met who’ve endorsed me for things I’ve never done…

Nope, as far as social media goes it’s Twitter for me.

Short, sharp, to the point and some genuinely likeable people.

And as someone who writes, I like the discipline of having to say something witty, entertaining or useful in 140 characters.

Right now, I’ve close to 2,000 followers, (and if you want to join in it’s @BestDadICanBe.)

Astonishingly, this didn’t impress my teenage children.

Especially as I didn’t have any friends – as in Facebook.

‘What?’ you cry. ‘The biggest social media platform in the galaxy and you don’t use it?’

No, I don’t. Or more correctly, didn’t.

There were only so many hours in the day and Twitter was just fine.

But eventually, I had to join the rest of Planet Earth.

‘What do you mean you didn’t see the details? We put them on Facebook.’

‘Yes, of course you can join our group. We put all the updates on Facebook.’

Suddenly it was no Facebook, no meetings.

I reluctantly signed up and endured the taunts of my two sons.“Have you got a friend yet, dad?”

“There must be someone out there as anti-social as you, dad.”

Fortunately help was at hand. Step forward my Beloved Daughter and World Facebook Expert.

“So how many friends have you got now, Jessica? You must be close to a thousand?”

“Actually, dad, I’ve got two thousand.”

“So you could be my friend.”

“No, dad. I’d rather eat my own kneecap.” But did she ever know what she was doing. Wowzer! In no time at all I had a page set up and it was linked to the business.

I had updates and status notifications – and above all, I had two friends.

“That’s nice, dad. Facebook has three trillion users and you’re the only one whose friends would fit in a phone box.”

I ignored my son’s latest barb and pressed on.

“Look, dad,” Jessica said. “You’ve got a friend request.”

At last. Someone wants to be my friend.

“Accept,” I say. “That’ll be a 50 per cent increase.”

“Don’t you want to check first? Supposing it’s Michael Gove?”

Yep, a year at university and she’s marched swiftly across the political spectrum.

“Come on, I only have two friends…”

“But look. This guy wears a top hat.”

So he does. That looks distinctly creepy. A steam punk stalker.

“Reject him,” I say dispassionately.

Stop press update: that was a few days ago. I now have the stellar total of 35 friends.

If that doesn’t silence the boys’ sarcasm what will?

And back on Twitter one of my pals has added me to a list.

People I’ve met in real life. That’s my kind of girl…