I waited by the window for the postman, for postwomen still didn’t exist in the 1970’s. I waited for that one letter from my penfriend in Germany to hear what he thought and what he had to say.

And when I finally got that letter, many many weeks later, I read it over and over. Then I carefully thought of an answer and after a few weeks I wrote out my own reply. I then ran down to the post office and had my letter posted. So eventually, after about two or three months in all, my pen friend got my reply.

That pretty much sums up the speed and more so the volume of communication back then. One letter every couple of months and somehow we survived. Don’t ask me how, but there was obviously a lot of marbles, hide and seek and skimming stones involved somewhere in between…

These memories came to me as I scrolled through my FB wall and saw what my friends today had posted. Or to be more precise, what they posted in the last couple of hours and certainly not more.

There are photos of children, loads of children, others on the beach, plenty at parties and a couple who were abroad. Close ups of faces for the overweight and poses in bikinis for the slightly less overweight, dogs and cats everywhere, babies and cars, poses yes never ending poses, solos, with and without spouses, kissing boys and girls no matter their gender. Their entire lives and activities displayed blatantly in front of my eyes, all at the single fingered scroll of my trackpad.

There were many posting videos, others funny generic pics, sharing of clips and images which have already gone around the world five dozen times in the last 24 hours. So many senseless visuals with morals and teachings and supposedly clever advice, written over various images, as if anyone cares, does anyone even read this crap? Everyone trying desperately to be funny and smart and sharp and different, in their very sameness and their desperate search for likes and comments.

There were others ranting on about their hidden yet screamingly obvious agendas. The racists calling themselves patriots and praising their country like it isn’t the dump they themselves otherwise admit. The anti racists posting shocking videos of black people suffering and abused on every possible occasion. The not so secret feminists whose every post rants on about the abuse of women, as they fume in anger and menopausal frustration in their villas with pool with their convertibles parked outside. The obsessive religious posting somehow yet another reason we should all love Jesus and yet another visual interpretation of the crucifixion with more blood but shorter thorns. The charity junkies constantly peddling their dubious wares, today collecting for a new kitchen sink for their holiday home – why pay for it yourself when you can always find some sucker to finance it.

Then there are the romantics with their fairies, unicorns, sunsets, flowers and white horses. The sad perverts with their bouncy booby videos and raunchy clips. The horny housewives desperately trying to turn their constant pics of topless, incredibly hunky, greased up plumbers, holding phallic shaped tools, into the blondest forms of non-humour. The fatalistic martyrs with their morbid gravestones and vampire like creatures with some enigmatic nonsense text, which is meant to sound mystically powerful, but fail miserably at even making any sense.

The football freaks, the politically motivated, the hunters and the hunted, and very worst of all the politically correct gestapo, who somehow find the time and energy to patrol your every step, your every post and comment, and come down on you like a sour ton of bricks with their righteousness and virtuosity. Those who are in a permanent state of shock. These people must live their entire lives with their mouths wide open and their eyes firmly rolled back. They post furiously, virtually inciting entire crusades about subtleties and meticulously unimportant details which you didn’t even know existed. How dare that evil monster call the little boy in north eastern Myanmar autistic instead of a boy with autism – we must all revolt!

There is thankfully also the savvy. Interesting news and facts, so many things you never knew. Loads of useful info on events and activities and concerts and parties and stuff. Also the important and sometimes life-changing personal news, from normal birthdays, to anniversaries, to weddings to the sad demise of loved ones.

People proudly losing weight, others so visibly gaining it but never admitting it. Refugees losing weight, but none of us ever admitting it. Two idiots ended their 12 year marriage online, right in front of the amused spectating eyes of the entire universe. A half-baked friend insists on taking pics of her disgustingly prepared meals, and a chauvinist middle aged idiot revels in posting adverts from the 1950’s being smugger than smug and as palatable as vomit.

There are those vanity obsessed females who change their profile pics every half an hour and their fat slobbish hubbies who think they’ll play it cool by posing without a shirt. Oh and those who insist on giving us a minute by minute account of their every move – off for a shower now, going to have a nap, doing the washing up, oh and what do we have here? do I sense my second bowel movement of the day?… every painful, pathetic, mundane move they make, documented for mind-shattering posterity.

Then there are the drama queens who start off a mini revolution and scream and yell, yes simply because their washing machine packed in, or their ironing board just broke.

Oh and perhaps the very revolting of all, are the tons and tons of nauseating nonsense on gender based stereotypes, either badly disguised as humour, or even worse feigning some hidden profound meaning. Dumb women repeatedly calling all men shallow and selfish, idiotic men calling all women users and good for only one thing. When, but when, will these sad individuals finally realise that every man and woman on earth is different and that gender has absolutely nothing to do with it and that they are only projecting their own weaknesses, inadequacies and frustrations by blaming it on the opposite sex.

We don’t live in the information age, we live in the information diarrhea age. And in the little time it has taken you to read this, if you return back to your own wall, you will see so many new posts carrying infinitely new bits of information. All the people around you compulsively communicating, endlessly, with and without scope, with and without sense. But even that is no longer important. You can, as many do, go onto your timeline and write something as dumb as a “Hi” or an “Oh” or “My toenails are itchy” and sure enough within minutes those magic likes start trickling in. And before you know it several comments first about toes, then about feet, then about health, diet, eating out and whether you want to join in on a party tomorrow.

For that’s how it goes OH WAIT, I just heard an enormous bang. Let me just rush to my window to look outside…. Oh my, it was the postman who crashed with his scooter as he was coming up my drive. It seems that he was posting on Facebook while he was driving and was simply overwhelmed and lost control…