About four years ago, my bleeding-edge techno guru friend John gave me some unwanted advice. “You’ve got to get yourself on Twitter!” he said. “Oh yeah? What’s Twitter?” I asked. And when John explained in further detail I knew at once that Twitter was an utterly useless idea that was never going to catch on in a million years.
“So you’re limited to 140 characters? How’s that an improvement on a text or an email?” I asked. And: “But what exactly are you going to tell people in these ‘Tweet’ thingies? ‘Mm. I have just had a delicious sandwich for my lunch’. That kind of thing?” And: “Isn’t it kind of creepy having all these random strangers sharing every last intimate detail of your life?” And: “Who’d want to read this kind of drivel anyway?”
Now, though, I am eating my words. Twitter is celebrating its fifth birthday, the company is worth around $3.7 billion and among the 200 million users sending 140 million Tweets daily, is a sneery sceptic turned complete addict called James Delingpole.
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