I never thought I’d have to revise for a social event. Knowing faces without names is bad enough – but names without faces? Hellfire. Such is the conundrum faced by the newbie BritMums Live attendee. As astronomically excited as I am to be going, I am getting a little anxious. I suffer from a condition, you see. It’s called Social Amnesia.
A Tweep By Any Other Name…
I blabber with tweeps regularly. I feel like I’m getting to know them as people – their humour, their passions, their taste in booze. When I see their twitter handle, I know what to expect. But I’m not 100% on everyone’s realname. And it’s not just the first name you need to know, it’s their surname too, as just to confuse things, some people have the same first name! Honestly, there should be a law about it. If someone says, “Hi, I’m Jo”, my mind will be scrambling through all the Jo blogs (if you’ll pardon the pun!) and will leave me none the wiser. To make matters even worse, many blog names are not the same as their twitter names or their real names. Yelp! Yes, yes I know we’ll all be wearing badges, but my eyes are weak and I will have left my glasses on the train with the empty gin tins. I don’t want your first impression of me to be of someone with an unnerving interest in your bosom.
What About All The Photos, You Dunce?
Yep, I know most people have pictures of themselves on their blogs. I have one. It is me, wearing make-up, after I’ve been to the hairdresser, on a night out. Not a representative sample. Also taken at the only angle that hides the size of my nose. My point is, in real life, it is sometimes hard to recognise people…in time to convince them that you really have recognised them, and haven’t just read their badge by some eagle-eye-ish mastery.
To help me attach names to twitter handles, I have started constructing a Murder Board. You know, like in Homeland, and most detective series. Where I attach pictures of bloggers I know / want to know (how creepy does that sound?), their blog names, twitter handles, real names, pertinent posts, bra sizes (JOKE!) and so on. It’s like revising for A-Levels, but without the record cards or lofty hopes of a career.
The Curse of Social Amnesia
There’s only one flaw with my otherwise excellent Murder Board plan. And it’s pretty major.
My memory, which, like the lost island of Atlantis, has slipped further and further below the surface with each child. The admin and angst induced by three kids has compounded into a visceral ball in my head, shoving out any semblance of a memory. It isn’t personal. I forget to make a doctor’s appointment in the morning for the thing I was awake most of the night worrying about. I have to scroll through Facebook on my way to visit friends to check not only what their kids are called, but how many they have. A tiny voice inside me says, “Maybe it’s the wine?” And I say to you, tiny voice: “Hush! Be still.” For the wine at least allows me to charm my way out of a social amnesia crisis. Surely you’d rather chat to a fun, bubbly lady who’s a bit sketchy on the details than to a sober dullard who remembers every post you’ve written? My Murder Board will hopefully enable me to combine the Jekyll and Hyde within myself, but please go easy with me if I slip.
So, if I accuse you of being from London with three under three, whereas in fact you have just flown down from Edinburgh after having your ninth, please bear with me. If I say things like, “I loved your post, you know, that one, where you…?”, and then trail off, please forgive me. Please give me three key facts about yourself: your real name, your blog and what you’d like to drink, and we’ll be away. You’ll have activated my “Social Recall”.
I’m so looking forward to meeting you all, and deep down I know that all I really need to say at BritMums Live is this:
More #BritMumsLive banter:
More baby brain burbling:
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Homeland picture source: Fox 21