Tuesday 5 April 2016

Sixth Degrees of Separation from a Rolling Stone


Instagram ,  love it or hate it, a fantastic forum for selfies and wannabes. A platform for could have beens and full of beans. I love Instagram. I follow friends, family and old celebrities, and their offspring. I follow pastimes, past loves and old students. I am a  greedy gobbler of all things grammy. My sons hate it. I love it. So there. Suck on the selfie
sunshine!
However, when instastalkie affects reality, your own reality, you have to suck it up and  suck it in. And this is my instagramanory.
One evening, late at night, the early hours nearing dawn, I instastalk. For an instant, I instacomment, on a son of a well known Stone. Why? Because his uncle was an old friend of my father. I do not think for a moment, an Instagram of a moment, that said instaceleb,would instacomment, and he doesn't. However, said uncle's son, cousin of instaceleb,  does in an instamoment. And the friendship of my father and his father's is ignited once more, in an instamoment.
So never leave a stone unturned, and rolling stones do gather moss, the moss of lost friendships of yesteryears.  And whether it be three or sixth degrees of separation,  your instaillierate parents could be instantly in touch with the youth of the rolling era.  One instacomment  made to a son of well known stone, a  husband of a  radio fern, has led to a instant renewal of a friendship between my father and his uncle - a man, I can remember in an instant -  who sang  to me as a child " save all your kisses for me" Whilst he was not a member of the Brotherhood of Man, I can remember him singing that to me in an instance.  Instagram is a stone that must keep rolling, because it's a "gas, gas, gas".