I’ve descended into a new addiction this holiday: Instagram.
If you’re not exactly sure what it is, it turns any average Joe, like myself, into a fake photographer. The premise is simple: take a photo (on your iPhone or Android); add a quirky filter, then share it.
You can follow people, and be followed yourself; you can post photos of plates of food and cute animals; snap a #selfie without eye bags; and view the world in squares.
How it’s taken me this long to discover it, I have no idea.
It started, innocently enough, when I admired a friend’s photos on Facebook, then someone asked me if I Instagrammed (like Googling and Tweeting, it’s become a verb). Then I discovered Picfx (best app ever!) and, before I knew it, I was hooked.
My boys, who I have the privilege of following in real life, are my main subject matter, but you suddenly find yourself drawn to all sorts of scenes that you might not otherwise notice, like innocuous objects (a frothy coffee, perhaps), spheres, spirals and geometric patterns.
And this explains why I found myself at London’s O2 arena the other day, peering up at a reflection in the glass at the top of the tube station, and feeling an inexplicable urge to point my iPhone at it.
I posted my faux photo (pictured above) to Instagram, and thought nothing more of it. Then a ‘Like’ popped up – from a world-famous band that exploded onto the scene in the early 80s.
It just so happened they were playing the O2 arena that night, and probably assumed I was attending the gig. The truth was, I was on my way home to give the kids a bath.
Rock-and-Roll, that’s me!