Wallwisher
"How Emily Blunt Beat Her Stutter"

"Confessing secrets to strangers online"

Guardian columnist write it's amazing what people will put online. I agree. (Yet another sign I'm getting old.)

Far more bizarre is what people put up under their own names: a noxious effluvium of personal detail, revealed intimacies, skewed views and solipsistic ego-stroking. They post pictures of their infants. They recount in tedious detail a row with their partner. They upload videos of last night's boozy lap-dance. They make barbed and libellous statements about named individuals. I've seen sports journalists on Facebook rip into various players and administrators – the very folks they also write about in their job. Professional integrity? What's that?

And that's the family-friendly stuff. My innocent wee mind can barely comprehend those websites where exhibitionists strip (or worse) for the camera, presumably because it's "empowering", or whatever meaningless catchphrase is currently in vogue. I'm not prudish and can understand professionals carrying on like so – they're being paid. But these are regular people, with regular families, jobs and lives. And regular futures – until now. These eejits don't seem to realise that this is everlasting. Once something is on the internet, it can never be pulled back. It will always exist somewhere: on a server, a PC, a print-out or a CD. And if it exists, it can come back to haunt you.

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