We were talking today about the role of social media in communications. Lots of things will matter going forwards.
Facebook is the new telephone. Back in the “olden” days my cousin Christine Milne worked at the Post Office in Geraldine. I went there on holiday. She used gold tipped patch-cords, the same as I used in radio, and her mother’s number was Geraldine 492. I went to the exchange and she let me do the job she was paid to do – to connect people over the wires. It felt so glamorous.
Over the years, not many things have changed.
Now, if you are not on Facebook, you are going to miss out on the most basic information. Facebook is the new circular in the letterbox. It is the new connection on the end of the gold-tipped patch=cord.
From there, the litterati head to Twitter. There you meet the people like Rachel Goodchild and her so lovely Johnathan who end up starting from Canterbury, working from the Northern Suburbs, loving you on Twitter, and being in your kitchen discovering practical ways they can help. There are many. Don’t feel you can’t help because you can’t be here. Would a list help? I can make one. It starts with fb friend me, tweet me, send me a hug, send chocolate, wine (maybe a soldier…). If you’re from Canterbury, you are here even if you are not here. There’s red and black running through your veins. Don’t stress about it. We will still need you in a week, a month, a season, a year, and you will come and help whenever you can. We love you all the same and we feelyou calling us from your home.
Rachel is like I used to be – a telly megastar. Rachel says that her bud, Paul Henry, is not on facebook or twitter. I said goodness, to her, that’s not going to work in New Christchurch. Down here post #eqnz we need to be connectible. That’s why you need social media. And it matters, because somehow Paul Henry has become the counterpoint to the “faith or no faith” test that was exercised at yesterday’s memorial.
We’ve been trialling this at home and it might well be wrong. It goes something like this.
“Paul Henry. Your thoughts?”
Response A. “Love him”
Response B. “That ***”
Response C. “Who?”
Response D. “Under no circumstances will I ever laugh at anything that ever made Paul Henry laugh.”
Most of those answers will work well at my kitchen table.
Just a hint.
(Paul Henry – I love the fact that you speak your mind even though sometimes you are a complete twat who needs a big girl to tell him off on air because you’ve been a silly show off who needs a damned good spanking. And I am comforted, having met Rachel, that you have that kind of woman in your sphere. You do need to put your big boy pants on and deal with the fact that your medium is about to be a dinosaur. Welcome to apps world and fb and twitter and blogging – your content needs to keep up with your provider, lovely funny man.)
And in another house, and in other news, my nephew, one of two aged 5, at whose home Pepper and I will be staying this evening simply out of fun and music and red wine and giggling, has just shown me his collection of dead flies in jar. Remarkably, they each have names. He seems to know what they are. Now, so do I. Although I changed one of their nappies first, I have not been able to tell them apart since. I shall read them both a story book good night if they are so inclined. As long as they are in the same room they will both hear the same story in any case.
Got a high-five as he went to bed. Aunty Sue rocks. Damn straight she does Paul Henry – damn straight she does.