I’VE often thought: I wonder what Jimmy in Widnes has had for tea and I wish I could see a picture of it. Through the power of Berners-Lee’s t’internet, my digital craving has been suppressed through the medium of Facebook.

For the uninitiated, it’s great. You can hear your local binman's take on the EU referendum and the refugee crisis from the comfort of your living room.

People who you had no idea were political and economic experts, via quotes ‘borrowed’ from Google, suddenly feel the need to share their unabated and unswerving political beliefs with virtual friends that have been missing in real-life action since 1987.

To be fair, I am a little addicted to it as my form of electronic tag. Although not a criminal, despite looking like a time share fraudster, I adhere to the concept, but disagree with the reality.

It is like those periods a couple of times a year when you have had a drink two nights in a row, usually during the school holidays, and a third night is on the cards. You know you shouldn’t, but your backbone suddenly goes all squid like and you soldier on like a trooper.

It is a psychological wilderness. After your latest funny/controversial comment or update, you sit back and wait for a little fire.

Then one of two things happen. Either you enter a passionate excreta storm, or, nothing.

Now this is one time when nothing is worse than a bad something. Silence. No response. Tumbleweed. It leaves you feeling unloved, lost and at odds with your 425 virtual friends.

Others win the popularity content hands down. I have one friend who posts pictures of items such as glasses of wine. Within four minutes she has 334 likes and everyone is raving about it.

I post a picture of me with Gazza and I get abuse as to how one of us is washed up, skinny and past his peak and the other one is Paul Gascoigne.

Even more worrying is the current trend of pulling on the heartstrings and the advent of town centre gypsy type posts. Here is a picture of an ill dog. If you don’t "like" it, you will die a slow and painful death by Tuesday. Perfectly sane people then like the post and akin to chain mail, re-post it.

Another take on this is the "Amen" post. A picture of someone or something facing terrible affliction is posted. Now I am not without a heart, but I do not feel the need to type "Amen" or otherwise be castigated as a heartless void of a human with no redeeming features.

It is the political posts that irk the most however. Most openly advocate free speech then attack like rabid pit bulls if anyone dares to offer a different take to their hereditary lunacy.

It then becomes a game of virtual roulette. Back down and let them save face or risk being castigated into the WebSphere after an undignified de-friending.

Another channel of being de-friended is ribbing political leaders such as Jeremy Corbyn.

The venom is tangible and the platform has moved away from sharing pictures and updates with friends to that of crazed lunacy with no quarter given.

I find myself looking for that perfect moment every day I am with the kids. After four hours of sibling rivalry, there is a moment of tranquil in which I snatch a shot.

Upon posting it, I join the realms of the perfect nuclear family showing everyone else how great my life is.

In reality I’m more Daltons weekly than Walton’s smiling sweetly as I post the picture which attracts a lot of likes purely for the fact that I am not in it.

I have decided that this is my all or nothing red or black Facebook roulette hiatus. I aim to post this column on FB.

If I do not achieve enough likes I will leave and go do something more interesting instead. I may take to trolling Manchester United fans forums as a way to pass the time and face the fury of the Home Counties massive instead.