Fear of the media, fear of being known

7.30 Friday morning. "Message from the dark side there is" says my phone.

Who is that? I ask myself, so early in the morning?

MakeHay! Yes reader, I finally met the guy, met him the day before Valentine's day when I had planned to delete my online dating profile.

"Hey you made the page..good write up. Go girl"

What? Where? I thought I was just the anonymous front lead.

"Online"

I go downstairs, open my copy of the rag. The comment section: "Human impact of homes auction"

Oh my God! Oh my God! That's good, I think, as I see "visitor..she has a seven year old son..." Oh my God there's me! There's my name! What does it mean? "Mam look!"

I feel instintively quite elated. When my dad comes downstairs I tell him to read it.

"We can all blame Margaret Thatcher, but the council's current policy of selling off some homes to the highest bidder certainly hasn't helped."

Wow, he says it all much better than I ever could!

My dad, the Tory, and me, the I Don't Know, talk politics. He's not that ill! What a relief!

I cling to my instinctive thought that the piece is "good" as the motherboard fizzes and pops trying to make sense of it all.

Is it the media I fear? I was a journalist for goodness sake. No, it's the fear of being known.

The ed said my name. He's not letting me get away with it.

Oh crikey.

I should thank him really.