Not one to miss out on a fad, I recently signed up with Facebook. Facebook, for those not in the know, is one of a wave of ‘social networking’ sites set up to fill a non-existent gap in the lives of mid-twenties social butterflies. As a woman of an uncertain age, you might be wondering why a grossly post-twentysomething such as myself had been drawn in to the web of Facebook.Scrabble. That was the lure. On-line Scrabble.
A word of warning to Scrabble enthusiasts not yet embarked on marriage: marrying a dyslexic limits the joy to found in inter-espousal Scrabble. Whilst it may be great to win each time, I only manage a game with Iain if I suggest all of his words to him, then correct his spelling. As competitive as I am, even I don't want to win this way. Playing with the kids means dumbing down my words, or winning every time - and I'm told that winning is not sporting maternal behaviour.
But on-line Facebook Scrabble offered the opportunity to link up with Jayne and Jaki and off we go. I am stunned, and more than a little worried, at Jaki's masterly 'zaniest'. I call Jayne to remnind her that it's her go only to find that she is staging a conscientious objection. Turns out Jaki's masterstroke is not a lexicographical feat but a gross act of cheating acheived through putting her scrabble letters into Google Anagrams.
Now what can you trust in this life if not a game of Scrabble. I give up.
