I have been sitting in a bottle of aspic for the past ten years, curing and pickling in the world of heritage journalism. Social media? Who needs it. Facebook? Forget it. Twitter? For narcissists and Liz Hurley’s parrot. Okay, I’m washing myself down, stepping – gingerly – towards the 21st century. It feels like someone is hauling me off the horse and buggy, and pointing me toward the electric car that is parked just beyond the hill. `Come hither old man and get with the times.’
Here we go.