Seven years.
At seven you can star-jump, sing, you probably know the basics between right and wrong... You are self-aware, empathetic you've got a social diary, you're learning, engaging, interacting, deliberating and deciding.
I celebrated Twitter's seventh birthday by lodging a harassment case with Devon and Cornwall Police against my very own digital harasser who dedicated two whole months to obsessing about me on Twitter. Seven is apparently old enough to be a gutless bully, too.
But that mustn't detract from the enormous joy Twitter has, and still does, frequently bring me.
It connected me to the city when I felt completely detached and far-from-home. It connected me to new friends by the seaside.
It's connected me to men and women whom I admire, agree with and disagree with. People who've informed me, enraged me, advised me, or just given me a little boost when I needed it.
I am joined to colleagues, old colleagues, friends, politicians, presidents and strangers alike, every day.
Is there a more random, more versatile, more powerful invention of the 21st century?
What a beautiful freak. Happy Birthday Twitter.
