The background: in early May, I received a train ticket in the post. The ticket was from Nottingham - where I live - to Matlock, dated for July 16. I hadn't ordered the ticket. I had no reason to be in Matlock on July 16. I was puzzled. I phoned the train company, who confirmed that the ticket had been bought and paid for by a third party, for delivery to me. I asked Twitter for advice; I asked if I should go to Matlock on July 16. Most people said I shouldn't; a few people, in a frankly voyeuristic spirit, said I should.

At this point, it wasn't clear how seriously anyone was taking me; or indeed whether anyone was all that interested. And even at this early stage, a doubt was raised:

I took this as reassurance. I assumed that if someone was already doubtful then perhaps I could continue and the whole thing would be taken as tongue-in-cheek. I went in to a meeting for a couple of hours (and, for a record, those who doubted; I really *did* go to a meeting).

And then a weird thing happened. Cultural historians of Twitter will think of a name for this one day: the sensation where, once people take an interest in something you're tweeting about, you feel the need to justify or fulfill that interest. It's something about feeling a responsibility to the audience. It's similar to when you're telling an anecdote in the pub and you realise more people are listening than you expected: you embellish the anecdote. And I'll admit I was enjoying the audience, the interaction, and the sense of real-time storytelling.