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I’m 31, and I’m worried. I suppose it’s a side effect of my age. Give it a few more years and I’ll be entering the medical paranoia phase of life, checking every post-adolescent pimple for fear of impeding cancerous doom; dialling for an ambulance every time I get heartburn.

For now, my fears aren’t exactly health related – although I have started counting the hairs in the bathroom sink; cursing my migrating follicles as they travel from my head to my nose and ears. Instead, I worry that I’m falling out of touch with my preferred key demographic, the eighteen to twentyfives. Yes, in the strictest terms, I’m six years too late to start worrying about this, but I’m not quite ready to give in to the figures on my birth certificate just yet. I wear chequered socks; Converse; ill-fitting denim. Like the famed Egyptian crocodile of old, I shall live, for now, in denial.

Experience though tells me that people fit into very distinct groups, defined in large by their level of technological understanding. Collegues at work, for example, who have hit their forties, can struggle to make the most of their computers. My parents, in their fifties, get perplexed by the buttons on a DVD recorder or Sky box. My grandparents, in their seventies, have just about got the hang of a VCR – even if only for playback.

The fact that I’ll soon be turning thirtytwo sends a slight shiver down my spine, but I manage to convince myself that I’m still in my youth by surrounding myself with shiny new gadgets. My Netbook, my PS3, my mp4 player – I’ve never read an instruction book in my life. Admittedly, I rarely have the time to use any of these things – but that is beside the point.

The reason that I am worried, is that I have found something that I don’t quite understand - a technological by-product which younger generations take for granted, but that I can’t quite grasp. That something is online social networking.

I created a Myspace profile for one reason alone – to spam the hell out of my Triond articles. Sorry, promote my Triond articles. Ethically and above board. A wider audience for these literary gems means more page views, and more page views means more of an incentive to write – for although is has been a long held ambition of mine to write professionally, I unfortunately suffer from a terrible illness called ‘Writers Apathy’. It’s a bit like writers block, but although I still get ideas, I just can’t be bothered to find a pen and piece of paper. However, now that I’ve got a Myspace profile, I find that I’m not really sure what to do with it.

I’m computer savvy, and internet wise, so the basics are fine. It’s the friend system that I don’t really get. The process is simple enough, but I suppose it’s the whole ettiquette that I can’t follow. It just doesn’t seem to tie in with any of my life experience to date. Firstly, how can a random stranger be a ‘friend’ in just one click? Wouldn’t it be better to tag them as an aquaintance first? Maybe for the first few days, Myspace shouldn’t even show you their name, it should just read ‘That guy you spoke to the other day. You know. The one with the hat.’ Even ignoring that, why do some people create these huge friend lists – a hundred thousand or more – is it like football stickers back in the day; do you collect as many as you can and then play swapsies with the spares? I’ll have your ‘Monkeytickler’ in exchange for your ‘Moosenipples’ ? And why fire out random invites without even giving a thought to explain why the person would even want to be your friend? Is it the equivalent of a swingers tap on the shoulder, a speculative request for attention to be consumated at a later date? Perhaps it’s not my age – perhaps I’m just too British.

Today, I’ve had sixteen friend requests. If all of these were to become real friends, it would double the amount of Christmas cards I needed to buy. Twelve of them I denied straight away, as they were as they were the Myspace equivalent of an email about Viagra. It’s surprising how many women in Myspace-land apparently find me cute, before pointing me in the direction of sites containing gentlemens entertainment. Much as I appreciate their assistance, I can’t base a friendship on pay-per-view smut.

I suppose that is one thing that I like about the whole process – the sheer brutality of the response. ‘Approve’ or ‘deny’. That’s it, no messing about with explanations or forced apologies. If only real life were that simple – if somebody approached you at a party who you just didn’t like the look of, wouldn’t it be great to just click them on the forehead, shout ‘deny!’ and just watch them disappear forever?

In the meantime, here’s a heads up to any potential new friends out there. Anyone with ‘MC’ in their name need not apply. To clarify, it’s the wannabe bedroom DJ’s and not the Scots that I have a problem with, they’re ok. The French, well that’s a different matter entirely. People purporting to be artists, who have embedded audio on their profile which sounds like them playing a £19.99 keyboard  should not expect an add. Anybody from a developing nation promising to love me long time – if I wanted a mail order bride, I wouldn’t have returned the catalogue. And did I mention the French?

Finally, and most importantly, anybody over thirty who’s just started a band – from reading this, it should be quite obvious that I’ve got my own midlife crisis, and I don’t want to become embroiled in yours too.