Naturally, here at World of Sheds (are you imagining a bustling office? Good. It’s just me sitting on my couch though watching Celebrity Super-Spa) we (me) have our (my) finger on the pulse of new technological developments. We (I) brought you reviews of Horace Goes Skiing and are typing this on our BBC computer, so it was a logical progression to bring you (you) news of the latest social networking platform to hit our display windows.

Read more about by someone who might know things about computers here, but why be arsed when I can tell you here?

The launch of is shrouded in mystique. How exciting. When you click on the home page, there’s no information other than a perfunctory invite to choose a user name and a request for a password. Some blurry images of attractive people taking what I assume is ‘selfies’ like it’s as fun as going to Alton Towers on a free ticket off a cereal box and walking straight onto the front seat of the Nemesis.


Well, let’s face it, it’s going to be more vanity thrills for the insecure isn’t it? More bathroom backgrounds, more duckfaces, more tensed pecs, more bikini bottoms being suggestively pulled down with a thumb than you can shake your belly ring at.

The only reason a person takes a selfie is for self-publicity and spin. What sort of person do I want you to think I am?  it whispers, from a point, usually above their head.Here are the main categories that Selfies largely fall into.

  • Love me, love my bathroom.

Some people’s bathrooms I know better than my own. I know Rachel Jenkin’s has a reed diffuser on her window sill and Jim Dickhead has a few toilet roll holders that he needs to dispose of in the appropriate receptacle. Why do I have a knowledge of their bathroom, like a virtual one-night stand? I know their bathroom so well because I am daily subjected to a picture of them taken in their bathroom mirror. Looking sexy, natch. For men, it’s usually a tensed, pec rippling, posed-nonchalance- “oh hey, I’m just chillaxing here in my bathroom. Thought you should know”. *good times*

  • ‘Accidental’ Glamour

Oh my GOD! You must see this slightly interesting thing that just happened to me. What? Oh, yeah, I FORGOT I was in a bikini in my hallway with my kid on a Wednesday. *waits for “banging boddie hun” tweets to roll in*

  • The High Rise

Hey I look great. But I look better from above. Here’s lots of pictures of me looking essentially the same from above. Aren’t I gorgeous from this angle? Not convinced. Here’s a few more pictures of me to seal the deal. If you take me out, you will have to date me aerially. Take up your seat on the ceiling by the picture rail. Enjoy the view, dickhead!


  • Tit Beach

I’ve got a BANGING body and YOU MUST KNOW ABOUT IT. Usually disguised as a picture of a beach or the sea. So why not stand up and take a picture of the beach? Because the view is better down here! 

The National Office for Vain Selfies calculates that if all the Tit Beach selfies were sewn together with threads of self obsession, they could stretch to the crab nebula and back. Get onto that, NASA.

  • The Marcus Collins

I’ve heard from reliable sources that Marcus Collins puts 60,000 selfies on facebook per minute. I’ve also heard that he is the pioneer of the ‘Selfie montage’.  He is currently working with Apple on IOS 8 to include a special selfie-function, although the project is rumoured to be on hold until 2016 due to current hardware limitations (4xCAMERA I PHONE). You heard it here first, Shedders.


My First Grey

Today I had to start admitting that I’m not 28 any more. I’d been largely successful in denying my advancing years by zapping my face with electric currents monthly and wearing cross-body satchels, but the discovery of my first grey today meant I had to finally admit to my bodily decline.

Caryn Franklin

I am 36 by the way.

To be fair, there were other signs that I was no longer a vigorous and vital twenty something.

  • If I’ve been doing an activity in the day, I need a can of red bull to go out in the night time. Red Bull-Fuel for the over thirties.
  • When I hold parties, instead of the fag butts and vomit that was usually left behind in our twenties, now left behind is a navy fleece and a bag for life.
  • I’ve begun wearing ballet pumps as high heels make my feet too sore. Once upon a time I wore sky scraper heels for work, shopping, even sightseeing around New York. There was no fucking way I was wearing flats, and now when I’m shopping for boots anything over 3 inches and I’m scowling like a trapped badger.
  • Highly pigmented eyeshadow makes me look like a drag queen. It’s all ‘dove greys’ and ‘nudes’ now. How exciting!
  • My friends no longer want to go to nightclubs or popular bars because they can’t settle unless they get a seat.
  • I have gardening jeans and decorating jeans. I garden. Not willingly you, understand. I’m not a monster.
  • My jeans are now ‘mid rise’. Want to know what ‘rise’ is? Rise of a jean is how much you can get away with before you show your landing strip. I can no longer take the choking sensation of a pair of low rise skinnies, nor can I be arsed with the worry that one false move and poor onlookers might be privy for more than they bargained for.
  • I have bodyshaping garments in surgical nude colours.
  • I go to Zumba.
  • I enjoy TV programmes about houses, interior decorating and I ‘upcycle’
  • When I tell my husband off, I sound like my Nan. Not even my mother, my NAN.
  • I own a electric belt sander.
  • I have dreams that I’m discovering extra storage in my kitchen and I’m delighted.

Good god, it’s worse than I thought!

Today, I embrace my advancing years. I will be switching my electric blanket on tonight, leaving future parties a 9pm to ‘get settled’ and prepare for everything to become ‘nude’ colour-my make up, my undergarments, my clothes, my flat lace ups. My only comfort, is you are all growing old with me!