Amazing what happens when you google your own name. Even more amazing, I suppose, that “google"has become a word that we use so commonly, in such a short space of time. And it’s nothing short of terrifying what happens when you type in the name of someone close to you into a search enigin.

On a spring Thursday, I saw my true love in the park. Auburn hair hung over her shoulders, wafting lightly in the April breeze. I hadn’t thought about her for, what? Weeks? Months? After we parted company so acrimoniously, violently even, I’d done everything I could to cauterize my mind against the thought of the nape of her neck. But seeing her that Thursday evening all my defences shattered.

When I got home I opened a bottle of red wine and turned on my laptop, intending to finish a blog article I’d been writing. But I thought well, what the hell, and quickly typed her name into Google. A hundred and sixty-two thousand hits. I scrolled down. A couple obviously weren’t her: a piano teacher in Connecticut, an expat English teacher in Seoul. Then - bingo - her Facebook page.

Facebook was just taking off when we broke up so I’d never added her, although since then I’ve been a keen user of the site. My true love clearly wasn’t completely on top of the privacy options, as all of her profile and information appeared to be in open view. Email address. Mobile number. Pictures. So many pictures of her, sometimes happy and sometimes drunk, sometimes both happy and drunk (a sad contrast to in our final days together).

It’s not hard to work out where someone lives through a photograph. Pretty obvious even. I’m going to head round there now. Just to catch up of course. It’ll be lovely to see her.

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