I have become a child of the Facebook generation, that race that conducts its life online for the delectation of other people,

I was cajoled into setting up a Facebook page by my daughter and her boyfriend, who convinced me that I would somehow be missing out on a universe of fun and frolics if I didn't.

Four days into this brave new world I have a grand total of six friends and have been bombarded with useless messages.

The other day someone sent me electronic coffee. What the hell am I supposed to do with it? Stick it in my virtual grinder and knock myself up a cyber-latte?

It seems to me that Facebook is for people who have an awful lot of time on their hands between Jeremy Kyle and Loose Women and labour under the delusion that other people are interested in what bands they like and where they had lunch on Sunday.

They painstakingly list their interests and then send messages telling everyone on their list that they've just been out to buy a new dining room table.

It is like those tedious round robin letters some people insist on sending their friends and family at Christmas.

You know the ones, they brag about what a great holiday they had and which scholarship their swotty kids have collected. And then they drone on about how they have replanted all their borders and Cuprinoled the shed.

Not that anyone ever reads that far. Most round robin letters hit the back of the bin quicker than those plastic clothes sacks charities leave on your doorstep every 20 minutes (how many clothes do they think you have? If they saw what I wear at weekends they'd have no interest in what I might actually throw away).

From a journalist's point of view Facebook is a wonderful invention because if someone has a page (and 50 million people worldwide had one by November last year)their life is laid bare to anyone who cares to look them up.

There are pictures, a list of their friends, family, workplaces, interests and contact details. In short everything you need if you are writing about them or want to find someone who can tell you more about them.

I don't know why the government is bothering with ID cards. They can just give us all an Apple iPhone (which would be a damn sight cheaper than photcopying everyone's eyeballs or whatever it is they are planning to do) and when challenged we can just open up our Facebook page.

We can then prove who we are by naming ten of our friends (or six in my case) and where we had our last birthday drink. Absolutely foolproof.

Of course, having run the Facebook generation down, I now find the first thing I do when I get home in the evening is check my page to see if I have any new friends (the answer is a resounding no) or any messages (still no).

So who is the sad one now?