From time to time, I'll find myself overcome by an uncontrollable urge to find out what people I barely know have been eating and drinking lately. Luckily, we have social media at our disposal, so this is never much of a problem.

Last week, I was flicking idly (sounds better than doom scrolling) through my feed. It consisted of the usual fare: somebody's bare legs, a cocktail and the sea in the background; a glass of beer on a table somewhere; a plate of stew presumably getting cold, etc. So far, so humdrum.

After a short while indulging in this nonsense, I heard a strange noise coming from my phone - a faint glooping, whooshing sound. My limited knowledge of such things led me to believe I'd just reacted to someone's post by accident (fat fingers). I looked back at the last four or five photos to see whose it could be and my heart sank. One of the possibilities was a selfie taken by a married, amateur female singer from Malaga, whom I'd briefly met about ten years ago. She was pouting at the camera and making a peace sign with two fingers. It wasn't entirely clear if she was trying to look seductive or about to burst into a chorus or two of Jumpin' Jack Flash.

However, what was clear by this point was the fact that I'd not only reacted to the image, but love-hearted it.

Not to worry, I'd just press that little ol' heart symbol again and undo my mistake, no harm done. I stabbed at it but to my horror heard the same whooshing sound again. Had I love-hearted this woman twice? Zikes! This was getting serious not to mention creepy.

I hot-footed it upstairs to the big computer to see if there was any way I could find a solution and avoid being arrested for stalking. After a few minutes of flailing and faffing to no avail, I was left with no choice but to turn to my old sparring partner, ChatGPT for advice.

Despite our chequered history, on this occasion the arrogant fool came up trumps. I was guided into the labyrinthine depths of Facebook and expertly advised precisely what to do to correct my error. It turned out that I had indeed love-hearted the 'story' photo twice but twenty-three minutes later all evidence of my misdemeanour had been removed. The only doubt now was whether or not she'd seen it.

I was minded of that famous philosophical question about a tree falling in a forest. If a bloke double love hearts a pouty picture of a woman he hardly knows and she never sees it, does he still make a complete fool of himself?

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