My cyber friends never stare in disapproving disbelief, if I hit the bottle before the sun's over the yardarm and start slurring my comments.
They don't point and laugh cruelly, when I'm blogging and miss my mouth, whilst knocking back the Gordon's, or when the mayo oozes out of my lunchtime sandwich and trickles down my chin.
They don't appear to mind, in the least, if I tuck my paper napkin in the neck of my jumper, slurp my soup, or wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, whilst commenting on their posts.
They're not in the least bit bovvered when I realise that I probably can find room for a hot chocolate with whipped cream, after just downing a 12 inch pizza, all to myself, followed by a sticky toffee pudding.
They never blink an eye, if I giggle, whilst quoffing a bottle of bin end bargain, spraying droplets of gnat's pee and saliva all over my immediate surroundings, when I'm reading their posts.
My bloggy friends allow me the absolute freedom to scratch whatever I want, as frequently as I wish.
I can be anyone I want be, when I'm in their company - but don't panic, bloggy friends. Fortunately, I've never wanted to be anyone other than myself. No, really.
They never make me feel guilty, if I'm still blogging in my Dora The Explorer PJs, when they call in to comment, at lunchtime.
I don't have to get up off my lazy arse to make them a cup of coffee, if they do call by, or offer to share my last chocolate Hobnob.
It doesn't matter if they pay me a surprise visit when I'm waxing my legs, or soaking my feet.
They never count the cobwebs, or criticise the decor.
I don't have to drive, walk, or even get out of my cosy bed to interact with my bloggy friends.
They don't wince, or whip out their sunglasses, when I wear the hideous orange top I bought from Primark in the sale.
They never stare in shock horror, when I tell them I buy some of my clothes from Primark.
They never ask me to lend them a tenner till payday.
They never interrupt me, or shout me down, when I'm in the middle of a post.
They never ask me a question, then hi-jack the conversation again, before I've made my point.
I can moderate all of their comments.
Their eyes never glaze over, when I start to get boring.
They never laugh, when I forget the point of my story.
Now, why did I start relating all of this? Hold on. It'll come to me, in a minute........ You're not laughing, are you?