I’ve longed for Instagram for the past year, but the loyal Blackberry gal that I am- and far too impoverished/ stingy to pay the iphone tariff- being a part of it was out of the doable question. (Unless I jumped on the Android bandwagon of course, but I’m deeply attached to my battered, three year old Blackberry; she has a name and everything.)
One night I was sat googling the Instagram users I know and love, stabbing the keys with frustration as I typed them in one by one, when the shiny glint of the Mothership’s abandoned (not strictly speaking) ipod touch caught my eye.
“An ipod touch…”, I thought to myself, “…the touch has an internet facility, does it not?”
Cue a widening of eyes, a sharp intake of breath and a dawning of app-related creation.
I’m not joking when I say Instagram is the best thing since sliced bread. Despite filing themselves under “Fully-Fledged Arse” with the change of terms malark, I love the geniuses behind the app almost as much as an extra frothy, super skinny hot chocolate.
That’s some serious love.
@chloerosemitch if you care to join. (Given the over-excitement occurring, I’d advise to not.)