Too old for Insta..?

I like to think I am vaguely intelligent. My brain works quite fast, and my sense of humour is genius – honestly. Well, in my opinion, anyway, I’m hilarious.
I can work out Maths homework, read long books and speak a bit of French. My understanding of Science is not what it used to be, but surely, the smattering of brain rust would soon shake itself free, once I start using my Science synapses again..? One can only hope.
I can answer most of the questions my children ask me. Number One is currently reading like a dervish – I am so proud! Her choice of books is not akin to mine, yet she’s got her head in them at every opportunity. This is something I never foresaw, and gives me an enormous fillip. Late into to the night and from whatever corner of The Shed she has tucked herself into, I am fired with questions generated from the texts she is reading: what is a grimace? What is PMS? What is the meaning of pulchritude? (This one rang a bell from my latin-learning days, but I had to Google it anyway). I try never to groan at these questions – for reading can only make her more informed about everything, from words, to spellings, to The World! But I did gloss over PMS at half eleven last night, I admit.
I have wormed my own way out of technological problems in the past, and learned stuff in that field I never thought I’d master. I understand a bit about how houses are built, and heck! I can even do plastering. Sort of.
So why oh why am I struggling with the one area of life that could actually be of any use to me right now, in this day and age of social sharing? Dear reader, I can not master the art of Instagram to save my life.

To my level of understanding, “Insta” as I shall hereby refer to it (because I am  cool) is a platform for sharing photos. Nice photos of cakes, or puppies. Or guinea pigs in tea pots. Eating cakes. And puppies.
So, why am I finding it so hard? OK, I don’t have a puppy,and I can’t make cake. But surely – if other people can share nice pictures and have them admired across the land, why can’t I? I have posted – to date – about eleven pictures on said site, and I have not mustered many likes. I didn’t think  one had to be a Kardashian to make it on Insta?
I guess I am just not very interesting. I am downhearted about it and consequently, this social media forum and I are not friends.
Little Seymour Number One, however, can work it like a pro. She uses it all the time. She posts pictures of nails, and siblings and croissants, and she is liked all over the place. As far as I am aware, she is not a Kardashian.
Maybe my need for words is the problem. You cannot post a link onto Insta (why ever not?) And apparently it’s not the place for verbose rants such as this one.
And then there’s Twitter! Tweeting is enormously constrictive – but at least you can include links to blog posts. And I once had a reply from a certain ex-Royal Correspondent to one of my comments, which made me feel like I was winning. For a while.
And now? I have lost the will both to tweet and pop things on Insta. It’s so flipping pointless! So why can’t I just let it go? Walk away? Just…stick to Facebook?
Something is spurring me on to keep trying – to master this shizzle. I’m determined not to be a dinosaur just yet. And so, yesterday, for the world’s enjoyment, I took a photograph of a guinea pig in a saucepan, and “dropped an Insta” (an appropriate phrase, I think).
You can find it on my page. It’s legendary.

But just in case you can’t work Insta either, here it is anyway:

(His name is Henry)