Have the non-chattering classes missed the Twitter boat?
Scene: Carson is ushering a tall man into the drawing room at Downton Abbey.
Carson: Mr Fortescue-Smith, senior partner from Cazenove, m’lady.
Fortescue-Smith sweeps to a bow, his left leg crossed behind his right.
Violet Crawley, the Dowager Countess of Grantham: Mr Fortescue-Smith, much as I am delighted to witness your deep curtsey once again, I am concerned it is becoming a regular occurrence. An annual review should not require a visit more than once every 12 months. Surely, with your mathematical skills…
Fortescue-Smith: Indeed, m’lady. But I have an investment opportunity that really is too good to miss. I simply had to see you face to face to spell out its potential. Waiting until our new scheduled meeting is simply not possible, and a letter will scarcely suffice.
Countess: Please tell me you are not going to mention that awful American concoction again. Cooky something. Nanny gives the children tinctures that are preferable in taste.
Fortescue-Smith: The Americans seem to have a sweeter tooth than us; Coca-Cola is doing rather well across the Atlantic. I think you should reconsider that investment.
Countess: I would rather invest in dental surgeons as, mark my words, the American nation will soon be known for its rotten teeth. But that company has no long-term future. People invest in solid names, like the Anglo-Persian Oil Company. Coca-Cola sounds like the name of Mary’s new puppy. What are you here for?
Fortescue-Smith: I want to discuss a social network.
Countess: Like Clan Campbell in Argyll? Really, it is simply too much when one is expected to invest in Scottish reels and caber tossing. Whatever next?
Fortescue-Smith: No, you misunderstand me. I am not talking about a Highland Ball. A social network is a platform via which people share interests, thoughts, activities and information.
Countess: You’re not referring to a debating society, are you? Or, Heaven forbid, the House of Lords?
Fortescue-Smith: No, this is an American company called Twitter.
Countess: Are you sure, Mr Fortescue-Smith, that you did not imbibe some alcoholic refreshments on the 9.40 from Paddington? Twitter sounds like the tittle-tattle the scullery maids share among themselves after lights-out. Another frivolous name.
Fortescue-Smith: This is a serious investment opportunity, m’lady.
Countess: So you keep saying, but I am not sure you have explained it.
Fortescue-Smith: It is a global organization that in just seven years has signed up more than half a billion followers.
Countess: I do not invest in religious organizations, Mr Fortescue-Smith.
Fortescue-Smith: And I do not sell them. This is a platform that allows followers to share their views in up to 140 characters.
Countess: 140 characters? So it is a theatre company, but a profligate one. Even Tosca at the Royal Opera House would not employ so many extras.
Fortescue-Smith: Apologies. When I say characters, what I mean is letters, not actors.
Countess: Why did you not explain that in the first place? How can a letter be described as a character? It does not make moral choices. Are you quite sure you are not incapacitated through alcohol?
Fortescue-Smith: Quite sure, m’lady. This is an exciting time. The language of social networks is constantly evolving. It does not rely on the traditional interpretations of words or even follow accepted conventions.
Countess: Rather like stockbrokers.
Fortescue-Smith: LOL.
Countess: I think it is time Carson got your coat.
