I was a late and reluctant convert to the network. I buckled to peer pressure because it had become the only way some of my relatives wanted to communicate. I had reached the point where the social benefits of membership outweighed the privacy risks.

I won’t pretend I didn’t like using Facebook. Once I’d removed all the adverts and games, set access limits on the things I published and figured out how to read content without using the website, it became a genuinely useful tool. The events-management feature was a particular highlight.

Since I joined Facebook the company has been relentless in pursuit of it’s business plan: to extract and sell as much personal information about it’s users as possible. Consequently the privacy risks of usage became more severe over time. Facebook made a series of unilateral changes that affected user privacy adversely. It made public information I uploaded on the understanding that it would only be shared with my friends. From that point on the only way to protect this information was to lie. (For the record: my birthday isn’t really 1 January and I’m not really 108 years old.) The system has been trying to persuade me to tell it my mobile phone number lately, first by pointing out me how useful it’d be to hapless friends who’d lost their mobiles, and second by claiming it would improve the security of my account. I think Bruce Schneier described it best when he said, “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re Facebook’s customer, you’re not – you’re the product. It’s customers are the advertisers.”

The third-party applications through which much of the entertainment value of Facebook is derived proved untrustworthy, even without the accidental security-holes in the platform, so I stopped using them. Later, Facebook started dismantling the boundaries between itself and other websites by sharing profile information with it’s “carefully selected partners”, and subsequently with anyone who cared to put a Facebook “like” button on their website. It became necessary to log into Facebook only in Firefox’s “private browsing” mode to prevent information from leaking out to other websites without consent.

Facebook also made a controversial rights-grab by changing it’s terms and conditions to grant itself a copyright license-in-perpetuity to do what it likes with the content people published to it. My reaction was to stop sharing most of my photos, videos and blog posts on Facebook, which limited the value of my account to the people with whom I wanted to share those things.

Other changes were prompted by competitor social-networks. Facebook reacted to the explosion in popularity of it’s rival Twitter by changing it’s look to focus on status updates. At this point my use of Facebook became limited to the events system and as Twitter for people without a Twitter account.

In summary, as the Facebook kool-aid became more poisonous over time, I compensated by drinking less of it. A few months ago I realised I was logging in so infrequently that I was missing out on even those things in which I was genuinely interested: the birth of an acquaintance’s first child, an invitation to a party, and so on. I had to ask myself whether there was any point continuing.

The trouble is, Facebook is now integral to the lives of the people in my social circle, particularly since it reached critical mass: the point at which so many of my friends use the system that it’s become a chore for them to keep in touch in any other way. Some people I know don’t just limit their social interaction to Facebook – they also assume I’ve been following their posts and behave as if that assumption is sound. Suddenly it’s my fault if I don’t understand what they’re talking about. I’m making a social faux-pas by not reading what they have to say.

I’ve realised my relationship with Facebook has become an abusive one and it’s time to end it. This feeling was confirmed the moment I hit the deactivate button when my partner noted she’d probably have to field a stream of questions from her friends about why she’s no longer listed as “in a relationship” with me on *her* profile (my one concession to publishing private information about my life). I’m sure I would not have signed up to the network in the first place if I’d realised that my subsequent withdrawal could have an adverse impact on anyone other than myself.

I expect I’ll miss out on some photos I wish I’d seen, I’ll fail to realise that important events in my friends’ lives have happened, I’ll miss out on social events and my awareness of happenings in my extended circle of family and friends will diminish. Therefore I’m making my new year resolution to put more effort into maintaining my relationships in person. I’m betting I can enjoy just as rich a social life with fewer deeper relationships than I can with hundreds of shallow ones maintained through continuous partial attention.

This previously-boiling frog figures he’ll thank himself later for hopping out of the pan before it got too hot to survive.

If you want to get or stay in touch with me, or if you want to see my photos, videos and status updates, check out my ‘contact me’ page.

The tell-tale signs are everywhere. You can see them in our buildings and our transport networks. You can read them in your morning paper. You can hear them echoing down the corridors of Whitehall. Galvanised by fear whipped up by the media, to which our politicians pander persistently in pursuit of power, we’ve changed our society into one where nobody dares take a decision. We live in a post-accountability world where bureaucracies ruin lives for the want of someone – anyone – displaying a bit of courage or leadership or common sense.

Nowhere is this illustrated more starkly than in the case of Paul Chambers.

In the snowy depths of January 2010 Paul sent a message of frustration to his Twitter friends when he discovered the weather could affect his travel plans: “Crap! Robin Hood Airport is closed. You’ve got a week and a bit to get your shit together or I’m blowing the airport sky high!!”

A member of staff at Robin Hood Airport saw the tweet because they were searching Twitter for their employer’s name (goodness knows why). They judged it to be harmless, but reported it anyway, presumably so their ass would be covered if it turned out to be otherwise; and anyway, it didn’t cost them anything personally, so why not? Especially since the consequences of inaction might have proved career-limiting.

I imagine similar thinking drove the airport security team’s decision to tip off the police about the message, or rather, their decision to make it their policy to report every tip-off they receive no matter how improbable it seems. After all, it would have been no skin off their noses to include Paul’s tweet in their routine report, and the consequences would have been unthinkable if they’d failed to mention something that might, just might, have been important. Same with the police: it’s no problem for them to investigate any possible threat. They could have decided Paul’s tweet was a foolish act of bravado, yet if they had declined to act and something bad had happened, it would have been be their responsibility. Far be it for the police to take responsibility. That’s what the Crown Prosecution Service is for, right? Wrong.

At least when cases like this are blown out of proportion by a bunch of jobsworths, they’re usually set straight by the courts, aren’t they? Not this time. This was ass-covering at it’s finest, all the way down the line. Paul was convicted of sending “a message or other matter” which is “grossly offensive or of an indecent, obscene or menacing character” by means of a “public electronic communications network”. His fine currently stands at £384 plus £2600 in costs. He’s been given a criminal record and has lost two jobs as a consequence.

This is bigger than one man’s misguided message. Other tweeters have been arrested under section 127 of the Communications Act 2003 since Paul’s conviction, which was upheld unequivocally by Doncaster Crown Court last Thursday, and those people are still waiting to learn their fate. The chilling effect this ruling could have on freedom of expression is no laughing matter.

This is how the War on Terror has ended. Not with the capture of Osama Bin Laden and the routing of Al-Qaeda. Not with world peace nor by treating each other as we would wish to be treated. Instead, it’s ended with innocent people looking over their shoulders, thinking twice about what they say online and being thankful for every day they escape the dreaded knock that could ruin their lives.

There may be hope yet. Paul and his legal team are considering whether to appeal to the high court. Nobody would blame Paul if he decided to draw a line under this sorry affair and turn his energy towards rebuilding his life. If he decides to continue though (and I hope he does) he deserves our full support.

That’s why some of us are having a rally in Sheffield, tomorrow, to express solidarity with Paul, to protest against his conviction, and to champion the cause of free speech on the Internet.

If you fancy joining us the information you need is here: http://bit.ly/jokesontrial – but be quick. You’ve got less than 24 hours to get your shit together, and if you don’t make it, I’m gonna blow you sky high!!!!1

Here are my top five ideas so far:

• Repeal the Digital Economy Act (see also Coadec’s duplicate idea)
• Abolish the party whips
• Controls on mass surveillance (e.g. ANPR systems)
• Abolish CRB checks
• Repeal the Third Law of Thermodynamics(!) (also, this)

If you’ve spotted any other good ones, please link them in the comments.

Your search terms are highly sensitive and very private. They are also uniquely identifiable. Examining what you search for can reveal deeply personal facts about you, such as your online reading habits, medical history, finances, sexual preferences and political affiliations.

A database of search terms, linked to subscriber accounts, would be a clear violation of the privacy rights of everyone who uses the Internet in Europe.

I’ve written to my MEPs urging them not to sign Written Declaration 29 and to withdraw their signature if they have already signed. You should do the same – it takes two minutes through writetothem.com

Here’s my letter (but, as always, please use your own words for maximum effect).

Dear Timothy Kirkhope, Edward McMillan-Scott, Andrew Brons, Godfrey Bloom, Diana Wallis and Linda McAvan,

Written declaration 29 [pdf] calls on the European Commission to extend the data retention directive (2006/24/EC) to Internet search-engines. If this were to happen all private searches done on Google et al would be monitored. I feel this would be an intolerable violation of article 8 ECHR privacy rights.

Written declaration 29 is being marketed within the European Parliament by using an emotionally-loaded picture of a child and talking about the need to set up an ”early warning system” to combat child abuse. Laudable though that aim is, as a technical expert it’s my opinion that these measures cannot achieve it, and the marketing is therefore misleading. Some MEPs have already said they feel they have been misled into signing the declaration because of the way in which it was presented to them.

If the declaration is adopted the names of the signatories will be made public.

If you have signed written declaration 29 and feel you have been misled I urge you to withdraw your signature.

Christian Engström MEP has published more information on his website.

I thought it would be interesting to compare the contents of the Liberal Democrat Freedom Bill with the new Government’s version:

What do I conclude from this comparison? That the Government’s outline proposals are a massive step in the right direction however there is still more work to do.