LAST Monday evening, after a particularly heavy weekend and a painful start to the week, I went for a run.

There was nothing unusual about the run, except that my hangover had immobilised my legs somewhat, and it took a little while longer than normal to find my rhythm.

An hour later, however, the serotonin surge was in full throttle, and I bounded straight home to my computer to share this irrelevant news with all 231 of my Facebook friends. ‘Kathryn Lundy has found the cure for a messy weekend,’ I typed, before heading for a shower.

Once dry, I logged back on to check the replies, which were equally as irrelevant as my own musings, except that one friend had responded with: ‘Even messier Mondays! You can’t beat a bottle at lunchtime!’

I considered responding in jest with something more incriminating, but reasoned, sensibly, that certain Facebook friends were senior colleagues who probably wouldn’t be impressed by my suggesting that most lunchtimes were spent in the pub.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’d written something stupid on a social networking site, though. Probably the only one I can get away with recounting for Islandwide publication is the time I relayed a distasteful joke to a fellow colleague in a former place of employment, which very nearly cost me my job.

Because, as it turns out, Facebook is not a laughing matter. Social networking is no longer confined to a generation unfazed by controversial comments about colleagues and bosses, booze-fuelled holiday snaps, and lads dressed in ladies’ underwear. I haven’t got a lot to hide, but Facebooking in the modern age means that thoughtless out-of-hours confessions are now accessible en masse, as are in-office-hours confessions, which are neither appropriate nor well-timed.

As data protection commissioner Emma Martins said last week: ‘People seem increasingly willing to put details and images of their own lives on these social networking sites…it is important that individuals appreciate the possible consequences of their actions.’

The trouble with instantly updateable internet sites, despite having become a social obsession, is that they encourage neither appropriateness nor good timing. Such is the addictive nature of Facebook that both qualities are consistently forgotten, even by those of us who’d like to think we’re fairly upstanding members of society (remember the story about the newly-appointed councillor to Henley Town Council, whose raunchy Facebook snaps were published by the Daily Mail?)

And, as such, I’ve decided to take a little break from Facebook. Although I have considered what my next post might be: ‘Kathryn Lundy has found the cure for inappropriate and mistimed status updates.’

Quit Facebook. Keep my job. Keep my friends. Keep my reputation. And, next time I go running after a heavy weekend, run a bath instead.