Although I whore myself out around the brolly sector's events treadmill shamelessly there are some people who still reckon they don't really know who I am and what I look like, especially those I know on Twitter.
Of course, the beauty of these social media platforms is you can engage with all manner of lunatics without actually having to meet them in the flesh. Why, you might as well not even properly exist in real life, as bizarre as that may sound.
But sometimes some well meaning deluded fool thinks it is a good idea to organise what is known as a Tweet Up, so that people can get together and chat properly like what we used to in the olden days.
One of the most successful tweet ups in the umbrella sector is the NFP (Never Fear Precipitation) Tweet Up organised by Rachel Beer (who goes under her spoof name of @rachelbeer on Twitter) founder of digital consultancy experts, Brollyful World.
There was a NFP Tweet Up last night so I decided to bite the bullet and attend, if only to silence the doubters who think I don't really have a face to put with my name.
It was held at Amnesty International's HQ. All was going well at first. I got my free pen AND I had been promised couscous (so good 'they named and ate it twice). I had empowered attendees to volunteer to make some on my behalf so I didn't have to bother (Big Couscousiety)
But then the boring presentations started - you know the sort of thing, a load of old guff that no one cares about but you have to sit through to justify the booze and so you can claim the whole gig on work expenses.
So I thought I would duck out to the toilets to do some graffiti and leave my tag to prove I had been at the event as suggested by Ronnie Ha-ha (@zoeamar). But I got locked in.
Falsely imprisoned in Amnesty International's toilets. I started writing letters to Amnesty pleading with them to campaign for my release but I don't think they got through as there was no response.
I tried to engage the principles of the Bog Society to empower citizens to volunteer to break the (engaged) door down so the State didn't have to. No luck.
Judging by the twitterstream for #NFPtweetup there were some half hearted attempts to start a petition (I hate petitions - they're about as effective as writing names on a list) and a campaign to #freerobinbogg but I think most people thought the whole thing was an elaborate joke. Or they were happy to let me die in there.
Amnesty themselves were probably waiting for me to have spent at least 10 years locked in before they did anything so they could get some proper mileage and capital out of it.
One individual called Nicqui O'Nassis (@jacquiobeirne) even claimed to have launched a rescue mission to free me but I don't believe her.
To make matters worse I dropped my free pen down the toilet when attempting to jiggle the lock.
And human rights? Don't talk to me about human rights. Honestly don't. I don't believe in them and it is my human right to ignore them.
You couldn't imagine the squalor in those bogs. They only had single ply bogg roll. An outrage.
I managed to escape this morning when a cleaner turned up but it was not a pleasant experience I can tell you.
Still, I nearly met a load of people who almost know me.