It’s a 21st century problem bemoaned by the media, politicians, celebrities and regular folk alike.

Many of us are too over-exposed – making our own movies on our phones, taking photos that we regret taking or appearing on in the morning, then plastering them all over a range of social media sites. It’s either that or people writing every minute detail of their lives, even if it is as mundane as eating a cheese toastie, on such websites, under the delusion that so-called ‘friends’ are even vaguely interested.

So, it is no surprise that, along with drunken indignities, images or film footage of lads and lasses in states of undress or performing rumpy-pumpy also find their way on to such forums.

I, as a mature (ish), upstanding  member of society, had always thought this kind of thing happened to other people – probably those aged between 16 and 25, after a few too many cocktails.

But I fear the threat of exposure (in fact exposure is an understatement) hangs over me.
A dvd recently came into my possession, which can only be described as a compilation of various naked antics with a certain chap. I cannot deny that I remember some of the filming taking place, but I don’t recall all of it, which probably took place through a haze of red wine.

This disk was a thinly veiled attempt to win me back – in a ‘let’s do this again; it was such fun’ kind of way. I initially told him that, while I would take it, I would rather sit on a hot poker than actually watch it. But one Saturday night in on my own, after a few glasses of (yet more) wine and nothing suitably engaging on the telly, curiosity took over.

“Maybe I could just watch a bit of it,” I thought, “Just to see what’s on it.” Of course in the end I was sitting in an armchair, no more than a metre away from the TV screen, going through every second of footage.

It was slightly uncomfortable viewing, as I saw my round belly and wobbly boobs bouncing up and down and unflattering angles of my posterior and my mouth on more than one shot was stained with wine. You could hardly compare it to the perfectly sculpted, toned, glossy-haired women on most porn films, whose makeup remains unsmudged, no matter how many cocks they suck or sprays of semen hit them.

In fact, I cringed at myself throughout 90 per cent of the content. The only part I watched twice was when I was hit in the face by the aforementioned substance, cleaned it off with a tissue and told him to “fuck off”. And this was only because I was laughing on the film, then as I watched it, laughing at myself laughing.

This dvd is now hidden away, but I am left with the dilemma of what to do with it. Do I destroy it or keep it for posterity? What if my children find it? What if he has further copies of it? Can I trust him not to post it on the internet somewhere?

I don’t for one minute think anyone would want to watch a middle-aged woman, red-faced and flabby, cavorting on a bed or attempting to peel her bum off a leather sofa, but it is still out there somewhere, ready to pop up on world wide web if that one person chooses to exercise his power and put it there…

Dear darling diary

I’ve had an ok day. Mrs Johnson really liked my poem about my grandma, especially the bit about her smelling of mint and lavender. She said I used good descriptive words. Also my BFF (best friend forever) Stacey gave me one of her One Direction pens. Harry is so buff!

When my mum picked me up from school she said I am going to go to the seaside on Saturday with Dad and his girlfriend Lizzie. I’m not really looking forward to it. Lizzie is nice and always buys me stuff like sweets or stickers, but she’s not Mum. Mum is a bit wacky, but she’s my mum and I like it when we have cuddle time on the sofa on a Saturday night. We sometimes argue but not for long.

Dad and Lizzie hold hands and kiss. I don’t like it. It makes me feel funny and a bit like I am going to be sick. He doesn’t do big long kisses like teenagers do, just small ones on the lips. But I still don’t like it.

Last time I saw Lizzie we went ten pin bowling with her and her little boy, Ben. He had to use one of those ramp things because he’s only three and had the rails up. I managed to get two strikes.

Anyway it was fun, but not as fun as it would have been if Mum had been there. In the car home Lizzie said she had really enjoyed her day with her “three favourite people”. That made me feel upset. She is trying to make a new family with me and Dad and Ben, but that means without Mum.

Mum asked me if I was looking forward to going to the seaside. When I said “yeah, I suppose so” she asked me what was wrong so I told her what Lizzie said after we went bowling. Mum said Lizzie was only trying to be nice and show that she wanted to be my friend. I said it felt like she wanted Mum to go away, then I got really upset and cried.

I just want to have Mum and Dad and me together, living together. Why can’t we all be together and have cuddles on the sofa all together? Mum and Dad used to do that before they shouted a lot and had lots of arguments. It’s not fair that they split up.

Stacy’s Mum and Dad are together. Why can’t mine be? Mum said that sometimes things go wrong and people need to split up because it’s for the best. It’s not for the best for me. I have to sleep in Dad’s flat, in a big bed while he sleeps on the sofa. The bed is too big and cold and smells yucky.

If Dad came back I could stay in my own room and no one would have a yucky bed.

The above is complete fiction and any similarity to a nine-year-old girl’s diary is purely coincidental.