One of my guilty pleasures is a Facebook community group. I love them so much – and derive so much pleasure at the sheer insanity contained within – that I have long broken out of my own community group and started illicitly joining others just to get my fix. I live in Leeds, where I am in multiple groups, but I’ve also joined community groups in Birmingham, Dorset and Aberdeen. I even joined one in Texas after seeing the town on a true crime documentary.

For the uninitiated, a Facebook community group is a closed group on the social media platform that has been set up by the members of a town, city, county – or even a single street. Members post about events and local history, as well as asking questions, providing dubious opinions and shouting at each other about parking. While also furiously typing: “Who is mowing their grass as 9.03am on a Sunday?” Some people watch Game of Thrones; I watch people in Wakefield rowing about bins.

I admit it: I have a problem, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I never say anything, I just silently lurk and bask in the banal madness of suburban living. “Who is letting their dog shit outside my house?”, “Is anyone available to take some stiches out of my neck?”, “Did anyone else hear that bang?”

I know. It’s horribly intrusive of me, but I’m not hurting anyone – and I promise to change all names and identifiable information here. They just make me howl with laughter. “There is a man on Howard Street throwing tins of tomatoes and blocking traffic.” It’s like scrolling through a Victoria Wood sitcom or an Alan Bennett........

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