I still remember my first poke from a boy. I was 19 years old and in my third term of university; the young man in question and I had worked a couple of pub shifts together. We’d exchanged flirty quips and meaningful looks along the bar. There was a vibe. Then, one evening, he poked me.
Ugh, not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter, please. No, I was minding my own business, clicking through a Facebook album of around a thousand identikit drunken photos from a night out on my PC, when those three little game-changing words popped up on my screen: “Adam poked you.”
