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Will the real Mrs Penn-Thomas please stand up

I've just had a lovely conversation with Abby Donovan on twitter. She is such a funny, caring, intelligent but underappreciated woman. Life is hard at the moment for her and, though he is really hot, her husband can treat her like shit sometimes (I haven't told Abby I think this). Oh and in case you don't know Abby that well, she is a fictional character.

I have no idea who is running @TheAbbyDonovan or @TheRayDonovan personas (inspired by SHO's new hit show Ray Donovan) but I like this game. If I had been in the US rather than catching up in the UK I would have joined in and adopted a persona from the programme myself. The internet  makes this easy to do as for all I know the person playing Abby could be a trans-sexual cage fighter from Glasgow. Ray's tweets could be provided by a hermit nun on Bardsey Island. So when I tweet them...who am I? Am I me joining someone else's game or am I already in a bigger game?

Since last year (and a blog spat with a man who doesn't deserve to be named) I have been using MrsPenn-Thomas as my online signature. She, "MrsPenn-Thomas", started with a very clear back story that wasn't mine. As time has moved on I have embraced her, not as a fictional persona but as my online voice. She says things that I would probably not say and often with a greater eloquence than I can muster off the cuff. I suspect she will become more daring the more rope I give her. Why do I need her to say these things for me? Am I slightly weird? Well maybe a little but not that much.

You see we do this all the time don't we. Today I am John the Headteacher - I wear a shirt and tie and speak with great authority and a little compassion because I am a good headteacher. Tomorrow is Saturday so I am going to wear a hat and scarf and shout Fuck or Twat or Fucking Twat every time the ref misses a foul that should have given my team a penalty. Then on Sunday I will wear a nice jumper and chinos to church, carve the roast and spend the afternoon crawling on the floor so my grandchild can pretend they are hunting down dragons (or riding one depending on how my knees/elbow/back are holding out). We all play parts all the time. By doing so the world not only functions but sparkles delightfully. John is a headteacher, a sports fan, a grandfather and a dragon. And perhaps a Glaswegian cage-fighter.

I am, of course, the real Mrs Penn-Thomas. ;)