If you're having a row with someone face to face and you lose your rag, you'll say something unpleasant.
You may regret your outburst but at least you can apologise to the person individually and hopefully they will accept that apology.
However, when you have the same row on Twitter it's there forever and the authorities are becoming increasingly vigilant about going after people who tweet offensive insults.
As much as I can't stand Twitter, and as much as I can't stand many people who use it, I reckon most of us are rather uncomfortable with the idea of arresting someone for saying something obnoxious.
Because, let's be honest, if you start arresting everyone for being a jerk, then we're going to have to start building new prisons. And I'd be doing a life sentence.
Now a new report has come out which suggests that an exemption should be given to offensive Twitter users – if they were drunk when they sent the message.
It all brings me back to my mate's brilliant idea a few weeks ago – install breathalysers in all electronic communication devices. And if you're over the limit, then you can't log on.
God knows, it would save a lot of us from getting into serious trouble . . .
'Tis the season to . . . be injured
A new report from the Department Of The Bleeding Obvious warns us that Christmas is the most dangerous time of the year.
It all makes sense of course. I mean, just think about it – half the household is locked for the duration, you have to negotiate your way around the maze of decorations and empty boxes and wrapping paper and let's just say that tensions can also run higher than normal.
Indeed, some of the most spectacular arguments I have ever seen have been over the Christmas period. You store up resentments and slights, perceived or otherwise all year and then it all comes bursting out while you're sitting down for your dinner.
And amongst the list of injuries and pratfalls that can happen are the usual – people tripping over things, drinking too much and, interestingly, one of the main threats to children is from them swallowing Christmas tree light bulbs.
Ah well – sure isn't it lovely to see their little faces light up at Christmas time?
Really? That's a surprise
The appalling Katherine Lynch (pictured) was in court this week.
No, sadly the woman who manages to be both boring and offensive wasn't up before the beak for crimes against comedy – we'd need a trial of Nuremburg proportions to cater for that.
Instead she made a donation to charity of €100 for failing to pay for a train ticket from Dublin to Sligo.
Interestingly, the ticket inspector complained to the court that she had been "rude and loud".
Now, was he talking about her TV show or her behaviour on the train?
After all, this is a woman who makes Brendan O'Carroll look like Eddie Izzard.
Yum. Sounds tasty
As we all know, people tend to indulge at this time of the year. And people particularly like to indulge in alcohol.
But I'm not sure if it would be a good idea to try the latest underground drink, 'Clunk'.
It's illegally imported from the North and packs a whopping 12.5pc proof and is loaded with sugar and energy supplements.
In fact, one can contains half your recommended weekly allowance.
You can apparently buy five for 20 quid.
That might seem like good value, but with a drink that strong, I reckon you'd be out on your ear by the time you got half way through the second one.
Actually, as fond as I am of a pint, that stuff sounds absolutely bloody horrendous.
Ah, the good old days
We had our office party earlier in the week.
Fights. Rampant drug use. People having sex in the toilets. Women crying into their Prosecco.
None of the above happened.
In fact, it was all very polite and civilised.
It was a far cry from one office (not the place I work now, I hasten to add) party I went to a few years ago: half the crew were off their box on coke, one of the lads went off in a huff and was given a lift home by a man who had a wolf in his car – yes, a real live wolf. Apparently you can buy wolf cubs from illegal breeders, which is rather terrifying.
I spent the whole night in the Meath hospital waiting for the release of a colleague who had drunk far too much and tripped on the pavement, splitting his head open like a melon.
So, all in all, I think I prefer the polite, sedate variety rather than nights that involve coke, wolves, and emergency units.
Maybe I'm just getting old . . .