I'd have greeted you this morning with a gratuitous 'coffee in pyjamas' photo.
I'd then, more than likely, have shared a colourful coffee table snapshot. (Ever so slightly contrived in that the sunflowers were actually on the mantelpiece five minutes previously and the magazine on the floor.)
I may well have mentioned the fact that I'd bought Mollie Makes purely for the 'pretty rose cross stitch kit' attached to the front (all the time looking over my shoulder to ensure that Blondie Daughter wasn't lurking and witnessing my shameful hypocrisy; I've lost count of the number of times I've scolded her for spending her pocket money on a comic, just for the freebie.)
I would definitely have included a picture of my new Next (via eBay) duvet cover. It's like sleeping in a ditsy floral cloud and pleases me hugely.
I would have confirmed that, absolutely yes, peaches and parma ham are indeed a match made in heaven.
Without a shadow of a doubt, I would have shared pictures of my new shoes. Proper grown-up clip-cloppy shoes with heels but with a Mary Jane twist. I would explain to you that I'm normally a flip-flop or ballet flats kinda girl so as to emphasise the resonance of such a purchase.
But I'm not on Instagram any more. I took the leap. It was beginning to irk* rather than inspire. So my dear blog friends, you got the pictures instead!!! It's a surprisingly hard habit to break.
*I did post a little farewell message before I left - to those who missed it, I'm sorry. I was wavering about leaving anyway. I fell in love with Instagram for the exchange of ideas and chatty interaction with lovely likeminded friends (I miss you). Sadly, it seems now to be heavily-laden with giveaways and self-promotion. The current preoccupation with weight loss and obsessive exercise makes me feel a little uneasy too. But maybe that's just me.