Why do people insist on tweeting what they eat?

 There are people on Twitter who attach pictures of what they’re about to eat for tea. “OMG. *drool* Can’t wait! Divine Sigh!” they dribble. You click and there’s a picture of a couple of Thai fishcakes. Stop it. It’s weird. Your Twittered Thai fishcakes do not look in any way appetising.

 We haven’t relished the smell of them cooking. We haven’t been impressed by the sight of your loved one whipping about the kitchen as you listen to jazz, sip a glass of wine across the kitchen bench and watch with excited eyes like that cat in Shrek. So that final sprinkling of home-grown coriander has you all hot and bothered? Please, don’t feel the need to share.

 You know what? On Twitter your juicy fishcakes come up looking like a couple of manhole covers scattered with hedge clippings. Keep your food porn to yourself. Some of us are trying to have actual sex. Your habit of posting this stuff is creeping us out. What is it with foodies?

 Cookbooks are now erotic, apparently. We’re also supposed to go to illicit blog addresses that are passed around on Facebook and once there, fantasise about Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s pillowy Coronation Cauliflower dripping with organic olive oil. Well, you know what? Some of us have been eating Mr Heinz baked beans for years and are perfectly satisfied. We’re not about to have it off with of Hugh’s rare breed of pork.

 I’m not buying this food porn nonsense. No matter which way you slice and dice it, Charmaine Solomon is not some sort of gastronomic Larry Flynt. Cookbooks do not make normal people horny. People don’t stash their Donna Hay or Jamie Oliver in the bottom of the sock drawer when the babysitter comes over. If food was that sexy someone would have set up a 1300 line where you could pay a bloke to read you a soufflé recipe in a husky voice.

 I’ve never been able to make the leap to see food as erotic – oh, except for when, as excitable teenagers, we used to make X-rated banana splits at slumber parties, but that’s another story. Let’s say the foodies are right. Let’s give it a go…

 Right now I’m looking at a photograph of a dish of Moroccan figs and fresh pears heaped together, sweating in a tawny syrup. Droplets of sweet juice slide down the smooth flanks of pinked fleshy curves and are caught, glistening in delicate tendrils of lemon rind…Nah. I can’t do it. Still looks like a bowl of fruit to me.

 You’d think foodies would feel embarrassed, gagging for “gastro porn” when television footage of millions starving in Africa is obscenity enough. It’s difficult to make a bowl of UNIMIX protein porridge look erotic. And yet they will not stop. I’m not saying that aphrodisiacs suck…if only. You can lick, suck and savour an oyster, trouble is that delicious little morsel can’t lick and suck you back. To be truly erotic, food has to be used as a sex toy, and for my money you just can’t go past cheese in an aerosol can.

 Still, in one way you have to admire foodies. When the difference between a boring Saturday night alone and an evening of mind blowing erotic adventure is a backlit picture of a char grilled eggplant…you’ve got it made.