Surfed this epic point, after I saved the Dolphins from those hunters, and before the cocktail party at the Swedish  Embassy…

FOMO is the Fear Of Missing Out. 

It is an epidemic, and it is on the increase. 

New research has shown that over 60% of western teens and adults suffer from FOMO.

Not MOFO, mind you, that is something else entirely. Although I am sure there are plenty MOFO’s that suffer from FOMO.

I know I do.

Technology is aiding the spread of the disease. 

Mobile devices and social networking have now made it easier than ever to find out just how much you are missing out on.

Everybody is having a better time than you.

It recently took me over a month to settle on a new pair of work shoes. Every time I tried on a moderately suitable shoe, I was aware that the perfect shoe might be just two shops down.

It was agony.

Eventually, I cracked and bought a good pair in Italian Leather, a few hours before I saw the perfect shoe. 

Now, every time I lace up these boring work…slippers, a memory of those spectacular Spanish wonder-shoes flashes before me, to remind me that I am, in fact, missing out.

Facebook is terrible for sufferers of this disease because people tend to update their status more often when they are having fun, or winning.

Getting regular updates on the awesomeness of Stuart’s Indonesian surf expedition, whilst plugging away at your pointless job as an underpaid desk jockey, is quite likely to have you frothing at the mouth with FOMO.

‘Sundowners on the beach. Saw huge Moray and rode a turtle’ or

‘Life is brilliant. Off to Rome tomorrow, then Positano for 3 days’ or

‘Got upgraded on my London-Hong Kong leg! I am seated next to Eva Mendes, and she said she loves my accent! Man, these A380’s are huge!’

Status updates like the above are keeping Psychologists in business, as FOMO-related depression reaches crisis levels.

How can all these bastards be having such fun?

Am I really 40 this year? What did my wife mean when she said my mate Andrew could ‘come around anytime?’ And what is this – a tax BILL?!

All these thoughts and more swirl inside our heads.Well, my head, anyway.

I have decided to act.

I am too lazy to change my job. I can’t afford a second pair of work shoes, let alone a tropical holiday, and no amount bench press is making the slightest impact on my ridiculous pigeon chest.

So I am now living a separate Facebook life.

For example, it appears that I enjoyed the degustation at Nobu last night. 

And this weekend, I am doing a 15km trail run before Christine’s party on Saturday night and beach volleyball on Sunday. Also, apparently I am blessed to have the best friends in the world, love and kisses all around!

My life on Facebook is fantastic!

However, I have found that it is not easy being this perfect.

I have started photoshopping a few pics to match my increasingly outrageous postings. I have to keep double checking everything and make sure it all adds up – locations, prices, photo’s, anecdotes and the rest.

Recently I had to field some awkward questions posted on my wall regarding my attendance at the Model of the Year awards.

Thing is, after a little investigation, I have discovered that most people are doing this to some extent. 

Turns out they are posting away like shiny social butterflies when most of them are couch-bound, overweight social lepers and alcoholics!

This was such great news, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders.

My FOMO all but disappeared shortly after these revelations, but my relief was short-lived. What with my elaborately fabricated Facebook life, I have become a nervous wreck trying to hold it all together.

I have been having panic attacks, and eventually went to the doctor.

I have now been diagnosed with an advanced hybrid form of FOMO. 

It is FOBFO – Fear Of being Found Out. Apparently, it affects 87% of Facebook liars and fabricators and is affecting productivity in the workplace.

No wonder – it takes a lot of time to maintain a virtual life complete with life-like images of yourself finishing 3rd in a little-known, yet prestigious, marathon.

There is always something, isn’t there?