I can't believe that they thought that I was a troll. A lurker maybe, but certainly not a troll. So what if I once took refuge under a bridge. What was I supposed to do? It was pouring with rain. But I never slept under it, or demanded a toll. And I've certainly never eaten little children.

Okay, maybe I do have an excess of hair. Especially now that I've reached middle-age and it's starting to sprout from my nostrils and eyebrows. But I'm not short, and despite what my wife says, I don't communicate by grunting in monosyllables.

Then there's the fact I'm actually fairly easy to trick. Just ask my children. They do it all the time. And as to riddles, well... let's just say that life is really one great big mystery to me.

Now I will admit that I have occasionally been a lurker.

However, before you ring the police and accuse me of being a pervert, this is really quite an innocent activity, because it doesn't mean that I lurk behind bushes and secretly spy on people.

You can rest assured that I only suffer from one crippling social malady.

One that has had people sharpening their swords, or at least picking up their pens and writing scathing letters to the editor. And it is called 'trying-to-be-funnyitis' and unfortunately, it often leads to 'foot-in-mouth' disease.

I can't really help myself.

I've tried to seek help, but they wouldn't take me seriously. They thought it was a joke. As if I really want to upset all of those people and make them mutter dark things about me.

As if I really want my children to dream of changing their last name and deny knowing me, when their friends gleefully inform them that they're mentioned in the paper again.

Although I have to admit that I once accidentally provoked a flame-war.

Rest assured, nothing was actually burnt down. I haven't set fire to anything I shouldn't. At least not since I incinerated the corner of our living room when I was a small boy.

But that's another story.

Instead, I've been immersing myself the world of Internet mailing lists.

And it can be an ugly world. One where trolls incite flame-wars and benign spectators lurk in the shadows.

The concept is remarkably simple.

Say you are interested in 16th century basket-weaving, you can go to a mailing list server (one of the largest is www.egroups.com) and set up a free mailing list. Someone else logs onto that site and does a search for 16th century basket-weaving.

They begin trembling with excitement when they realise that in spite of what the mental-health professionals have said, they're not alone - there is a whole group of really cool people out there who also experience bouts of rapturous ecstasy every time they talk about the rustic baskets woven by peasants in the golden period between 1537 and 1551.

They send an e-mail message to the group firmly stating that 1539 was the best year.

This is automatically distributed to everyone on the list. But then someone else gets so incensed that anyone can state such dribble. They fire an angry email back mentioning the drought in 1539. And a flame-war erupts.

The lurkers stay in the background, voyeuristically reading the furious messages that are being hurled around cyberspace, without joining in. And the troll... well he smiles to himself and quickly types out another inflammatory comment purposefully designed to increase the discord.

He spends the next few days gently nudging the group towards meltdown, before he goes in search of another contented mailing list. One where they have experienced such joy in finding other kindred spirits who share their overwhelming passion for Thomas The Tank Engine.

Then he starts a nasty rumour about the Fat Controller.