My friend put a picture of her and another friend on Instagram the other day. They were all giggly and happy and having a good time; a couple of drinks, a flip of the hair. Alright, so it was probably a bit staged, because we’re all models now, but what I saw was a cheerful, messy shot of two people I love. “Your nose is revolting,” commented some random stranger whom we shall call Noseman. And with that drive-by internet shooting, the bubble was burst. For me, at least - and I was only looking at it. It wasn’t my picture, wasn’t my nose. But my heart still sank when I saw that desperate little poison dart, fired by somebody not content to live in a world where really bad stuff can already happen to you by chance. Cancer, car crashes, financial ruin - those aren’t enough for Noseman. Noseman wants there to be even more bad stuff around to mess up your day. In fact Noseman has found a gap in the market for bad feelings, by introducing them to places where everybody was actually really happy before he arrived. Good work, Noseman - you probably long to go viral, and there is indeed something about you that reminds me of all the snotty little viruses I’ve had.

Of course, this is nothing new - some prick on the internet trying to get a reaction, just a troll, who cares. But you know what I did as soon as I read his comment? I looked at my friend’s nose quite critically, having never given it a moment’s thought before. And that’s the worst bit. You know that this sniping isn’t healthy, but before you know it you’ve internalised it, and then the snotty wanker is you.

I know that if I used my own hands to illustrate a new piece of jewellery on Instagram, somebody would point out that my nails are different lengths where I’ve bitten them, somebody else would point out the dry skin patches on my knuckles, the wrinkles – and I’d laugh to my colleagues and say god what are people like, I never applied to be a hand model, I just like rings. But the thing is I would probably then go home, dig out five creams and frantically try to scrub my hands clean like Lady Macbeth bellowing OUT DAMNED SPOT. (Spoiler alert: things don’t end very well for her.) And I speak as someone who is pretty happy with my hands – until someone tells me I shouldn’t be.

But is this because, as I already mentioned, we’re all models now? Is it because we all curate our own images, untag ourselves in unflattering Facebook pictures and take 20 selfies before uploading the best one - have we created an environment in which people are almost encouraged to be cruel about each other’s appearances? Because thousands of strangers now feel perfectly happy to go through the contents of your face as if it was a contestant on a talent show.

I don’t know, but I do know the happiest moment I’ve had this week. Coming home with a new Peppa Pig swimming costume for my two-and-a-half year old, who was so excited she flung all her clothes off to yank it on. Then she skipped over to my full-length mirror and jumped for joy when she saw her reflection wearing it. Actually, literally, jumped for joy. I’m now considering raising her in solitary confinement, or some kind of massive hamster wheel, just so she never finds out what you’re supposed to do when you see yourself in a swimming costume. Who knows, she might even find the time to do something wonderful with her life instead. Admittedly that will be hard from the hamster wheel, so maybe a different tactic is in order. Maybe I’ll just keep up her good work by jumping for joy the next time I see my reflection in a swimming costume too.