I've just had a classic example of how this pastime can - not make you paranoid, - but certainly increase any inherent tendencies towards paranoia.
In December, I had my usual Christmas card from a couple of former colleagues. As it happens, they live near what used to be Sandy's Prestwich Parlour and I'm convinced that the husband was shopping in the supermarket at the end of that terrace and saw me emerging through the ginnel after a punt there some 12 or 13 years ago. I've not seen either of them to talk to since before then .
Anyway when the Christmas card arrived, it included a note written by the wife saying that her husband had terminal cancer and is on palliative care. Not wishing to stick my nose in, I asked another friend - a feminist - who is in closer touch with them to let me know when he passed away so I could at least send a sympathy card. I then didn't hear another word from her and was convinced that the story of my being seen emerging from that place of ill-repute
had been passed onto her. Which, I'm sure, she would have found sufficiently reprehensible to have ended all contact with me.
And then, this morning, there was a friendly email from her - just general news of other former colleagues - which made no mention of the other fellow's state of health or my, erm, 'transgression'.
I don't think there's an emoji conveying "Phew!", but that was what I felt. My 'guilty little secret' is still just that.