Inspiration on the subject of authenticity seemed suddenly to emerge from everywhere in the space of a few days. It's often said that its rising appeal is a hunger for the original and the genuine in a world becoming dominated by the virtual.

So it was that hearing two friends chat about a visit to Prague proved the most compelling source.

The one heading there offered to see if the 'love lock' her other friend had fixed on the Charles bridge with her husband several years ago was still there. (It was.)

I recalled seeing padlocks on the Ponte Milvio years ago.

My Roman friend had explained that they had appeared and multiplied following the success of a teen romance novel in which a pair had put a lock on the bridge as a symbol of their unbreakable love.

Through trusty Wikipedia (is a virtual encyclopaedia inauthentic?), I discovered that 100 years ago young women in a Serbian village put locks on a bridge to avoid the fate of a maiden whose suitor left for war and settled in Corfu where he married another.

The bridge had been the couple's rendezvous point.

Love locks are now thriving industry, from the guys in a folding chair selling them on bridges around the world to the likes of mypadlock.com, which runs one of three sponsored Google ads for custom-made locks - 'Your love padlock from £7.49!'

A deluge of padlocks will transform any bridge but the simple architecture of the Pont des Arts in central Paris is perhaps more altered than others.

The accumulated 700,000 padlocks obstruct the long view of the Seine through the low-lying crossed rails and in June a section of the parapet collapsed from their weight.

City officials treat love locks as an act of vandalism, as do those who began the campaign, "Our Bridges Can No Longer Withstand Your Gestures of Love.”

To counter a phenomenon which originated as act of superstition a century ago, became a symbol of teenage infatuation, and is now part of a must-do list for tourists around the world, campaigners have offered a virtual solution.

Bridge activists hope to divert the love lock's long and winding path yet again, urging couples to celebrate their bond by taking selfies on the bridges and posting them to #LoveWithoutLocks.

Will it catch on I wonder?

Does a selfie posted on a website feel as authentic as a familiar object that has weight and makes a satisfyingly final sound when the open end clicks into place - an object that you can see and perhaps find again on a bridge where you once walked hand-in-hand with your beloved?