[Stamp collecting’s] purity as a hobby came from people eccentrically deciding to treasure those functional little stickers for showing that postage had been paid – to turn them into objects of desire, purely out of a need to lavish something with attention, like a bewildered gorilla mistaking a Barbie for its dead cub.
Royal Mail’s enticing new stamps, with their attractive pictures of York Minster and the white cliffs of Dover, are just a prostitute’s wiles: desperately extorting cash by exploiting people’s need to love. And it’ll only inject it straight in its parcel delivery arm.
I’m just going back to bed, because nothing today throws at me will even come close to “like a bewildered gorilla mistaking a Barbie for its dead cub.” Except maybe the very next line where he compares stamp collecting to prostitution.
David Mitchell is seriously one of the best humans alive.