This must be a sign of the times

IF my mother hadn’t bought Typhoo tea my identity would be completely different.

In the 1960s you could collect tops from the boxes of tea, send them off and Typhoo would send you a signed photo of the footballer of your choice.

I had several on my wall (people didn’t drink so much coffee back then) and one proved quite handy when I was a teenager and trying to work out what was going on, who the heck I was and all that other stuff that people tell you will stop once you can grow a beard but in reality keeps going till it falls out.

Anyway, as part of my search for an identity I decided to devise a signature. (It was either that or join the Foreign Legion, but I didn’t know what I wanted to forget yet.)

Not being sure of my identity I had to borrow someone else’s, so I modelled my signature on that of my favourite player, helpfully scrawled up his left arm.

To be honest it was a bit elaborate, possibly displaying psychopathic tendencies. But once I’d used it to open a savings account, I was stuck with it.

For years I used it every day, writing cheques and signing

As long as you put a squiggle in their wee box they’re happy

forms, confirming to the dubious, “Yup, that’s him”. But now I use it so rarely I have to think before I write it.

The only people who ask for it are the bleary-eyed gnomes who deliver all those packages every other member of my family orders off the internet. And they don’t care whether it’s accurate or not. As long as you put a squiggle on the screen on their wee black box they’re happy.

Recently, I opened an ISA online. I filled in my details online. I transferred the money from another bank online. I have a password and PIN and the account will be operated online. I will never put pen to paper.

So the signature is as good as dead. And modern teenagers must try to create identities through interesting personal identification numbers.

Which takes me back to the ’60s and the great TV series The Prisoner. Remember Patrick McGoohan? “I am not a number – I am a free man!”

No Patrick, you are Number 6. And I can’t tell you my number in case a Nigerian con man steals my life savings.