There was a time, you could tell because it was on all the clocks and calendars, when she was the woman to whom every man - who had one - wanted to demonstrate the full extent of his stamp collection. Back in those long-ago days, before home computers, before mobile phones, when there were only two TV channels - and rumours of a third being in colour – there was little a man could do to impress a woman with his technological prowess.
Even the men who did it – for example – then knew that train spotting was not the sort of thing that would get a woman draping herself languidly against your anorak be-coated chest as she sensuously unscrewed the lid from your thermos. Few men too, thought it was the way to a woman’s heart to invite her to an early morning session of twitching in the bushes in the nearest local park or recreational gardens.
Stamp collecting, though, was different with its sensuous use of tongue and fingertip and the echoes of romantic far away places only ever witnessed in James Bond films and Soviet travelogues. The intimacy of the album and the awe with which a woman would want to touch, stroke, fondle, your First Day Covers, though. That was the stuff of true romance, of erotica.
Those were the days when access to pornography beyond the basic nudie book necessitated the purchase of a long brown mac and a visit to that shady part of town where rampant Estate Agent offices preyed on the unwary.
Back then, yes, it was a different time and to get a sultry young woman to lick your stamp hinges was the height of sexual stimulation. Nowadays, people say romance is dead. We scoff, of course, but we also look back on those times and remember….
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