The real McCoy: Marilyn Monroe in 1954 Credit: Getty Images Along with schools not bothering with spelling and grammar (elitist, see), universities becoming “emotional harm avoidance” drop-in centres, and the replacement of public intellectuals like Isaiah Berlin with fashion “influencers” named Susie Lau, another sign that we live in a crude post-literacy era is the disappearance of the autograph hunter. It’s all “selfies” now – a pretend intimate moment, lasting a nanosecond, captured on a mobile phone and instantly disseminated on social media. As Adam Andrusier explains, in the old days, when a celebrity put pen to paper, “there had to be tiny molecules of them lurking”. And once they’d croaked, “that a dead person had once been alive, here was the proof” – a genuine inky squiggle. When Miles Davis died, the value of his autograph doubled; Audrey Hepburn’s quadrupled. Princess Diana’s Christmas cards, priced at £300, were worth £3,000 the day after the fatal collision in the Pont de l’Alma tunnel.