Angela Epstein. You’ve never heard of her, but she’s made history as Britain’s first owner of a ID card.

But wait! There’s more!

She’s a journalist, you see. She got to the front of this “queue” after being personally invited to do so by the Government, and in return for this good fortune all she had to do was write a puff piece about it in the Manchester Evening News about how thrilled, proud and happy the whole experience made her.

Forget all this nonsense about politics, civil liberties and all that. No, ID cards, it turns out, induce almost orgasmic levels of pleasure:

I’M so proud I could almost burst I haven’t felt this good about cradling something small and pink since my daughter Sophie was born.

*Squeeee!!* WHERE DO I SIGN?! Oh, and could I possibly leave out..

I won’t rehash all the arguments in favour of ID cards – that they are a small, convenient and portable way to prove identity [Ed. That counts as rehashing]. Nor will I try and convince opponents that they are not an infringement of English civil liberties. Everyone is entitled to their view.

Hear that? We’re entitled to our view. Lovely. Thank you.

After this I was taken to a curtained booth to have biometric particulars taken down: not as saucy as it sounds but simply my photo, prints and electronically recorded signature.

Saucy! Yes, having your biometric particulars measured is like being pampered in a salon, or luxuriating in a hot bath whilst eating Flakes. Get away from the day to day stresses of the world and have those lovely people at the Identity office look after you.

As I’ve said before I understand why people have their reservations, but I personally can’t see what there is to lose if you’re a law abiding citizen with nothing to hide. And if it’s another weapon in the fight against identity fraud, illegal workers and terrorism, then that can only be for the good.

Well, Ms Epstein, you stand to lose your privacy. But hey, what’s privacy? Not as awesome as a piece of plastic with your name on it or having all your personal data on a giant computer database that far, far, far too many people have access to, and run by people with a track record for losing and leaking data. No, it’s not as awesome as those things. Privacy? Pah! Fuck it, who needs it? Perverts! Ne’re do wells! Terrorists! Immigrants! Pah!

But I genuinely felt proud and excited when I was finally handed my card. I loved seeing my name, face and the words British citizen on this tiny piece of plastic. That’s who I am, and why shouldn’t anyone know?

You loved it? You loved seeing your name and your face on a piece of card? You loved it? Really? This season’s must have accessory, ID Cards! Oo, it makes you feel all tingly! And why shouldn’t anyone know? Ah yes, we’ve established that ‘privacy’ was so last season.

And when I had a shmooze with home office minister Meg Hillier on Monday she wouldn’t say whether I’d get my 30 quid back if [the Tories scrapped the scheme]

And suddenly it all makes sense. Schmoozing with Government ministers one day, writing a ‘ID Cards are nearly as good as having babies’ piece the next.

If Angela Epstein’s name is to be remembered, it may well be as the world’s most gullible and most buyable journalist ever. Now, can I get my ID card in purple, please? I want it to match these shoes…

/ht @Benjaminglass via Twitter