I have a profound affection for David Mitchell, the writer, comedian, and actor.
I know him mostly from his work on The Unbelievable Truth, on BBC Radio 4, and Would I Lie To You, on BBC television.
Before we go any further, I want to say that I preferred him without the beard. Be that as it may.
My favourite kind of his work is when he is in “magistrate” mode on Would I Lie To You. People seem to think he is weird, because he asks for definite answers to questions, and he disputes things that people say which are obviously false, or self-contradictory.
Similarly, when he is chairing The Unbelievable Truth, contestants challenge on the flimsiest of grounds. He has to try to dredge up some kind of logic from a morass of nonsense. He does it with flair, grace, and aplomb (two words you might want to bear in mind if you are doing Wordle).
The deliberately cliched axis of comedic tension on Would I Lie To You is that David Mitchell is “posh” (whatever that means). He is not as posh as most people seem to think he is.
“Another glass of orange juice. Some more chips. A sense of purpose in life.”
If there are going to be (relatively) privileged white blokes in public life, I would much rather that they were heavyweight intellectuals like David Mitchell.
I cannot lose with David Mitchell. If something bad happens to him, that proves that my class has to be resilient. If something good happens to him, that proves he is the powerhouse that I think he is.
If he ever happens to be in West Yorkshire (as long as it is not somewhere ridiculous like Haworth) the drinks are on me.