Way of the World Michael Deacon

Across the West, birth rates are plummeting. And no wonder. It’s because young people today are absolutely terrified of climate change. In a recent global study of 10,000 people aged 16-25, an incredible 39 per cent gave climate change as the reason they were hesitant to have children. They simply can’t bear the thought of bringing a child into such a dangerous world. Britt Wray, author of Generation Dread: Finding Purpose in the Climate Crisis, says the young are “so stressed out” about the climate that they “don’t think it’s fair or responsible to imagine putting another person in that situation as it gets worse”.

I don’t mean to be unsympathetic. But perhaps they need to get some perspective. Of course, the world today is a dangerous place. And the future is bound to be dangerous, too. But, at practically every other point in history, it’s been even more dangerous still.

In, for example, the 9th century AD, did the young people of this country go around saying to researchers, “Oh no,

Thrydwulf and I couldn’t possibly bring a child into the world at a time like this. Not when the average life expectancy is a mere 30 years, and the discovery of penicillin is still over a millennium away”?

Or how about 500 years ago, when one in three children would die before their 10th birthday? Or a mere century ago, when the Great War, the deadliest conflict the world had yet known, was followed by the Spanish flu, the deadliest disease the world had yet known? Did the young decide that life on Earth was so bleak and miserable that the time had come to give up on the human race altogether?

They did not. Despite living in a time far more dangerous than our own, they still had children. If they hadn’t, of course, the youth of today wouldn’t be fretting about climate change. Because they wouldn’t have been born in the first place.

If the Government wants to halt the flow of Albanians entering Britain, it must first find out why they’re so desperate to come here. Finally, it seems that we have the answer. This week in Parliament, the Albanian ambassador told MPS that it’s all because of Tiktok. Apparently, his countrymen are flocking to Britain because of videos telling them that life here is “paradise”. Paradise? Britain? In 2022? We’ve long known that social media is a dangerous source of fake news. But this must be one of the most egregious examples I’ve ever come across.

There’s only one thing for it. In order to prevent any more of these poor Albanians from being hoodwinked, Rishi Sunak should produce a Tiktok video of his own. “People of Albania,” he must solemnly intone. “As Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, I must ask you to stop flocking to my country. Because quite frankly, it’s for your own good.

“For pity’s sake, Britain is collapsing about our very ears. Practically our entire workforce is on strike. Our trains don’t run even when the staff actually turn up. Our A&E waiting times are so long you might as well perform the operation yourself. Meanwhile, inflation and taxes are now both so high that we can barely afford to buy groceries, not that it makes much difference, because with our shortages of everything from eggs to cream crackers there hardly seem to be any groceries to buy anyway. Does this sound like paradise to you?

“Oh, and if you think that my Government is going to solve any of these crises,” he should add, “let me assure you that we are not! We’re hopeless! We haven’t a clue what to do! Even with a majority of around 70 MPS – depending on how many have been suspended in any given week – I can’t seem to get a single thing done!

“So please, ignore any nonsense you see on Tiktok – and stay at home in Albania. You’re much better off where you are. The way things are going, we’ll soon be paying people-smugglers to get us out of here, so we can come and live in your country instead.”

As it happens, MPS are currently debating the Online Safety Bill, a piece of legislation designed to prevent innocent people from having their lives ruined by social media. As a matter of urgency, they should add a new clause to protect Albanians.

The Liverpool Beatles Museum houses a vast array of priceless Fab Four artefacts. George Harrison’s ukelele. Paul Mccartney’s microphone. Pete Best’s drum kit. Even so, I must confess that I will not be rushing to see the latest exhibit the museum has proudly unveiled.

It’s John Lennon’s loo.

To be specific, it’s the loo from Tittenhurst Park, the Berkshire home he shared with Yoko Ono from 1969 to 1971. “It’s a very, very fancy loo,” boasts the museum’s owner, “and it’s possibly the most expensive loo in the country.”

That may well be so. But I’m not sure how much value it has as a historical artefact. It seems unlikely to offer us many profound insights into Lennon’s creative process.

Then again, I suspect that the man himself would have loved the idea. He always took great glee in outraging bourgeois sensibilities, and delighted in vulgar jokes. So he would probably have hailed this exhibit as the ultimate form of toilet humour.

In fact, were he alive today, he might well say the museum is missing a trick. It shouldn’t merely display his loo. It should charge visitors to use it.

In our celebrity-obsessed age, there are probably any number of American tourists who would pay a handsome sum for the privilege of using the same lavatory as John Lennon.

Call it £100 a go. It’ll be his biggest money-spinner since Imagine.