n.b. I won’t bore you with the details, but it seems that the unnecessarily wealthy are keen to have a bit more garden and staff / servants to help keep everything orderly. It seems living on a super-yacht, or in a city centre penthouse suite feels like confinement during a pandemic lockdown. Poor loves.
n.b. Population growth and over population is a topic of current concern as a levelling off in the global number of homo sapiens is now predicted over the next generation or so.
Japan’s current government is considering funding IVF treatment for it’s young couples who may be struggling to conceive. The current birth rate in Japan is around 1.36 which is well below the replacement rate.
Where will they get the young people from to care for an ageing population? 25% of Japan’s population is aged over 65 years.
The fall in birth rate has been attributed in part by the Deputy Prime Minister to women choosing not to have children. He has been castigated for his simplistic and one-eyed male opinion on the data.
Perhaps women have paths to fulfilment other than producing Salarymen? Perhaps they have become Salarywomen (which is tellingly identified by this software as a spelling error)? Perhaps the way of the modern world is not an attractive prospect enough to carry a man’s seed before delivering babies to a climate disrupted, polluted, exploitative planet? Maybe Japanese couples have decided the time has come for the human species to move on and leave the planet to life better adapted to an aquatic environment?
In the short term immigration can solve the problem for ageing populations. Germany, Italy, France, CH and the UK (amongst other wealthier nations) face similar questions around population. Is it a problem?
We are discovering, as we peel off the layers, that money isn’t everything.
While the electioneers are estimated to have spent around $14 billion on campaigning, the costs of administering the mechanics of the voting system were supported by a donation of $400m from Mark Zuckerberg and Priscilla Chan. This donation had been necessary because the world’s richest nation has not fully funded its own democratic machinery.
The sunset reveals the strength of the west wind. Long thin fingers of pink cloud extend high across the darkening blue sky.
The sun disappears, but from beyond the skyline, sends a single red beam powering straight up. A trick of the light; a crimson spotlight backlighting an emptying stage.
Following the arc of the heavens, not far behind the Sun bleeding over the horizon, Venus. The stark brilliance of Venus. The sky still too light for other stars. No moon. Just the Goddess of Love and Beauty. Evening Star for now, but like a passionate lover, soon to return as the Morning Star to greet me at dawn.
In awe of what lies beyond our atmosphere, I turn up Purdy Street. A bat flickers from somewhere over my shoulder and twists a helix in its flight chasing midges across the lane and over the red tiled roof of a flint cottage.
I meet no-one on my walk.
Warm lights illuminate several of the cottages, but many are cold, empty shells. Holiday homes, second homes, retirement homes, investment homes, unfinished farm building conversions. The cluster of active family homes is found in the close of social housing on the right of the lane. Here children’s bicycles, a colourful football, a red and yellow Wendy House, litter the small gardens and collect evening dew.
My news of seeing the bat, when I return, provokes a dark joke, “I hope you weren’t infected by it.”