Dante’s Beach, Ravenna
We were having dinner in the Osteria del Tempo Perso (The Hostelry of Lost Time). It is in the old city which in the 5th century was the last capital of the western Roman empire as, besieged by various types of barbarian, the final fall drew ever nearer.
I was drinking again.
The rules are simple: I can drink when abroad, defined as anywhere outside the province of Ravenna, which I rarely leave; or else when anyone foreign – i.e. non-Italian – comes to visit, which is even rarer.
My younger brother Simon, the KC, had come for a long weekend with his second wife Cyrena, two of his four children from his first marriage, Sam (33) and Rufus (28), and his stepdaughter, Jemima (22). Simon, unlike me, gave up alcohol completely years ago and was as sober as a judge, perhaps because he is a judge. He is about to start a three-week stint at the Old Bailey.
We were contemplating the demographic crisis in the West and demob happy I was really getting into the swing of things.
We lead a hand-to-mouth existence on the outer edges of sanity and legality near a nudist beach
‘OK, so how can we get women in the West breeding again?’ I bellowed at Jemima above the din in the crowded restaurant.
‘Men have got to step up,’ she replied, with a defiant look in her striking, brown, almond-shaped eyes. I asked her what she meant by ‘step up’ but her reply, though it carried through the noise and no doubt made terrific sense, has somehow failed to lodge in my memory. I forgot to say: ‘What, and be more like me?’
As you may know, I and my Italian wife Carla have six children, aged ten to 22, and we lead a hand-to-mouth existence on the outer edges of sanity and legality near a nudist beach. I am the sole earner from my writings, but I earn, as the Italians say, una miseria (a misery). We are told that for an economy to flourish, a country must have a population that is growing. Indeed, many historians believe a declining population caused the fall of Rome. Well, Italy’s population has fallen by 1.5 million since 2015.
For decades Italy has had one of the lowest fertility rates in the world – it’s currently 1.14 children per woman of child-bearing age, which is well below the 2.1 replacement rate. Naturally, Carla and I get no respect from those who control public opinion for doing our bit to help save, if not the West itself, at least Italy from extinction. Far from it. Instead, we live in fear of the knock at the door by the state that has come to take them away. Six bambini? How dare they?
It was, of course, all so different in Italy back in the old days of the fascist regime. Mussolini gave big cash prizes to women who had lots of children. He taxed bachelors! Il Duce would have really loved the Farrelli family – despite the father being a perfidious inglese.
Britain’s population, meanwhile, has grown by ten million since 2000, thanks to immigration. Its fertility rate, though higher than Italy’s, is still well below 2.1. So if the economists are right then the British must be rolling in it compared with the Italians.
However, this is not the case according to one yardstick at least used to measure standards of living: per capita income based on purchasing power parity. In both countries this was virtually the same last year at around $63,000.
It just goes to show that population growth – when driven by immigration – is not necessarily a good thing for an economy regardless of what they tell you about the benefit, nay necessity, of all those surgeons from Syria and doctors from Ouagadougou.
At a certain point I found myself in a very heated exchange with Cyrena, who does drink and reminds me of Joanna Lumley. This caused Judge Simon to start apologising to people at neighbouring tables in his best restaurant Italian. She was adamant: big tax breaks for working mothers are the only solution. But I feel this will not make much difference since – whatever women say – lack of cash is not really the reason they are refusing to breed.
Yes, work gives a woman money and in a sense freedom, but most work feels like slavery. Despite this, the woman who works for money running the country or sexing chickens or whatever has status, whereas the woman who works for free inside the home bringing up children does not.
Yes, work gives a woman money and in a sense freedom, but most work feels like slavery
So I proclaimed: ‘We must make breeding fashionable!’
Guffaws of laughter at the utter absurdity of the idea.
‘How are you going to do that, Nick?’ scoffed Cyrena.
‘Get pop stars to write songs about it!’
Hoots of laughter.
I realise this will probably be classed as hate speech, but I believe women have got it wrong. I am convinced that Carla has had a more fulfilled life, even though we are poor, than if she had spent it working for money. I myself feel that, despite doing a so-called interesting job, the only truly creative thing I have ever done is create children.
As I write, I see from the window of what is called my study our youngest child Giuseppe (ten) get dropped off from school out-side the gate and I think: ‘We did that.’
Comments