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 discussing the demographic crisis in the West and I was just getting into the swing of things.
“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, almond-shaped eyes. I asked her what she meant by “step up” but her reply, though it carried through the noise and perhaps made sense, has somehow failed to lodge in my memory. Only later did I remember the right retort: “What, and be like me?”
We lead a hand-to-mouth existence on the outer edges of sanity and legality near a nudist beach
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 are not respected by those who control public opinion as doing our bit to save the West or, at least, Italy from extinction. Far from it. Instead, we live fearful 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 Carla and me.
Britain’s population, meanwhile, has grown by ten million since 2000, but 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, at least according to one yardstick used to measure standards of living: per capita income based on purchasing power parity (PPP). 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 in Absolutely Fabulous. This caused His Honor Simon to start apologizing to people at neighboring tables in his best restaurant Italian. Her big idea was tax breaks for working mothers. But I feel this will not make much difference as – whatever women say – lack of cash is not really the reason they are refusing to breed any more.
Yes, work gives a woman money but most work feels similar to 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.
“Come on then, Nick, what’s your solution?” yelled Cyrena.
“Make breeding fashionable!” I shouted.
Guffaws of laughter.
“How are you going to do that, Nick?”
“Get pop stars to write songs about it!”
Hoots of laughter.
I realize this will probably be classed as hate speech, but I genuinely believe feminism has got it all 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, even though I have a so-called interesting job, the only truly creative thing I have ever done with my life is create children.
As I write I see from the window of what is called my study my youngest child Giuseppe (ten) get dropped off from school outside the gate and I think: “I did that.”
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