Louise Perry

In 1980, two American academics made a bet. Julian Simon, professor of economics at the University of Illinois, predicted that the prices of chromium, copper, nickel, tin and tungsten would fall over the coming decade. Paul Ehrlich, professor of population studies at Stanford University, predicted that prices would rise. What Simon and Ehrlich were really betting on was the future of humanity – specifically, how many souls could the good ship Earth carry without running aground? By 1980, the global population had seen a period of enormous growth: doubling between 1800 and 1930 to reach two billion people, and then doubling again to reach four billion by 1975. Every sign suggested that this rate of growth would only accelerate, and Ehrlich was among those who saw catastrophe looming.

You all know what I mean by the word ‘Rotherham.’ In The Spirit of Terrorism, Jean Baudrillard observes that there is no true synonym for ‘9/11’ – no one refers to the ‘World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks’ or the ‘Bin Laden attacks’, but just to the date itself, typically in its abbreviated form. Perhaps, he suggests, this is because the events of that day were so shocking, and so significant, that they must be described abstractly. We cannot find the right words.  There is no true synonym for ‘Rotherham’, either. ‘Child sexual exploitation’ (CSE) is the sterile term favoured by most institutions. ‘Child sexual abuse ring’ or ‘grooming gangs’ is more common in the media. None of these terms are satisfactory.

Here follows a non-exhaustive list of my genetic flaws. I am short-sighted, more so as I age. I have bunions, dodgy knees and even dodgier shoulders. I have asthma. My skin blisters easily. My hair started going grey when I was in my late teens. I have zero talent for foreign languages, running or music. I am prone to nightmares, as well as to depression and anxiety. Relatively mild flaws, as they go. But still, these aren’t traits I’m eager to pass on. Our three-year-old already shows a tendency for nightmares that sometimes makes me wince with guilt. Not that it’s my fault, of course. We don’t get to choose which of our genes we pass on. Every conception is a roll of the dice.

My husband and I got a Peloton bike for the usual reasons: because we were time-poor, money-rich and feeling fat. And we kept using it for the usual reason: because we wanted to please the gorgeous ghosts in the machine. The American fitness brand Peloton employs some of the most beautiful, athletic and charismatic people ever to have lived. Their job is not actually to teach an effective class to the viewers at home on their stationary bikes, or to make their users healthier and slimmer (I have accomplished neither). Rather, it is to give an impression of warmth and intimacy while staring at a silent camera lens in an empty room. My favourite coaches (since you asked) are Tumi, Ally, Emma and Denis, the last of whom has a particularly passionate following among older ladies.

Travelling home on the train last week, I heard the dulcet sounds of political discourse drifting towards me across the carriage. The words ‘social housing’ were followed soon after by the word ‘moron.’ I removed my headphones and attended more closely.  The speakers were two men aged about 30, whipping themselves up into a lather over the suggestion that there ought to be less social housing in central London. They seemed to be genuinely astonished by an argument they'd come across which pointed out that social housing tenants are dependent on the state for subsidy. ‘Moronic!’ they said, ‘insane!

If Barbie were a real woman, she wouldn’t be able to walk. Her enormous head would loll forward on her spindly neck, her tiny ankles would buckle under her elongated legs, and she would be forced to move about on all fours. In the upcoming Barbie film, Margot Robbie nails her character’s toothy smile and blonde bouffant, but even she cannot come close to imitating Barbie’s monstrous proportions. More adventurous imitators have tried. It’s rumoured that the so-called ‘Eastern Bloc Barbie’ – a 37-year-old Moldovan by the name of Valeria Lukyanova, one of several plastic surgery addicts dubbed ‘human Barbies’ – had ribs removed and her eyelids trimmed in her efforts to look as much as possible like the real (or, rather, unreal) thing.

Early one Sunday in 2012 a man fell out of the sky over Sheen, an affluent suburb of south-west London, and landed in the middle of a quiet residential road. ‘I heard a monstrous bang. I thought someone had been hit by a car,’ one resident told a local newspaper. ‘Two fellows going to church said there’s a dead body in the street.’ The man was José Matada, a 27-year-old from Mozambique, although it would take several months for the police to discover his identity. Matada had a small sum of cash in his pocket and a mobile phone. The only message the police were able to extract from it was a single text: ‘I need a favour.’ Matada’s was not the first body to fall on Sheen, which lies directly underneath the Heathrow flight path.

Cassava is a woody shrub native to South America. For people living in drought-prone tropical regions, it is a godsend: delicious, calorie-dense, and highly productive. The indigenous peoples of the Americas who first cultivated cassava are reliant on it and have developed an arduous, days-long process of preparation that involves scraping, grating, washing, and boiling the plant before it is eaten. At the beginning of the 17th century, the Portuguese introduced cassava to the Old World. But they did not import the ancient methods of processing, assuming that indigenous people were wasting their time. Progress swats away benevolent traditions because the usefulness of traditions can be subtle and hard to understand We do not always know why we do the things we do.

Last month, the Law Commission published its long-awaited report on the legal status of the surrogacy industry. It contained – as expected – one particularly alarming recommendation. Alongside various tweaks to payment and regulation processes, the Commission suggests a crucial change to the parental status of a baby born by surrogacy. At present, the woman who gives birth to the baby is considered to be that child’s legal parent, and the intended parents are obliged to apply for a parental order following birth. But if the Law Commission gets its way, the situation will be reversed. Although the surrogate will still have the right to object, the default presumption in law will be that she is not the child’s mother.