Convenience Big Store: The gulf between old and young has never been wider

9 October, 2022

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The way it used to be... Constance Bannister/Getty

The gulf between old and young has never been wider

When my mum visited me in east London, says James Marriott in The Times, all she kept saying was: "Everyone here's so young." On holiday in the Lake District two weeks later, I was thinking the opposite: "Everyone was so old." This may seem obvious – of course the young prefer "bustling" cities and the old like "restful" countryside. But it's amazing how new a development this is. "As recently as 1991, villages and cities had the same mix of ages." Now all 10 of England's largest cities are experiencing "an exodus of the elderly", with young people "heading in the other direction". It's the same within communities: the decline of social clubs, local sports teams, churches and pubs has left few places where "young and old mingle socially".

Age segregation is "one of the most dramatic and unprecedented demographic developments of our time". And its effect is to "divide us culturally". Everyone used to know Morecambe and Wise; parents were exposed to their children's music tastes from Top of the Pops "blaring away in the front room". When a High Court judge once said he hadn't heard of the Beatles, it was hilarious because it suggested "superhuman efforts of cultural self-segregation". Would it seem strange today for a judge not to have heard of Bad Bunny, the most streamed artist on Spotify last year? These divisions aren't harmless. The "intergenerational strife" characterising today's culture wars is being exacerbated by young and old rarely actually talking to each other. Lazy stereotypes abound: Gen Zs are arrogant, for example, and boomers are selfish. We have a "crucial rent in the fabric of society" – one that "needs to be mended before it's too late".

Staying young

Monica Lewinsky with Bill Clinton during her internship at the White House

Our modern obsession with therapy

The White House's "most famous intern", Monica Lewinsky, recently confided she has five therapists, says Esther Walker in the I newspaper. These include a trauma therapist, an "energy guy", and someone specialising in body-focused somatic work. "I can't help but worry about the expense." Monica must spend all the time she is not with her therapists "earning money in order to pay her therapists". Just like we've insisted on importing "culture wars, turmeric lattes and Peloton" from America, so too with therapy. The number of registered counsellors in the UK has doubled in a decade; we're obsessed with "therapy-speak" about working on "our boundaries" and "unresolved traumas".

For most of us, it's a desperate attempt to "buy our way out of trouble". We eat "processed crap" packed with chemicals; drink too much; spend our days "hunched over humming screens", consuming an endless stream of news purposefully designed to catch our attention "using spikes of envy or fear". Fifty minutes sitting in an Ikea Poäng armchair cannot be expected to offset all of that. There are so many positive changes we can make outside of therapy, "if only we could put our phones down for five minutes and focus".

Noted

Many celebrities have "downright bizarre" phobias, says Louis Chilton in The Independent. US TV personality Tyra Banks is petrified of dolphins, One Direction star Niall Horan has "a crippling fear of pigeons", and Alfred Hitchcock hated eggs. Horror writer Stephen King has triskaidekaphobia, a fear of the number 13: he will never break off a writing session on page 13 or a multiple of it. Hans Christian Andersen had taphephobia, a fear of premature burial, and left a note by the side of his bed every night specifying that he was only sleeping. "Sometimes, however, a fear can be a boon." Steve Jobs's koumpounophobia, a fear of buttons, reportedly resulted in both his signature turtleneck jumpers and the buttonless computer mouse, which became a "key design feature" of his Apple computers.

Eating in

Bottomless in-flight caviar on Emirates

After losing more than $200bn over the pandemic, airlines are doing whatever they can to lure back business- and first-class passengers, says Kitty Drake in the FT. "Food has become a kind of weapon." Emirates recently launched a "bottomless caviar" service, and on Singapore Airlines, first-class passengers can enjoy lobster thermidor while snuggled up in a double bed. In-flight chefs must sign non-disclosure agreements before cooking some special meals. At a recent demonstration in Paris, I was fed dishes including "yuzu sponge and a tiny French crêpe stuffed with whipped cream". The only clue it was plane food was that it remained "eerily still" – when I shook the plate, nothing budged. "Every meal was turbulence proof."

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Inside politics

The Praetorian Guard hailing Claudius as Emperor after butchering his predecessor (and nephew), Caligula. Getty

Changing leaders the Roman way

"Overthrowing your leaders is addictive," says Jonn Elledge in The New Statesman. Just look at the Roman Empire. The Praetorian Guard assassinated one "incompetent young emperor" in AD 222, the army another in AD 235. This set a bloody trend: in half a century, the empire ran through about 26 leaders, "only one fewer than the number who ruled in the previous 262 years". The people who really held power, the military, had suddenly realised that they could "make or break emperors pretty much at will". If they didn't like one, they'd kill him and appoint another.

This is "an extreme example of a surprisingly common pattern": those in the lower ranks "discover, to their surprise, that they can oust a leader and, unable to achieve much else, they do so, over and over again". It happened in 15th-century England with the Wars of the Roses; it's happening in modern Australia, which has had six prime ministers since 2007. And it's happening in the Tory Party today, which has had four leaders in six years. That's why, despite Liz Truss's newness as PM, her security in the job is far from assured – her party has got accustomed to "the nuclear option" when things go badly.

Property

THE COUNTRY HOUSE This Grade B listed former vicarage is nestled in the rolling hills of the Scottish borders, near the small hamlet of Bentpath. It has five bedrooms – as well as an airy loft with space for two more – and traditional features including timber floorboards, large sash windows, and a period fireplace. The home sits within 1.25 acres of gardens, complete with an orchard, summer house and vegetable patch. Carlisle station is a 40-minute drive away, with direct trains to London taking three-and-a-half hours. £895,000.

Quoted

"A gaffe is the opposite of a lie: it is when a politician inadvertently tells the truth."