Dishonesty is the Second-Best Policy

by David Mitchell

  They obviously think he’s great. But that’s hardly surprising: they’re teenagers and he’s the president of Russia, and he was nice to them. They’re not in the business of speaking truth to power, but of getting amazing selfies. I’d be the same at their age – I’d probably be the same now. I refuse to think more of them for all this, but I’m going to really try not to think less, particularly as public schoolboys are endlessly encouraged to show this sort of vacuous initiative.

  Which is why Eton College’s response is suspect. “This was a private visit by a small group of boys organised entirely at their own initiative and independently of the college,” it said. I’m not saying that’s a lie – I’m sure the school didn’t set up the trip – but Eton has a tradition of encouraging pupils to organise societies and events, and this must be exactly the kind of stunt it dreams of its charges getting up to.

  “Wow! They met the PRESIDENT OF RUSSIA?! How the hell did they do that?!” would be a more natural response. Instead, the college’s line is so dry and dignified as to be a parody of dry dignity. “We can’t be expected to keep track of every single time our boys meet up with the leader of a superpower,” is the tone, and it’s disingenuous. It’s all a bit “Fog in channel, continent isolated.” Stiff-upper-lipped establishment reserve masking feverish excitement at its own coolness.

  And it suits Eton very well for people to think that this trip is the kind of dynamic thing that Etonians just do. It subtly reinforces the notion that Eton’s pupils are made of more enterprising stuff than normal schoolchildren; that there’s something special about them apart from their parents’ money and connections, and their own consequent sense of entitlement. The college couldn’t possibly assert this view openly – it would be met with ridicule and offence in equal measure – but its over-understated response to the boys’ headline-grabbing antics is a clear invitation for us to infer it.

  I used to like Eton. As a pupil at a minor public school, I admired it as the independent sector’s market leader. I didn’t think private education was evil – I still don’t – and Eton’s continued prominence felt picturesque and reassuring.

  Then suddenly, a couple of years ago, I noticed my feelings had changed. My wife and I were driving through the town of Eton, just sightseeing – we’d spent the morning wandering round Windsor – and, as I looked at the beautiful buildings, the inextricability of town and school, the royal castle in the background, the heady mixture of history, wealth and confidence, my face started imitating the gargoyles.

  As my sneer of envy, disdain and rage subsided, I realised there’d been a much more significant alteration in my outlook than losing my taste for one public school. It had crept up on me over the previous decade. It struck me that, when I was growing up, when I looked fondly on institutions like Eton, it was on the basis that they were ultimately doomed. They were relics of a more spacious age, an aesthetically attractive one, also an unjust one, but crucially one that was over. For better or worse, and largely for better, history was leaving them behind.

  I was brought up with the general post-war assumption that Britain was getting fairer. It was taken for granted – by parents and teachers alike. There might be a nuclear war, oil might run out but, failing that, moral progress was assured. In the old days, the elderly didn’t have pensions, now they did; women didn’t have careers, now they did; poor people didn’t have access to healthcare, now they did; etc, etc, etc. Change might be happening too slowly, but it was happening inexorably and exclusively in the right direction.

  I didn’t notice the moment when I lost that assumption – it was probably between the Iraq war and the credit crunch – but when we were driving through Eton, it hit me hard. I remembered the complacent feeling of advancing justice with which I’d once looked fondly on the crumbling beauty of institutions like Eton, and I felt tricked.

  The British are a nostalgic people: we love costume drama, ancient buildings, stories of kings, tradition. But I realised in Eton that there was a context for these fond backward glances, and that context was progress. Progress towards a fairer society.

  Who still believes that fairness is advancing? Britain’s period of greatest social justice is probably already over. The sun isn’t setting on the lichen-pocked crenellations of Eton, but on the NHS and the BBC. And they won’t be remembered in a spirit of bittersweet, misty-eyed nostalgia, but with straightforward grief.

  * * *

  Birds are probably screwed anyway. Their numbers are falling, their habitats being destroyed. I hope that comes as some comfort to any builders annoyed that it’s illegal to cut down trees containing active nests: you can console yourselves with the thought that, in the long term, those flappy little shits have had it.

  So, as you resentfully eye up some apparently cosy blackbird that is delaying construction of luxury flats for months and months, causing costs to spiral and profits to dwindle, don’t project too much smugness on to the poor thing. Don’t think of it like it’s Sir Philip Green straddling a branch in the nude, biting into a chicken leg Henry VIII-style and laughing. In reality, it’s going through hell. And blackbirds don’t eat chicken anyway. Though they are nude – but it somehow seems different because of the feathers. The Windmill theatre probably tried that one on the lord chamberlain.

  But what I’m saying is that, annoying though all those obstructive, squeaking egg baskets may be, and challenging though the commercial conditions in which you’re operating undoubtedly are, the birds are much more definitely doomed than you. If they’re your adversary, you’ve won. Take that, garden birds! That’ll teach them not to contribute to the GDP, apart from via, I don’t know, binocular sales and RSPB membership and the odd sack of seed. They’re commercially unviable and they’re getting out-tweeted by social media.

  My awareness that some builders find birds’ nesting habits frustrating has risen because of the news that developers in Guildford have been ordered to remove netting from 11 trees on the banks of the River Wey. Apparently, it is not uncommon, during nesting season, for builders to put nets around any trees they might want to chop down to prevent any avian construction from delaying their own. How mean! Just imagine a plucky little sparrow turning up hopefully with a twig.

  Obviously, I appreciate that the fact this is mean is absolutely no reason not to do it. It’s important to do mean things a lot of the time – that’s life, commerce, war, the wild, etc. Birds are mean to worms, and it does wonders for their punctuality. It’s a cruel world. I totally get it, and I’m part of it. I’ve literally just eaten a sausage sandwich and, albeit only as a passenger, I’ve been an unflinching apologist for some pretty aggressive parking over the years. So, you know, go for it, “Timber!”, you’ve got to build bypasses and so forth.

  What made the Guildford case a bit different was that construction wasn’t planned to take place on the site until after nesting season – December probably – and, according to the leader of the borough council, the developer, Sladen Estates, doesn’t even yet have “active planning permission”. So it seemed a bit too mean, and one thing led to another, the author Sir Philip Pullman got wind of it online, and now the netting has been removed.

  Do try, though, Sladen Estates, not to blame the birds or imagine a naked Sir Philip Green doing a poo on your car and make that a reason to hate chaffinches. It’s mainly Sir Philip Pullman’s fault – a very different Sir Philip altogether. It’s confusing, and I regret bringing Sir Philip Green into it, though it would certainly help matters if he had his knighthood removed, and possibly his Philip as well, just as a precaution, so that everything’s clear.

  To be fair, Nick Sladen, chief executive of Sladen Estates, seems pretty sanguine. He denied that the nets’ removal was prompted by public pressure, claiming it was just because the construction schedule had changed, and said that netting trees was “a positive ecological thing – the alternatives are the development carries on and the nests are disturbed or development is delayed”.

  I�
�m not sure why that makes it “a positive ecological thing”. The first alternative he suggests to netting is certainly less ecological, but also less legal. The only lawful alternative he gives – delaying construction until the nests have been vacated – is surely a much more “positive ecological” option than forcing birds elsewhere with nets. So it seems quite a stupid thing to say. Of course, he may simply be trying to deceive people.

  It’s lazy, sly behaviour: let’s stick nets over all the trees so that, the moment we’ve got permission, we can chop them down, safe in the knowledge that there’ll be nothing alive in them. It’s like people who register patents for theoretical computing innovations that haven’t actually been invented, on the off-chance that, one day, someone will – and will then be forced to pay to license their own idea. It’s low, parasitic commerce – the business equivalent of goal-hanging.

  The news that Severn Trent water is trialling the use of Uber drivers instead of engineers when someone reports a leak feels similarly seedy. “All we’re asking them to do,” explained a spokesman, “is hold a phone up and respond to the engineer as he makes an assessment.”

  This idea has the obvious flaw that a minicab driver isn’t going to be any better at video-phoning a leak than the customer who reported it in the first place, rendering this whole taxi stage of the leak-triage process completely superfluous. And, frankly, if your solution to the problem of maintaining a vast water supply infrastructure is to send taxi drivers round making videos on their phones, then you should go back and check your working – because that solution doesn’t make any sense outside the context of the single line in the budget you’re trying to cut.

  This is the wrong use of the human brain’s innovative powers, more like planning a murder than devising a recipe. It’s the product of someone looking to take shortcuts, find loopholes, game the system.

  Well, the system can’t cope. Our society isn’t resilient enough to function if people focus only on the tiny problem in front of them: how to reduce leak-repair costs, how to get those trees chopped down, how to force the deal through the Commons. Our laws and leadership are too feeble to protect it, let alone make it better. We need to lift our heads. The birds are dying.

  POST-SCRIPT

  The use of Sod’s Law as a force for positive change.

  That last bit, I’m aware, was a bit of a downer. Quite depressing. And all that depressing talk, you may be thinking, is a bit rich coming from … well, someone a bit rich. An affluent, fortunate person. You didn’t open a TV comedian’s book for that kind of chat. This isn’t supposed to be harrowing.

  After all, there are shelves and shelves of harrowing books you could have chosen, written by people who’ve seen harrowing things or had harrowing things done to them. Some readers love all that. It’s a huge publishing genre, but one which, as someone who’s selected this book, you have studiously avoided. So I have no right to suddenly come over all harrowing, as someone who’s got a mortgage and had all his childhood jabs.

  So, apologies. I’ve checked my privilege, and it’s cheered me up no end. And, obviously, I might be wrong about society’s inexorable decline. I’m just an ant floating on a leaf saying we’re about to go over a waterfall. For all I know, we might be about to fetch up at an abandoned picnic, a sort of Marie Celeste chequered rug covered in leftover lemon drizzle cake. (That’s what I imagine ants would like.)

  Here’s my excuse: as someone who isn’t sure whether there’s a God or not, I’m in search of solace. I haven’t rejected the idea, but I can’t be sure. But there is something I do believe in: Sod’s Law. There is clear evidence of Sod’s Law in my life that could only be refuted if physicists proved that kitchen floors and the butter-side of toast possessed a mutually attractive magnetism. Until that day dawns, I will believe in Sod’s Law.

  So think of the conclusion to this book as my attempt to harness Sod’s Law in defence of civilisation and progress. This is how my thinking goes: if I publish a big book saying that Britain is just going to get worse and worse, then I bet it won’t. I bet it’ll suddenly improve. It’s bound to. That would be typical. That’s Sod’s Law.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank:

  Rowan Cope, Laura Hassan, Alex Bowler, John Grindrod, Lauren Nicoll, Paul Baillie-Lane and Stephen Page at Faber & Faber.

  Ursula Kenny and Jane Ferguson at the Observer.

  My agents Ivan Mulcahy and Michele Milburn.

  My friends Robert Hudson, Jonathan Dryden Taylor, Toby Davies and Tom Hilton, who read many of these columns in advance and gave invaluable advice.

  And my beloved wife, Victoria Coren Mitchell, whose brilliant, funny brain has hugely improved this book, as well as my whole life.

  LIST OF COLUMNS

  Let’s start by addressing a properly big question: what are things? appeared as “Martians, bells, cutlery … things are all relative when you think about it”, on 21 February 2016

  Apparently some people are capable of lucid dreaming appeared as “Choose my own Netflix adventure? No thanks”, on 19 March 2017

  There’s a new word in the lexicon of media bullshit: it is “distinctiveness” appeared as “The trouble with getting the BBC to be less popular”, on 6 March 2016

  My parents are the owners of what I’m pretty sure is a bad painting of Neath Abbey appeared as “Our modern designs for life are no oil painting”, on 17 December 2017

  The presenters of the BBC’s new TV version of the arts programme Front Row have already sparked controversy appeared as “How Front Row sparked real drama in theatreland”, on 24 September 2017

  A winning photograph in the Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2017 competition has been disqualified because the animal in the picture turned out to be dead appeared as “If you must fake a photo, it had better be good”, on 6 May 2018

  Is it because of Liam Neeson, I wonder, that John Humphrys has announced he’s going to retire from the Today programme? appeared as “Why didn’t Liam Neeson just stick to the script?”, on 10 February 2019

  Sometimes I think I’m the perfect person to analyse the cultural impact of music appeared as “Take your seats for a fight at the opera”, on 20 January 2019

  When I heard that the Advertising Standards Authority is proposing to crack down on gender stereotyping in adverts … appeared as “Sexism in advertising is a problem – but hardly the worst one”, on 23 July 2017

  A victory for truth or a victory for pain? appeared as “It’s a pain to spend more money but it works”, on 3 July 2016

  There are two types of cosmetics, in my analysis appeared as “Minimal scents smell of nothing but hypocrisy”, on 8 April 2018

  Let me put my cards on the table: I’m not a fan of the orange KitKat appeared as “Why Monopoly has a monopoly on copying itself”, on 17 September 2017

  A small good thing happened the other day, but in a context of such stupidity and unfairness … appeared as “The train company that has ideas above its station”, on 3 April 2016

  The news that Salad Cream is considering changing its name to Sandwich Cream put me fondly in mind of British Gas appeared as “So how would Heinz rebrand British Gas?”, on 10 June 2018

  The first time I went to Patisserie Valerie, in December 1993, it felt really special appeared as “More means less when it comes to a great cafe”, on 27 January 2019

  We must remember that it’s not Dairy Milk’s fault appeared as “Why Cadbury’s choc tactics make me gag”, on 24 March 2019

  Wrapped around Monday’s Daily Mirror was a big four-page “advertising feature” … appeared as “Philip Morris’ cigarette ad – a classic case of smokes and mirrors”, on 28 October 2018

  By the time you’re using a password, something has gone wrong appeared as “Why Amazon Fresh is the thin end of the veg”, on 12 June 2016

  Here’s a tip for the dynamic go-getter on a time and money budget who’s determined to live the luxurious dream … appeared as “Trust us, say the online giants
– we won’t make you think for yourself”, on 24 August 2014

  “In the UK, we are spending £97bn of public money on treating disease and only £8bn preventing it” … appeared as “An algorithm a day will keep the doctor at bay”, on 11 November 2018

  In January 2017, a woman claiming to be Charlotte Higman telephoned the Royal Bank of Scotland … appeared as “‘Identity theft’? It’s daylight robbery by the banks”, on 25 November 2018

  Live by the sword, die by the sword appeared as “Fashion’s old guard are right to fear the blogger”, on 2 October 2016

  Did you hear about the rich American who’s cut himself off from all news since Donald Trump was elected? appeared as “There are good reasons for ignoring the news”, on 25 March 2018

  “Nobody likes this uncomfortable feeling of being this tiny ball flying through space” … appeared as “The Earth may not be flat, but it just might be doomed”, on 19 November 2017

  Attitudes to dating aren’t changing as fast as many would like. I must say I’m surprised appeared as “Why do we cling to prehistoric dating rituals in a technological age?”, on 28 September 2014

  Are you properly experiencing this moment? appeared as “If life isn’t lived through a lens, is it lived at all?”, on 27 May 2018

  Mark Tanzer, chief executive of the Association of British Travel Agents, has my sympathy appeared as “Obviously you know what I’m about to say …”, on 26 June 2016

  The time has come to loosen our grip on reality appeared as “When bitter tastes sweet, seeming is believing”, on 16 October 2016

  A phrase really jumped out at me from a newspaper the other day appeared as “We should take pride in Britain’s acceptable food”, on 30 July 2017