The cult of London

The phrase ‘rich people’s problems’ has its uses. I once overheard a group in a Knightsbridge restaurant sympathising with a companion in tones fit for a bereavement or life-changing injury. ‘Oh, poor you!’ It turned out that their nanny had been ill for two days while they were in Zermatt, and that Farrow & Ball was temporarily unable to supply an obscure shade of paint.

To be fair, there are problems unique to the seriously rich. Take Marci Klein, daughter of Calvin. Not only was Marci kidnapped aged ten, but she later complained that in the midst of any passionate encounter with a new boyfriend, she would suddenly find herself confronted with her own dad’s name in inch-high letters. The 99 per cent never have to cope with anything like that.

So bear with me while I suggest that there might be a hidden downside to well-paid white-collar jobs — the very form of employment least affected by the pandemic.

It starts with the expansion of higher education. In theory, qualifications should expand your future opportunities; in reality they can limit them. Graduates find themselves compelled to justify the sunk-cost of time and money they’ve invested in education by applying only for graduate jobs. And such jobs are overwhelmingly found in large cities.

At first, no problem. Young people like cities. They are undergoing a temporary hormonal imbalance which makes crowds enjoyable. The jaws of the trap only begin closing ten years later. By then, their London job has specialised to such an extent that they are only employable in a huge mega-city. The trap closes further when they enter a relationship with someone similarly specialised; the odds of both finding lucrative employment anywhere else in the country are infinitesimal.