I was five years old when the world first ended. That was in 2000, the year that a United Nations official predicted 11 years before that entire nations would be wiped out by rising sea levels. Since then, I have survived the Arctic melting on at least six separate occasions (2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016 and 2018), to say nothing of the geopolitical chaos that followed the oil shortages of 2015. As of last year, my troubles have been worsened by the complete submersion of the Maldives, which has narrowed my holiday options.
This week, as I ventured into London to shop for a woolly jumper and flippers ahead of next year’s ‘Siberianisation’ of England and disappearance of the Arctic, I was surprised to be confronted with a street full of lively campers with placards. Above the Extinction Rebellion protesters I encountered the words ‘Tell the truth’ and an image of a skull emblazoned on a large pink banner.
James McSweeney
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