Extinction Rebellion is a menace

It’s tempting to laugh at Extinction Rebellion. I do it myself frequently. Those yoga sessions on Westminster Bridge. The amateur dramatics of wandering around in naff crimson-red outfits to symbolise ‘the common blood we share with all species’. That lame rave-style dancing they do as some bloke in an overlong beard plays the drums while his parents in the Home Counties wonder when he’s going to come to his senses and join his dad’s law firm.

It’s all so ridiculous. They fancy themselves as revolutionaries but really this is just Hampstead and Homerton, the posh and the hip, descending on Westminster for a few days to wail about how howwible modern society is. It’s primal therapy for crusties. It’s an emotional release for the modernity-sceptic middle classes. The temptation is to chortle at them, or shout ‘Get a job!’, as I did a couple of times in central London yesterday. 

And yet that isn’t enough.