Way of the World Michael Deacon

The mood at SNP meetings must be pretty low just now. Even so, I’d love to have been a fly on the wall during the brainstorming session for Humza Yousaf ’s latest photo op.

“Right, guys, I’m announcing my plan to promote women’s rights. So for the photo I need some kind of visual metaphor that shows female voters how seriously I take them. Any ideas?”

“How about you hold up a nice, cute pink heart? That’s the kind of thing the girlies like, bless them.”

Sadly for the SNP leadership favourite, however, the resulting photo has gone down particularly badly with a woman no politician wants to upset. On Twitter, JK Rowling retorted: “What a lovely pink heart. Now tell us why you voted down the amendment to stop rapists being housed in women’s jails.”

Mr Yousaf should beware: this was only a warning shot. The truth is, no one did more than Ms Rowling to bring down Nicola Sturgeon – apart, perhaps, from Ms Sturgeon herself.

And if, as bookmakers expect, Mr Yousaf becomes Scotland’s new First Minister next week, Ms Rowling may well bring him down, too. At least, if he refuses to abandon his predecessor’s policy on gender self-id.

Surely, Ms Sturgeon’s downfall has taught him it’s political Kryptonite. Even Sir Keir Starmer is now tiptoeing anxiously away from the idea. Yet the SNP front-runner did pledge to take the UK Government to court to force self-id through.

Mr Yousaf has described himself as the SNP’S “continuity candidate”. I suspect he’s right. Continuity is exactly what he can provide – by causing another furious row over gender, and then resigning.

With the violence in France intensifying, the King has wisely agreed to postpone his visit. From a British viewpoint, the scenes across the

Channel are alarming. In a way, though, they’re also comical.

After all, we’re witnessing millions of French people send their own country up in flames – purely because they can’t bear the thought of having to work until they’re 64.

That, let’s not forget, is the reason for these nationwide protests and riots. The French are utterly scandalised by President Macron’s perfectly reasonable attempt to raise the lowest retirement age in Europe (which is currently just 62) by a paltry two years.

To put this into context: in Britain, the state pension age has never, at any time, been as low as 64 (for men, anyway). Yet it seems the French are so stupendously workshy, they’re ripping up their own homeland in outrage. I never thought I’d say this – but I feel genuinely sorry for Macron. Trying to govern that nation of strike-mad slackers must be a nightmare. I was going to say it’s like herding cats. But that would be unfair. Cats only sleep for 15 hours a day. So compared with the average Frenchman, they’re workaholics.

No doubt the French will say we’re just jealous. In Britain, the retirement age is 67. Which means that the French retire five whole years earlier than we do. But it gets worse. Because they also live two years longer than we do. Then again, I suppose it’s inevitable that our life expectancy would be lower than theirs. After all, our lives do tend to be more stressful, what with actually having to work for a living.

Poor old Macron has done his best to explain why the retirement age needs to go up. Already France spends almost 14 per cent of GDP on state pensions (in the UK it’s around 5.5 per cent). And the French population is rapidly ageing. Which means it’s going to get harder and harder for the state to fund the country’s gargantuan army of pensioners. Especially once its tourism industry has been destroyed by the stench of uncollected bin bags and burning boulangeries.

The only alternative to raising the retirement age would be to announce a massive rise in everyone’s taxes. But then they’d all riot over that, instead.

The latest eye-watering increase in the price of groceries is bad news for politicians. But not just because it will make voters unhappy.

It’s also because it will make politicians’ least favourite question even more embarrassing.

Since time immemorial, journalists on TV and radio have cunningly sought to catch politicians out by asking them: “What’s the price of a pint of milk?” The aim of the question, obviously, is to test whether the politician is in touch with the harsh realities of everyday life – or so rich and pampered that he hasn’t a clue. The tactic may be sly and cynical. But it routinely makes MPS squirm.

These days, though, it’s liable to make them squirm more than ever. The price of milk now goes up so often, even supermarket staff must struggle to remember what it is, let alone politicians. A Government minister could nip to the shops on his way to do the Today programme, just to check, and yet still get the answer wrong. Because, in the 20 minutes it’s taken him to get to the studio, the price will have shot up again.

The way things are going, there will be only one way for politicians to avoid embarrassment on air. During all live broadcast interviews, they’ll have to wear a special earpiece – so that an aide stationed in a supermarket can update them continuously with the latest price rises.

“Secretary of State, you claim that the Government is in touch with the concerns of ordinary families who are struggling with the cost of living. So prove it. How much is a pint of milk?”

“That’s easy, Nick. It’s 95p. Sorry, 98p. I mean £1.10. Forgive me, £3.75…”