The first piece in Simon Hoggart’s diary yesterday lambasts wind-farms. Much of his grumble is centred around a figure—that wind farms only work 20% of the time—that has little or no meaning. A house, isolated from the National Grid, might only run its generator for a few hours a day. So what? Is that good? Is that bad?
The figure of 20%—Hoggart actually quoted the 80% of the time when a windmill stands idle—means nothing without further elucidation. How efficient are they? How efficient are the alternatives? What collateral damage do all types of power generation inflict? Which do merely aesthetic damage, and which shit where the rest of us are trying to eat? Without more discussion, Hoggart is merely helping to weave a blanket of noise that the oil lobbies can wrap around their arguments: thin, pale and wan as such rationales are.
In his second diary entry he bemoans the ruin of Todpuddle, by a petrol garage emblazoned with enormous price signage that has been left idle for so long that it’s now falling to pieces and looks a mess. He wonders, how could petrol companies possibly have the power and influence to erect such an eyesore and then let it dilapidate until it be a hazard as well as an eyesore?
When are politicians and public going to work up the courage to tell these eco-fundamentalists to get lost?
Gosh, Simon. I wonder how the oil barons get away with it.