Warmth

Today the first icy fingers of winter crept over the island. A cold front passed over us. Its rain was light, but somehow more saturating and penetrating, vindictive, than all that has gone before. The air is not yet truly cold, but it is edgy, unsettling, like a gangster concealing a blade; the sun is in hiding. We have hope that tomorrow will be bright and bracing, encouraging us out but, for tonight, a warm fireside and a hot mug have no competition

Today we passed the relics of past peat-cutting - once the only source of such comforts for many here, presumably. At home, we installed a wood-stove only seven years ago, seeking 'sustainability' - or warmth with an easier conscience - and we have used them for over 20 years. Now we know that we are suppliers (and, quite possibly, inhalers) of damaging particulates, worse than diesel cars (guilty again), the contemporary cousins of peat-burners

In the long term, I have confidence that we will get much of our energy from sources that are much less damaging to the future of life on earth - not least because these sources are already the cheapest and getting cheaper. But right now all our choices seem ringed about with compromise and guilt. Our childhood picture-books imprinted on us images of happy families gathered around roaring logs (or coals, or peat); but the ink has run and the colours have faded; the dreams have a dark edge. Our grandchildren must, and will, find new symbols of security and well-being. Our ways will become relics; a holiday diversion