282. Wind Turbines, Warming, and the Limits of Industrial Solutions

A recent article discussing a 2018 Harvard study has reignited debate about one of the central assumptions of modern climate policy – namely, that large-scale wind energy automatically reduces environmental harm.

The study, published in the academic journal Joule, argued that if the United States were powered predominantly by wind turbines, the turbines themselves would alter local climate conditions by mixing warmer upper air with cooler surface air, especially at night. The result, according to the study, would be measurable local surface warming.

The article presents this as a profound contradiction. If the purpose of decarbonisation is to reduce warming, what happens if one of the principal technologies used to achieve it creates warming of its own?

This issue deserves careful thought, because it reveals something much bigger than a dispute about wind turbines. It highlights the growing tension between industrial-scale technological solutions and the realities of the natural world.

The Harvard study did not say that wind turbines create new heat in the way greenhouse gases trap additional heat in the atmosphere. Instead, the turbines redistribute existing heat through turbulence. Large rotating blades disturb the natural layering of air, especially at night when the atmosphere is calmer. Warmer air from above is mixed downward, slightly raising surface temperatures near large wind installations.

The effect appears to be real and measurable at local scale. However, the way the findings are interpreted politically is another matter entirely.

Supporters of wind power argue that local temperature changes from turbines are fundamentally different from long-term global greenhouse warming.

Critics argue that ordinary people experience local conditions, not global averages, and therefore immediate warming near turbine concentrations matters greatly.

What is striking is not merely the scientific disagreement, but the scale of industrial intervention now being contemplated. Replacing fossil-fuel electricity entirely with wind would require an extraordinary transformation of landscapes. Vast areas of countryside would become energy production zones, filled with turbines, access roads, substations, transmission lines, maintenance systems, and backup infrastructure.

This is where the issue moves beyond climate science into the wider question of how industrial civilisation attempts to solve problems.

Modern societies increasingly assume that every difficulty can be overcome through another layer of technology, finance, regulation, and construction. Yet each solution creates additional complications which then require further solutions. Wind turbines reduce one category of emissions while introducing other effects involving land use, mineral extraction, intermittency, visual impact, ecological disturbance, grid instability, and now possibly local climatic alteration.

The deeper problem may not be wind itself, but scale.

Industrial societies always seek gigantic centralised systems because the entire financial and political structure depends upon continuous expansion.

Energy systems are expected to power endless economic growth, mass mobility, global supply chains, artificial intelligence, data centres, and ever-increasing consumption. Under those conditions, no energy source is ever sufficient for long.

This is why the debate often becomes polarised between supporters of fossil fuels, wind, solar, or nuclear power, when the more fundamental issue concerns the size and expectations of the economy itself.

If societies continue to attempt to maintain present levels of industrial consumption indefinitely, every energy source will face serious consequences.

Fossil fuels contribute to atmospheric carbon accumulation.

Wind requires enormous land transformation and industrial infrastructure.

Solar requires vast mining operations, transmission systems, and large areas of land coverage.

Nuclear introduces long-term waste management, security requirements, and extremely centralised political control.

None of these systems truly escapes the laws of nature. They merely redistribute pressures in different ways.

From the perspective of localism, the most important lesson may be that the future cannot simply be engineered through larger and more complex national systems. Instead, societies may gradually be forced toward lower-energy, more local, and less consumption-driven ways of living.

In such a future, the objective changes completely.

Instead of asking how to sustain infinite industrial growth with alternative energy, communities should begin to ask how to live well with less energy overall.

That change alters everything.

Smaller local economies require less transport.

Local food production reduces dependence on refrigerated global supply chains.

Repair replaces disposal.

Housing adapts to climate rather than depending entirely upon mechanical heating and cooling.

Daily life becomes physically closer to people’s homes.

Under those conditions, energy systems also become smaller, more diverse, and more adapted to locality rather than dominated by gigantic national infrastructures.

This does not necessarily mean wind turbines disappear entirely. Small-scale local generation may still have a role. But the industrial dream of covering whole continents with vast energy machinery begins to look increasingly like another temporary phase of late industrial civilisation rather than a permanent solution.

The Harvard study, therefore, matters less because it proves or disproves wind power and more because it exposes the unintended consequences that emerge whenever industrial society attempts to overpower natural limits with still larger technological systems.

The central issue may not be whether wind turbines warm the air slightly.

The central issue may be whether humanity is finally approaching the point where it must stop trying to sustain unlimited industrial expansion altogether.

278. Electricity and the Transition to Localism: How the Structure of the Grid May Shape the Structure of Society

It is often assumed that if the UK electricity grid became financially difficult to maintain, the result would be a sudden national blackout. That is very unlikely. But it is equally unrealistic to assume that the system could simply be reorganised from the centre if the financial economy itself weakened severely.

The more realistic conclusion is that the future of electricity supply cannot be predicted in detail. It depends too heavily on what remains operational in the financial system, transport, communications, and engineering support.

However, although the process cannot be predicted, the direction of change can be understood. Electricity is not just another service. It is one of the main structures that shape how society organises itself. Changes in electricity supply, therefore, help us see how the country might move gradually from a fully centralised industrial system toward a more locality-based one.

Electricity networks do not just support society. They help determine its scale.


Electricity networks reflect the economy they serve

In a growth-based industrial economy the objective of the electricity network is simple:

To supply everyone, everywhere, continuously

This assumption has shaped the design of the modern grid. It depends on:

stable finance
large contractor networks
complex control systems
national coordination
continuous maintenance
reliable fuel logistics

When those conditions exist, universal supply is practical.

But when those conditions weaken, the network’s objective changes. Infrastructure always adapts to the economy that supports it.

The question then becomes not whether electricity disappears, but what electricity networks are for.


The electricity system is not just engineering

It is easy to think of the grid as wires and power stations. In reality, it depends on the organisation.

It relies every day on:

credit
insurance
spare parts supply
telecommunications
software support
transport logistics
contractor availability
specialist engineers

If these weaken, the network weakens with them.

If they weaken severely, the system cannot simply be redesigned from the centre. Large infrastructure depends on management capacity as much as engineering capacity.


A national financial shock would affect the whole country at once

If the financial system weakened seriously, the effect on electricity supply would begin everywhere at roughly the same time.

Credit would tighten nationally.

Procurement systems would weaken nationally.

Contracting arrangements would fail nationally.

Maintenance capacity would reduce nationally.

So the change would not spread slowly from one region to another. It would begin everywhere.

However, the consequences would quickly become uneven.


Electricity cannot be reduced evenly across the country

The grid cannot simply be turned down like a dimmer switch across the whole nation.

Operators would have to concentrate effort where electricity supports the largest number of people and the most essential services. In practice this means protecting:

cities
water supply systems
hospitals
communications networks
railways
food distribution centres

This is not a political choice. It is a technical necessity.

Rural distribution would normally become less reliable first.


The network would simplify rather than reorganise

Modern electricity networks require high levels of coordination. Reorganising them deliberately would require functioning management systems, contractor networks, telecommunications, fuel supply, and finance.

These are exactly the systems most affected in financial disruption.

So the grid would not be redesigned in a planned way. Instead it would simplify itself.

Typically this means:

Maintenance concentrated where crews already exist
Complex switching arrangements reduced
Weaker circuits abandoned
Repairs are taking longer
Redundancy is gradually disappearing

The result is a patchwork system rather than a new design.


Electricity generation would also change

Different forms of generation depend on different kinds of support.

Gas generation depends heavily on fuel logistics.

Offshore wind depends heavily on specialist maintenance.

Biomass depends heavily on imports.

Nuclear depends heavily on national coordination.

Solar depends least on external systems.

Because these supporting structures would be affected differently, the exact sequence of change cannot be predicted. But the direction is clearer.

Generation would gradually become more local.


The objective of the electricity network would change

This is the most important shift.

Today the objective of the network is universal supply.

In a constrained economy the objective would become:

Reliable supply that supports the most essential activity

This produces a corridor system rather than a blanket system.

Electricity begins to behave more like the railway network before widespread car ownership. Railways connected towns, industry, and transport corridors. They did not attempt to reach every front door directly. Daily life organised itself around those routes.

Electricity networks could begin to play a similar role ⚡


Electricity corridors would shape settlement patterns

If electricity reliability is concentrated along major infrastructure routes, those routes become the framework in which economic life continues most easily.

Reliable supply supports:

water pumping
communications
rail movement
medical services
food storage
repair activity

Places within these corridors remain stable more easily.

Places outside them adapt differently.

Infrastructure shapes geography.


Local electricity becomes the branch network

If the national grid begins to behave like a corridor system, local electricity will play a role similar to that of branch lines.

Local supply might include:

rooftop solar
small wind systems
battery storage
farm electrical infrastructure
community buildings acting as supply anchors
backup generators
local electricians and workshops

These systems already exist across the country. They are normally hidden beneath the national grid because universal supply works so well.

If conditions change, this hidden layer becomes visible.

Electricity does not disappear. It becomes local 🌿


Local electricity supports everyday life

Even if national supply becomes selective, local electricity can support:

lighting
communications
refrigeration
workshop tools
medical equipment
small-scale food processing

These are the foundations of locality-level resilience.

Electricity shifts from supporting consumption everywhere to supporting essential activity locally.


The national grid would still matter

Even during severe disruption the national grid would not disappear completely.

Electricity would still be required for:

water supply
sewage treatment
hospitals
railways
communications
food logistics

The government would almost certainly protect these systems as far as possible.

The national grid would remain as a backbone.

But it would no longer be the whole system.


The relationship between national and local electricity would reverse

At present:

local systems support the national grid

In a constrained economy:

The national grid supports essential infrastructure
local systems support everyday life

This is a structural change rather than a technical failure.


The transition cannot be predicted in detail

The sequence of change depends heavily on what remains working in the financial system.

Possible influences include:

fuel distribution
contractor availability
telecommunications reliability
government coordination
engineering workforce stability
spare parts supply

Because these cannot be forecast reliably, the process must be understood step by step as it unfolds.

The direction is clearer than the timetable.


The transition is already beginning quietly

Many early signs are already visible across the country.

These include:

increasing rooftop solar installation
growing domestic battery storage
greater awareness of electricity use
alternative heating systems reducing grid demand
resilience planning for essential infrastructure
local electrical capability existing beneath the national system

Each of these developments looks ordinary on its own.

Together they indicate structural adaptation.

Transitions rarely announce themselves.

They appear through practical decisions made locally.


Electricity helps determine how society reorganises

Electricity availability shapes:

where people live
how far they travel
what work is possible
how food is stored
how medical care operates
how communication continues

For this reason electricity networks do not just respond to economic change.

They help shape it.


Electricity as a guide to the transition to localism

If the financial economy weakens, the structure of electricity supply becomes one of the clearest indicators of how society is reorganising.

A strong national backbone supports national coordination.

A corridor network supports corridor economies.

Local electricity supports local economies.

The future structure of electricity supply, therefore, helps reveal the future structure of society itself.

The process cannot be predicted precisely.

But the direction of travel is easier to see:

from universal central provision

Toward a layered system in which a reduced national backbone operates alongside growing locality-level electricity supporting everyday life closer to home ⚡🌿

271. Sustainability Is Not Sustainable

Why the Replacement of Renewables Reveals the Limits of the Energy Transition

Public discussion about the future of energy assumes that replacing fossil fuels with renewable technologies will create a sustainable system. Yet when we look carefully at the material reality of renewable infrastructure, a different picture emerges. The evidence suggests that the modern technological energy system, whether fossil-based or renewable-based, is not sustainable in the long term.

This matters because policy is currently being built on the assumption that sustainability can be achieved simply by changing energy sources. In reality, the problem is deeper than that.

Solar Panels: A Replacement Industry, Not a Permanent Solution

https://images.openai.com/static-rsc-4/xxcf5y3ZE-YmfNYRkgZ_k7SjP6LOTDxpdBvNi1lc0LgMqJ_zvSSPS9wiY_5uF6xRRNRK5PRdhJjXcfBdHf_xwWdkNdas8r_sRL-kR_225LhhBcsF2i8HbEkpxpJCaA8VSz6Q1RLWTId0Rzo8h5N4CkKUeE8Zpl_OPiRiMSA6P1Ndn8ny88mDlpe9YML5G8F4?purpose=fullsize
https://images.openai.com/static-rsc-4/ZnXcoY7DSFhG2IEWCKiTxs3WinAxTrdT4L0oc9LMtVXSqRDvm7kZVgDLisvTVgwpbiL6J3RXy_Rv4piz3laNbAD2Znqu-NGQm7W0hFEI2-E1NdTwga-Zuh_PErQAmAUlSdzott7VKFPoxkGVi5jvZKOkrMMchwzJkKr_bvTEY7z61GTPlhResk7yaWeSJuo8?purpose=fullsize

Solar panels are widely presented as clean, long-term energy infrastructure. However, they have productive lifetimes of around 25 to 30 years. After that period their output declines significantly and they must be replaced.

This means solar power is not a permanent installation. It is a rolling replacement programme.

International projections indicate that global solar panel waste could reach tens of millions of tonnes by mid-century. Some estimates suggest around 78 million tonnes by 2050. Annual solar e-waste alone could reach millions of tonnes each year by the 2030s.

Solar panels also contain heavy metals such as lead and cadmium. These materials can enter soil and groundwater if panels are not carefully processed. Recycling remains technically difficult and energy intensive.

What appears to be a clean energy technology is therefore also a future waste stream.

Wind Turbines: Large Machines with Large End-of-Life Problems

https://images.openai.com/static-rsc-4/Prgu8uH1AqkcvMHwIPee1lAdSB9I8ZGqYdgdg1IobkxvF4FjvTFJXbWd_g9y7lklZ4qMzUdZnHIy8yTgDyVLKPWOVu-AyHTgAE9D5JDA5Tr7c4MYpgJQV6rB6xEMkQ5ktPOmm7OMti1J4rknCinY3huNRJkjR7mDdLcJPz2KFxAJnLmOqowCwoKpTbunf5ib?purpose=fullsize
https://images.openai.com/static-rsc-4/YTzTW0X494jJVdiaf-2jHMlZFD9c8zhEtKnAk0W5Cx1AEos6lL4dTJB27urIuUVOuG9XbYIUYlhO-kZvEs9oT-brDPF6yYlIbMXqj45mtA-5Ar4E3zHXqHYxh1Vh18FF6ErhnSOXnIQwCuCQRrCPuCweX1ZE9LT-1LE0nfZ602gPtQgqQZIXc8ep0EgseokD?purpose=fullsize
https://images.openai.com/static-rsc-4/EbfUVa5LUH8f9eoXtWwSfwS5f2fd8qkAQIQ-7AvMouZfYbZC6CDolR-sxdBpWbcIe7H6O99wZK6qoaG55cH5aH5hVGJGgfPirecQY9EWTWccZN8B6fTnt17ZDydPNTJVgqEbK3rg3gZ5xh5jSptqVG41Op7zI42zuF-kSNn2qvdrDGSbFWkYte3lrn6za9RN?purpose=fullsize

8

Wind turbines face similar challenges.

Modern turbine blades can weigh up to 15 tonnes each. They are difficult to recycle because they are made from composite materials. In many cases they are currently shredded and mixed into concrete, or simply stored.

Even more significant are the reinforced concrete foundations and offshore installations. These require major energy inputs to construct and will require major energy inputs to remove.

Maintenance costs also increase as turbines age. Decommissioning costs are often underestimated in project economics.

Germany has already acknowledged the scale of this issue. Millions of tonnes of turbine blade material are expected to reach end of life without a clear recycling pathway.

Wind power therefore depends on continuous industrial replacement, not permanent infrastructure.

Heat Pumps: A Quiet Example of the Same Pattern

https://images.openai.com/static-rsc-4/QZqsM2DvZKrSeDdiOFd75wPBrLTW3t2AUlYwhNMGuneRydx3Aps016-Dd-z7IXwDgEqlQVG9sdO4fy8hVBO1BkgSFJ-BW3yaovu7hwJQLArrD_xkwOXLcLtpY2vP_6-itfzRWFa1SCq_eb5vcldI3G2RHIloASEFV20U6EntkbFQWC2WGCoZfFMdcFlMZ4DO?purpose=fullsize
https://images.openai.com/static-rsc-4/pmcLN97gTAbQl85jotnVjCo5L0_79ipFlXoMrhGrIcrOb9C8sgwxv5iCqAb0O6o8JSmri2xM3Il8_mWwZa9PTbY3lDkbzL2qr6arXWNieTbbtFFATBIZYlxhvrCDbdC6Mn2wqFYvftMm5MORk27CUsDX_FRHvZnMf12nAc6QJ87JRpajLWlqvX1zXkdKD2Xd?purpose=fullsize
https://images.openai.com/static-rsc-4/XsJmgTCTaUW_nKLYin2_9nHbIRRn7ZuCfxNSK_5TRFC6O21VQEzBiAZ1OAo1SWyXz9Arx-hWiW4IfTMTPPohAmE9CR2B0fgcXBimA9Uqu33nBdEicHL98VqtM-fQeZsKd_M1irPw4n_w4aCFuTTGDnWRYomZW3bC0w5lf54IKGka1R19kGj70T8c508nO6jR?purpose=fullsize

7

Heat pumps are another example.

They are currently being promoted as a key technology for domestic heating. Yet they are heavy industrial devices with compressors, electronics, refrigerants and metal components. Their expected service life is typically around two decades.

Our own experience illustrates the point clearly. A heat pump installed in 1998 required replacement after about 22 years. That was entirely normal performance.

Now imagine millions of homes installing heat pumps across the country. In 20 to 25 years these systems will also need replacement.

The energy system being built today therefore commits society to a large future wave of technological renewal.

Whether that renewal will be affordable in a contracting economy remains an open question.

Replacement Requires Energy

The key issue is often overlooked.

Renewable technologies do not replace themselves.

They must be mined, manufactured, transported, installed, maintained and eventually dismantled using large quantities of energy and materials. Much of this energy currently comes from fossil fuels.

In other words, renewables depend on the legacy energy system they are supposed to replace.

This creates a structural contradiction at the centre of current policy.

The Deeper Problem: Technology Itself Is Not Sustainable

The most important conclusion is not about solar panels or wind turbines alone.

It is about technology as it is commonly understood in modern industrial society.

Modern technology operates through cycles of extraction, production, installation, maintenance and replacement. Each stage requires energy and materials. Each stage produces waste.

There is therefore no such thing as permanently sustainable industrial technology.

What exists instead is a managed replacement cycle.

The present energy transition assumes that changing energy sources will make the system sustainable. In reality, the replacement cycle continues regardless of the energy source.

A Future Constraint That Is Rarely Discussed

There is another implication.

If future energy availability declines, the ability to maintain large technological systems may also decline.

At that point the challenge will not be how to expand renewable infrastructure, but how to replace it.

This possibility is rarely included in policy planning.

Yet it may prove decisive.

The Real Conclusion

The evidence from solar panels, wind turbines and heat pumps points toward a simple but uncomfortable truth.

The present energy transition is not moving society from an unsustainable system to a sustainable one.

It is moving society from one replacement-dependent system to another replacement-dependent system.

Recognising this does not weaken the case for renewables. It strengthens the case for realism.

If sustainability is to exist at all, it will not come from changing technologies alone. It will come from reducing dependence on large-scale replacement-based systems and strengthening smaller-scale, longer-lived local arrangements.

That is where the real transition still lies. 🌿

268. There Is No “Next Economy” If we ruin this one, well, then that was it

The Honest Sorcerer

The largest energy crisis in human history has exposed the extractive, wholly unsustainable nature of the Western / Chinese industrial ecosystem. Mining used to happen in poor global south countries using cheap oil, while metallization and part manufacturing was increasingly done in China, using cheap coal. Final product assembly then took place either in China, or somewhere closer to the market, where labor was cheap and easy to exploit. With the Iran war depriving the global south and the mining colony, Australia, of its energy (primarily diesel fuel) the whole extractive industrial ecosystem has come under threat.

Bad news is, that there is no next economy: so called “renewables” and batteries use the same raw materials and rely on the same processes as the old, fossil fuel economy. If anything the new, electrified economy has become even more reliant on oil than its “predecessor” ever was. No oil, no green energy either.  

There is no energy transition, no electrification, no green economy. It was all a ruse. A comfortable lie we told ourselves in case we were running out of oil, or had to stop using it to prevent climate change.

Now, with a war raging on in the most energy rich part of the world, rapidly worsening energy returns on investment elsewhere, mining and agriculture’s oil dependence being exposed and mineral depletion taking its toll on the industry, it’s virtually guaranteed that there won’t be any transition towards a technological utopia in the future either. Let’s take the cherished electric vehicle as an example. It should reduce oil demand, right? Wrong. Without oil not a single component of this pinnacle of technology could be produced.

Thus a reduction in oil production could not possibly lead to the widespread adaption of “new energy vehicles”—quite the opposite.

Let’s start with what electric cars are made out of. EVs contain 66 kg graphite, 53 kg copper, 40 kg nickel, 24 kg manganese, 13 kg cobalt, 9 kg lithium and .5 kg rare earths elements. None, I repeat, none of these metals could be mined, delivered, refined, then shaped into parts without fossil fuels. Not now, not next year, nor ever. Mining shovels and trucks extracting the ore consume diesel fuel by the gallon, a minute. Bulk carrier ships burn bunker fuel by the ton on their journey from a mine in Chile or Australia to China on the other side of the planet. Trucks, trains, barges delivering the ore to a smelter also need untold amounts of diesel fuel to operate. Smelters burn natural gas, coal, or use electricity made with coal. Intermittent power from solar panels won’t cut it.

The amount of work carried out by these engines and the scale of material transformation happening inside these factories simply do not allow for electrification to take place at scale. Take a look at what’s happening in the aluminum industry, for example. Aluminum, beside being a cheap raw material for cans, is also a prime structural material to electric vehicles. Used as alloys both in battery and chassis manufacturing saves weight and extends range due to its light weight and high strength. The process, through which it’s made is as follows: mined bauxite (the ore from which aluminum is made) → alumina (or aluminum-oxide: Al2O3), made using the Bayer process (caustic soda/heat) → pure aluminum ingots via electrolysis → making alloys (mixing in other metals, such as Magnesium) → casting, sheet metal forming, etc. → finished product or part.

Now, as it happens, 26% of all bauxite mined on the planet is produced in Australia. A continent sized country now struggling with a massive fuel crisis induced by a lack of oil transiting the Strait of Hormuz and being refined in Asian refineries. Should this little crisis last a few months longer, it’s not hard to imagine how the government down under would be pressed to prioritize diesel fuel for agriculture and food transportation purposes, as opposed to mining ores.

Oops, there goes a quarter of world aluminum supply, without which there are no more cheap frames for solar panels, or molded components for electric cars and their batteries. Australia is not only exporting raw bauxite, but processed alumina as well, from which smelters (elsewhere) can make pure aluminum directly. And why not in Australia?

Well, beyond not having enough domestic diesel supply, Australia is not having enough locally produced electricity either. And I mean stable, dispatchable baseload electricity, not fluctuating current from solar panels and wind turbines. You see it takes a lot of energy to convert alumina into pure aluminum, this is why smelters are located in places where fossil fuels are cheap—dirt cheap.

Like in China. And while Australia has coal, too, somehow they managed to convince themselves that it’s a much better idea to ship that fuel four thousand nautical miles (~8000 km) north¹ into China and burn it there.²

The other ideal location to make aluminum, where energy from fossil fuels is plentiful and cheap, is… Drum roll… The Middle East. Oh no!

In response to attacks on its steel plants back in March, Iran has struck two major aluminum production sites in the Middle East. Beside not being able to export their products through the Strait, their production capacities, too, have been hit. Emirates Global Aluminium, the region’s top producer, reported significant damage at its Abu Dhabi facility, while Aluminium Bahrain (Alba) said it was assessing the extent of the damage to its plant. Earlier in March, Alba had already shut down 19% of its 1.6 million ton annual capacity due to shipping disruptions in the Strait of Hormuz.

The Middle East accounts for 8-9% of global supply, thus the war raises the risk of a more acute supply squeeze. The image is a pie chart illustrating the distribution of global primary aluminium production in 2025, with the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) countries accounting for 8% of the total.

AI-generated content may be incorrect. Source: Kpler
But, wait, there is more! Australian bauxite is also a prime ore to extract Gallium from as a byproduct of making aluminum.
Gallium is an essential metal for many electric components and semiconductors (including solar panel cells) as well as parts built into radar stations, missiles and fighter jets. Now, since 98% of this metal is refined in China (a prime customer of Australian bauxite), a diesel crisis in the world’s largest producer of this ore means an imminent Gallium crisis as well.

Oops, there goes another chunk of the electrified economy—not to mention the metal’s military use… Is a total ban on exports coming?

Well, we shall find out soon. And it’s not just aluminum or gallium, but materials as simple as iron and steel as well, also used in electric cars.

Iran and Bahrain together accounted for roughly 18% of global seaborne iron pellet exports in 2025, and shipments from both producers are now at risk or have been taken out already. (Iran shared the second rank globally in the production of direct reduced iron and strontium in 2022.)

China is also indirectly affected, as its pellet imports from the Middle East and its steel exports to the region will both decline. Yet another second order effect of closing the Strait of Hormuz.

Graphite is yet another material which most people do not know where it comes from, although it can be found in almost all lithium batteries from phones to EVs. In fact, 66 kg of it is needed to build just one electric car. And while some of it is mined, reserves with the right purity and physical properties are hard to find—so it is manufactured instead. The vast majority (86% in 2024) of ultra high purity graphite was synthetically made, requiring a massive industrial footprint of fossil fuel feedstock and staggering amounts of electricity for high-heat furnaces.

In fact the raw material for making graphite is a byproduct of the oil refining process, specifically needle coke. Yes, one of the most vital components in a battery is literally baked oil, made in furnaces at temperatures exceeding 3,000°C for weeks at a time. I guess, I don’t have to explain at this point, where that coke is coming from, or how the closure of the Strait of Hormuz affects its availability. (Hint: not in a good way.)
Needle Coke Needle coke, characterized by its needle-like structure, low thermal expansion, and high electrical conductivity. Image credit: EastCarbon Lithium, the primary charge carrier in lithium-ion batteries, is also severely affected by the lack of fuel in Australia, as 49% of all lithium mined on the entire planet comes from there. Due to the inadequate supply of diesel fuel, the battery metal mining industry is also having to face disruptions. “Hard-rock lithium mining is likely to face fuel pressures,” Thomas Kavanagh from Argus Media explains, as “some of the largest lithium operations in the world, such as Greenbushes, Pilgangoora and Mt Marion, rely heavily on diesel for haulage, drilling and remote-site logistics, while electricity is primarily used for crushing, grinding and concentration.” So much for cheap EV-s. And yet, we still haven’t reached the bottom of the list yet.

There is more! Copper and silver production were already in a pretty bad shape before the war has started. (Click through the links to read a full analysis on these two metals.) In a nutshell: the IEA expected global mined copper supply to peak later this decade (at around 24 million tons) before falling noticeably to less than 19 million tons by 2035, as ore grades decline, reserves become depleted and mines are retired. Silver, 27% of which is a byproduct of copper mining, shares the same fate: declining ore grades, reserves becoming depleted and mines being retired. Mine output worldwide peaked in 2016 and global silver production was already projected to decline at an average rate of -0.9% year after year.

That is, both metals were on their deathbeds already. Who could’ve thought that you cannot expand production forever on a finite planet…?

Now enter the Hormuz-crisis choking off not only fuel, but sulfur supplies as well. Up until March, 2026 much of this yellow material was obtained by refining high-sulfur (sour) crude oil so abundant in the Persian Gulf. As much as 50 to 70 percent of sulfur produced on planet Earth used to come from Saudi Arabia, with much of it is turned into sulfuric acid by China, who then exported it into Chile (a top importer) so that it can be used in leaching copper ore and making copper concentrate.³ (Which is then exported to China, where it is refined into pure copper and used in manufacturing everything electric.)

We will now have to wait and see how long existing sulfur inventories last, and when they run out, how fast copper and a range of other material shortages take to develop… So much for peak copper production “later this decade.” If the crisis persists, global peak copper will happen this year already. And since mines themselves aren’t getting younger, once they are closed due to a lack of sulfuric acid, they won’t be reopened anytime soon.

a few vehicles in a quarry Copper mine. Image via Unsplash As you can see from the above, fossil fuels are not essential in transportation or generating electricity only, but in making just about anything: from cheap plastics (a derivative of oil) to ultra-high purity graphite, or from sulfuric acid to diesel fuel. The 20% loss of world supply is thus not just an issue of price, forcing people to commute less or pay more at the pump, but a body blow to the entire materials based supply chain from copper mines in Chile or bauxite mines in Australia, to international shipping, manufacturing and delivery. And that supply chain includes everything: from food to computers, or from solar panels to electric vehicles.

There is no energy transition, no electrification, no green economy. There is no “next economy” waiting in the wings either. There is just one economy: this one. And when it falters—either due to mineral depletion and peak production, or ecological disaster, perhaps due to climate change, or in this case war—that will be it. The ultimate risk the US-Israel coalition ran by starting a war on Iran was not one temporary shortage, nor a recession, or an increase in geopolitical premiums. It was the risk of starting a highly uneven, cascading collapse of an integrated commercial world order into a drastically simplified, shrinking shadow of a once globalized economy.

264. I asked ChatGPT what the UK Local Energy System will look like

Here is a realistic sketch of what a typical UK locality energy mix might look like by mid-century if three things happen together:

  • fossil fuel availability declines
  • global supply chains become less reliable
  • the economy shifts from growth to maintenance and adaptation

This is not a prediction. It is a maintainability model — what is most likely to keep working rather than what is easiest to install today.


1. The biggest change: energy demand falls before supply stabilises

The first adjustment is not technological. It is structural.

Energy demand falls because:

  • fewer imports
  • less long-distance travel
  • smaller manufacturing sector
  • reduced discretionary consumption
  • more local production
  • fewer energy-intensive services

So the future system does not need to replace today’s national consumption level.

Instead, it supports:

homes
food production
local transport
essential services
repair trades
small workshops


2. A realistic locality electricity mix

A typical locality might draw electricity from a combination like this:

Rooftop solar – the backbone of local daytime supply

Already widely installed and easy to maintain.

Likely uses:

  • direct household consumption first
  • small shared storage second
  • limited export to local networks

Over time:

inverters become the limiting component rather than panels.


Small onshore wind – the winter stabiliser

Solar is weak in winter.

Small wind fills that gap.

Typical roles:

  • farms
  • workshops
  • community systems
  • edge-of-settlement installations

Winter wind becomes extremely valuable as heating electrifies gradually.


Micro-hydro – the hidden long-life contributor

Where geography allows, hydro becomes one of the most reliable sources:

  • continuous output
  • long lifespan
  • low maintenance
  • mechanically simple

Some systems could run for generations.


Legacy large wind farms – partial continuing contribution

Existing infrastructure does not disappear overnight.

Instead:

some turbines remain operating
some are refurbished
some are abandoned

Their contribution gradually declines but remains useful for decades.


3. Heat becomes more local than electricity

Heat dominates UK energy demand.

The locality mix likely includes:

Managed woodland

Supports:

  • domestic heating
  • small workshops
  • food processing
  • drying crops
  • charcoal production

Wood fuel becomes strategic rather than decorative.


Heat pumps where buildings allow them

Most effective in:

  • newer homes
  • insulated homes
  • shared systems
  • community installations

Less effective in older rural housing without insulation upgrades.


Solar thermal (often overlooked but important)

Very durable technology.

Useful for:

  • hot water
  • summer heating loads
  • reducing electricity demand

Lower complexity than PV systems.


4. Transport energy shifts from national to local scale

Future locality transport energy probably looks like:

walking
mobility scooters
electric bicycles
shared small EVs
electric buses on key routes

Private long-distance EV ownership becomes less common than today’s expectations assume.

Rail remains important where it already exists.


5. Storage becomes smaller and more distributed

Instead of large national battery systems:

expect more:

hot water tanks
thermal storage
gravity storage
small shared batteries
vehicle-to-home electricity use

Storage shifts from industrial infrastructure to household infrastructure.


6. The electricity grid becomes simpler, not larger

Today’s planning assumes grid expansion.

A contraction scenario suggests:

shorter distribution routes
stronger local balancing
less long-distance transmission
more neighbourhood-level coordination

The grid becomes more like a network of local systems joined together, rather than one fully centralised machine.


7. What a mid-century locality energy pattern might look like in practice

A typical locality might rely on something like:

summer electricity mostly solar
winter electricity mostly wind
continuous contribution from hydro where available
heat largely from wood + heat pumps
transport mostly electric but shorter range
storage mostly thermal rather than chemical

National infrastructure still exists, but local reliability matters more than national optimisation.


8. The most important shift: maintenance replaces expansion 🔧

The defining feature of the future system is not technology choice.

It is this:

energy systems are designed to last longer, be repaired locally, and replaced less often

That change alone reshapes:

skills
employment
settlement patterns
woodland management
building standards
local workshops
community cooperation

It is exactly the sort of transition your wider work on the emerging local economy has been anticipating.

261. Things Fall Apart

“The centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world…”

Steve Keen

Mar 29, 2026

I’ll cut to the chase. The Trump-Epstein-Netanyahu War could cause more deaths than any war in history, including World War II. This will not be via its direct casualties, but via deaths caused by its economic and agricultural consequences across the planet. For someone who exalts in superlatives, Trump may be responsible for causing more deaths than any previous tyrant in human history.

Help overcome the delusions of conventional wisdom by sharing this post

Share

This is because the world economic system resembles Trump himself: its self-image is one of robust power, but its inner nature is one of incredible fragility. One month ago, many people would not even have heard of the Strait of Hormuz—which Trump, in his bravado, has just referred to as “the Strait of Trump”. Now everyone knows where it is—if not precisely why it matters. We are about to learn the hard way, via the consequences of cutting off this vital artery in the global economy’s circulatory system.

This should have been common knowledge. But, just like Trump himself, our understanding of the global economy is based on an elaborate set of delusions. I am looking forward to the howls from mainstream “Neoclassical” economists when they hear that I blame most of those delusions on them.

Neoclassical economics has always lulled us into a false sense of security by its asinine assumption that most industries are “competitive”, as they define competition. A “competitive” industry, according to Neoclassical economics, is one in which there are a multitude of producers producing a homogeneous product. This definition is doubly delusional: most industries are dominated by a small number of very large firms; and all products are highly differentiated.

In the Neoclassical world, taking out a few producers would have only a trivial impact on total production, because there are thousands—millions!—of producers, and every producer’s output is a perfect substitute for all other producers’ output. In the real world, most industries are dominated by a handful of large firms, and one firm’s output cannot be easily substituted for another.

We are now finding this out the hard way in the TEN War: Venezuelan oil cannot replace oil from the Persian Gulf, and the key facilities which have been damaged—such as Qatar’s LNG processing plants—can only be repaired by a handful of companies.

Worse, those repairs will take years, whereas the canonical “supply and demand diagram” of Neoclassical economists completely ignores time. In the Neoclassical world, if you want to produce higher output, just increase the price and, hey presto, you move up the supply curve and produce a higher quantity.

In the real world, if you are 25 percent below the desired level of output of LNG—as the world is now, with not only the wartime destruction Qatar’s plants, but also the impact of tropical cyclone Narelle on Australia’s LNG plants—then it will take several years to move up that “supply curve”.

Neoclassical economics has also become an even worse guide to reality as time has gone on. Today, it is today almost totally divorced from the production system of the planet. But had this war been proposed in 1976 rather than 2026, Neoclassical Economists would have been much more aware of the disastrous impact of closing the Strait of Hormuz.

Fifty years ago, mainstream economics used what they called “Computable General Equilibrium” (CGE) models to represent our systems of production and distribution. Today, the dominant models are called “Dynamic Stochastic General Equilibrium” (DSGE). Mainstream economists are convinced that DSGE models are far more scientific than their CGE predecessors. In fact, they are far more delusional.

CGE models used what are called “Input-Output Matrices” to describe the production process. Rather like a cookbook which shows the ingredients needed to create many different meals, these matrices were arrays of numbers which showed how many units of commodities were needed to produce other commodities.

DSGE models have replaced this with a fantastical single equation (the “Cobb-Douglas Production Function”, as it’s known), which shows a single number—“Gross Domestic Product”—being produced by “Factors of Production”: Labour and Machinery alone (multiplied by what they call “Total Factor Productivity”). Labour and Machinery go into factories, and goods and services out the other end.

Neoclassical economists from 1976 would have been aware that cutting off the supply of some commodities would have flow-on effects on the output of all other commodities, because of the recipe nature of input-output matrices. Modern Neoclassical economists, however, are ignorant of the dependence of GDP on a huge range of commodity inputs, let alone on products from the natural world, like energy and raw materials.

Foremost here is energy, because every production process in the real world needs energy. As I put it in a 2019 paper, “labour without energy is a corpse, while capital without energy is a sculpture” (Keen, Ayres, and Standish 2019, p. 41). Absolutely nothing can be produced without energy.

Unfortunately, not only do Neoclassical economists normally ignore energy, but also when they do consider it, they trivialize its impact. One of the few Neoclassical papers to make an empirical prediction of the impact of a decline in energy inputs asserted that, according to the “Cobb-Douglas Production Function”, “a drop in energy supply of … 10% … reduces production by … 0.4%” (Bachmann et al. 2022).

In fact, the relationship between energy and GDP is effectively 1 for 1: a 10% fall in energy causes a 10% fall in GDP, and vice-versa.

The fall in GDP from a fall in energy from the Strait of Hormuz is bad enough. But the fall in food output from the fall in fertilizer passing through the Strait is potentially far worse. Economists are unaware of the manner in which food is produced, and because they are, so is the general public. We don’t realise how dependent our food production is on petroleum and its by-products.

Fertilizer is created via the Haber-Bosch process, which takes inputs of natural gas (let’s call it by its real name: methane, or CH4), water, and atmospheric nitrogen, and produces ammonia (NH3), from which fertilizers like Urea are produced. Without this process, the carrying capacity of the planet would be about half the world’s current population.

Something of the order of 1/3rd of the world’s fertilizer output passes through the Strait of Hormuz—and because of the TED War, it is currently not passing through.

There is also a timing issue with fertilizer production. It has to be available when crops are planted; if it doesn’t arrive in time, then it can’t be added later. That raises the very real prospect of food output falling well below the level needed to keep everyone on the planet alive.

Historically, famines have affected Third World countries. This famine could affect First World ones, because if anything, food production in the USA and Europe is more dependent on fertilizer inputs than food production in Africa, Asia and Latin America.

Survival will depend on grain reserves. China has of the order of 18 months in reserve, which will insulate it from the disruptions of 2026. The USA and India have substantial reserves as well, but some countries—including the UK—have virtually none. Australia produces 5 times as much grain as it consumes, but its stocks would cover domestic consumption for less than a month.

If the worst comes to pass—if fertiliser supplies don’t reach farms in time—then food output outside the USA could fall well short of what is needed to keep the entire population alive. Famines will ensue, and even countries that have never experienced such events could be forced into food rationing. This includes the UK and Australia, and a patchwork of countries across Europe.

Other critical products that normally pass through the Strait of Hormuz include Helium, which is critical to the production of semiconductors, and sulphuric acid, which is critical to numerous production processes. The closure of the Strait cuts off one third of global helium output and about half of global sulphuric acid output.

With critical industrial inputs cut as well, the problems will cascade well past food alone—though that is clearly the most damaging impact. With LNG, petroleum, helium and sulphuric acid production cut, the capacity to undertake repairs to damaged facilities will also be hindered.

The TED War is rather like smashing a spider’s web—and then killing the spider. Spider’s silk is actually surprising strong: it is five times stronger than an equivalent width of steel. But if you smash it from the side, and then kill the spider, it goes from an effective means to catch insects to a useless mess of tangled fibre. That is what this War is doing to the production and distribution system of the planet. Hence the title of this post, which is taken from one of the great poems, “The Second Coming” by Yeats.

Fittingly, this powerful poem refers to Christian religious fantasies as well: “the Second Coming” and the birthplace of Christ, Bethlehem. But unlike the Christian Zionist fantasies that are part of why Americans fell for this foolish War in the first place, the creature born is not The Lord, but chaos:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere,
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

259. Rethinking Sustainable Development: Hot Water in a Post-Industrial World

Much of what is currently called sustainable development is not truly sustainable. Many modern solutions depend on a complex industrial system that may not last indefinitely. Heat pumps, photovoltaic panels, advanced electronics and digital control systems all rely on global manufacturing, rare materials, specialist maintenance and international supply chains. If the industrial system that supports them weakens or contracts, these technologies may become impossible to repair or replace.

A different test must judge true sustainability. A technology is sustainable only if future generations, using mainly local materials and modest tools, could continue to build and maintain it. In other words, the system must survive even when the complex industry fades.

Hot water is a good example of the challenge. Every household needs it for washing and hygiene. The question, therefore, becomes: what kind of hot water system could continue to work in a simpler, more local economy?

Principles of a Truly Sustainable System

A sustainable hot water system for the long future would need several qualities.

First, it must rely on natural energy flows that will always exist, such as sunlight or wood.

Second, it must be mechanically simple, with few parts that can break.

Third, it must be repairable with basic tools and local materials such as wood, clay, brick, copper or steel.

Fourth, it should work without electronics, pumps or complex control systems.

These principles suggest a very different approach from modern industrial devices.

The Passive Solar Water Wall

One possible design is a passive solar water wall.

Imagine the south-facing wall of a house. On the outside of that wall is mounted a simple panel made from dark metal sheets or blackened copper pipes. Behind the pipes is insulation made from clay, wool or straw. A sheet of glass or clear plastic covers the front to trap solar heat.

Water slowly circulates through the pipes and into an insulated storage tank inside the house. Circulation occurs naturally by gravity through a process called thermosiphon. When water in the panel warms in sunlight, it becomes lighter and rises into the tank. Cooler water from the tank flows down to the panel for reheating.

Because the system relies on natural convection, it requires no pump or electricity.

The main parts are simple:

  • metal pipes or channels
  • a storage tank
  • a glass cover
  • insulation
  • two connecting pipes

All of these could be made or repaired locally for centuries.

Winter Backup Using Wood

In northern climates, sunlight is weaker in winter. A sustainable system, therefore, needs a second source of heat.

A simple solution is to connect the water tank to a wood-heated stove or range. Many traditional stoves already heated water through a metal coil or small boiler. When the stove is used for cooking or heating the room, some of the heat automatically warms the water.

Wood can be harvested from local coppice woodland, a renewable system used in Britain for many centuries. Managed woodland produces a continuous supply of fuel without destroying the forest.

The result is a dual system:

  • Solar heating during sunny months
  • Wood heating during darker winter periods

The Masonry Storage Tank

Another improvement would be to store hot water in a large insulated masonry tank built into the house structure. The tank could be lined with clay, lime plaster or metal. Thick insulation around it would keep the water warm for long periods.

Because the tank holds a large volume of water, it acts as a thermal storage device. One sunny day can provide hot water for several days afterwards.

Longevity

Such a system has remarkable durability.

Solar panels of this kind can last for decades and are easy to repair. Pipes can be replaced individually, and glass covers can be swapped if broken. The tank and basic plumbing could last for generations.

Most importantly, none of the components requires advanced industry or electronic control.

A village blacksmith, plumber or metalworker could maintain the system indefinitely.

A Different Meaning of Sustainable Development

Seen in this way, sustainable development is not mainly about high technology. It is about designing systems that continue to function when societies become simpler and more local.

The aim is resilience rather than technical sophistication.

A passive solar water wall combined with wood heating is only one possible design. Many variations could exist. But the key lesson remains the same: sustainability must be measured not by modern efficiency alone, but by the ability of future communities to build and maintain the system using local skills and materials.

That is the kind of technology that can genuinely endure.

254. Rethinking Sustainable Development: Hot Water in a Post-Industrial World

Much of what is currently called sustainable development is not truly sustainable. Many modern solutions depend on a complex industrial system that may not last indefinitely. Heat pumps, photovoltaic panels, advanced electronics and digital control systems all rely on global manufacturing, rare materials, specialist maintenance and international supply chains. If the industrial system that supports them weakens or contracts, these technologies may become impossible to repair or replace.

True sustainability must be judged by a different test. A technology is sustainable only if future generations, using mainly local materials and modest tools, could continue to build and maintain it. In other words, the system must survive even when complex industry fades.

Hot water is a good example of the challenge. Every household needs it for washing and hygiene. The question therefore becomes: what kind of hot water system could continue working in a simpler, more local economy?

Principles of a Truly Sustainable System

A sustainable hot water system for the long future would need several qualities.

First, it must rely on natural energy flows that will always exist, such as sunlight or wood.
Second, it must be mechanically simple, with few parts that can break.
Third, it must be repairable with basic tools and local materials such as wood, clay, brick, copper or steel.
Fourth, it should work without electronics, pumps or complex control systems.

These principles suggest a very different approach from modern industrial devices.

The Passive Solar Water Wall

One possible design is what might be called a passive solar water wall.

Imagine the south-facing wall of a house. On the outside of that wall is mounted a simple panel made from dark metal sheets or blackened copper pipes. Behind the pipes is insulation made from clay, wool or straw. A sheet of glass or clear plastic covers the front to trap heat from the sun.

Water slowly circulates through the pipes and into an insulated storage tank inside the house. The circulation happens naturally by gravity through a process called thermosiphon. When water in the panel warms in sunlight it becomes lighter and rises into the tank. Cooler water from the tank flows down to the panel to be heated again.

Because the system relies on natural convection, it needs no pump and no electricity.

The main parts are simple:

  • metal pipes or channels
  • a storage tank
  • a glass cover
  • insulation
  • two connecting pipes

All of these could be made or repaired locally for centuries.

Winter Backup Using Wood

In northern climates sunlight is weaker in winter. A sustainable system therefore needs a second source of heat.

A simple solution is to connect the water tank to a wood-heated stove or range. Many traditional stoves already heated water through a metal coil or small boiler. When the stove is used for cooking or heating the room, some of the heat automatically warms the water.

Wood can be harvested from local coppice woodland, a renewable system used in Britain for many centuries. Managed woodland produces a continuous supply of fuel without destroying the forest.

The result is a dual system:

  • solar heating during sunny months
  • wood heating during darker winter periods

The Masonry Storage Tank

Another improvement would be to store hot water in a large insulated masonry tank built into the house structure. The tank could be lined with clay, lime plaster or metal. Thick insulation around it would allow the water to stay warm for long periods.

Because the tank holds a large volume of water, it acts as thermal storage. One sunny day can provide hot water for several days afterwards.

Longevity

Such a system has remarkable durability.

Solar panels of this kind can last for decades and are easy to repair. Pipes can be replaced individually. Glass covers can be swapped if broken. The tank and basic plumbing could last for generations.

Most importantly, none of the components require advanced industry or electronic control.

A village blacksmith, plumber or metalworker could maintain the system indefinitely.

A Different Meaning of Sustainable Development

Seen in this way, sustainable development is not mainly about high technology. It is about designing systems that continue to function when societies become simpler and more local.

The aim is resilience rather than technical sophistication.

A passive solar water wall combined with wood heating is only one possible design. Many variations could exist. But the key lesson remains the same: sustainability must be measured not by modern efficiency alone, but by the ability of future communities to build and maintain the system using local skills and materials.

That is the kind of technology that can genuinely endure.

250. Britain’s energy security – what the Iran war reveals and the lessons that should be learned

Professor Sir Dieter Helm

9 March, 2026

Dieter Helm is Professor of Economic Policy at the University of Oxford and Fellow in Economics at New College, Oxford

It takes a crisis to reveal the underlying state of Britain’s energy insecurity, and its defence. By now we should be basking in the success of “getting out of gas”. We do after all have a lot of renewables. These, we have been told, are nine times cheaper than gas. We don’t have much nuclear left, and we have got out of coal, so all our bets are in the renewables basket. We should be well on our way now to being a “clean-energy superpower”, relying on “home-grown energy” that should be bringing down energy bills by the now legendary £300.

None of this is so far realised. Britain has the highest industrial power prices in the industrial world, so no other country is looking to it to see how they could emulate it. On the contrary, everyone else wants to work out how Britain has ended up in such an unenviable position. We turn out to be utterly reliant on foreign supply chains for the renewables and the transmission and batteries needed to deal with all this intermittent generation. It turns out that we already need twice the capacity (120GW and counting), twice the grid, and all the batteries and storage, plus lots more interconnectors to service a firm-power demand peak of 45GW – which we used to meet comfortably with just 60GW of capacity.

Having got out of coal, and betting on intermittent low-density and geographically distributed renewables, it turns out that we have become more rather than less dependent on gas for our energy security. Iran’s interruption of its LNG gas shipments out of the Strait of Hormuz and the attacks on Qatar reveal how threadbare Britain’s energy security actually is. Why, given we don’t buy LNG from Qatar? Why do we seem to be worse hit than China, Japan, India, South Korea and Taiwan, all of which buy a lot of gas from Qatar? And why, given we have very little dependency on Gulf oil, compared with China (40% of all its oil coming through the Strait of Hormuz), India (15%), and Japan and South Korea (12% each)?

China, India and Japan have little gas or oil. China and India have lots of coal, with China burning more than 55% of all the world’s coal (!), and building another 400GW of coal generation capacity – all firm power, as against China’s wind (at around 24% load factor) and solar (at around 20% load factor).

Britain should be in a much better position. It has oil and gas reserves in the North Sea, and Norway nearby to provide over 30% of Britain’s gas, and it has good wind flows in the North Sea too. It is not in the league of the world’s energy superpower: the US. The US is by far the world’s largest oil producer, and its shale gas has translated it from what was supposed to be a major importer of Qatar LNG to first self-sufficiency from its shale gas, and in the last ten years it has become the world’s greatest LNG exporter. Ten years ago, it did not export gas; 20 years ago, the shale revolution had not got going.

Why, then, is Britain in such an energy mess? Part of the answer is its gas policies. Put aside the simplistic slogans about getting out of gas, and recognise that Britain will be dependent on gas for at least another couple of decades and probably more. Because of the energy mix that has been chosen (no coal, a fast decline of nuclear, and lots and lots of intermittent renewables), it will need gas to guarantee firm electricity supplies.

Whatever the political rhetoric from the Department for Energy Security and Net Zero, this is a reality. It is even clear in the scenarios of the National Electricity System Operator (NESO). It turns out that gas is critical to the renewables policies. It is not renewables instead of gas; it is renewables and gas. Energy security depends upon it, just as it depends on all those foreign supply chains of critical minerals and especially rare earths, and on all the solar panels and wind turbines made in China and elsewhere. If the Iran war has displayed that the emperor of the clean-energy superpower has no clothes, wait to see what happens if and when China invades Taiwan.

It turns out that our energy policies have not just weakened our energy security; it is much worse, they have undermined our defence. Why? Because they have undermined our defence industries and have also exposed us to having our energy supplies adversely hit by cutting the many interconnectors we now need to keep the lights on.

On the former, high energy prices have led to a cascade of exits from energy-intensive industries, and in short order. Gone is Grangemouth, a refinery in Scotland, one in Hull, most of the steel industry, the fertiliser industry, and the fibreglass industry. Our ability to produce the petrochemicals and refined fuels is now more dependent on imports. We don’t have our own steel in the volumes and of the quality we would need for a rapid militarisation.

On the latter, it is hard to think of a way to make Britain more vulnerable to a hostile power. Let’s call it Russia. One pipeline is responsible for 30% of our gas supplies (from Norway). We have virtually no gas storage. The cables are obvious sitting ducks for cutting. The North Sea wind farms are perfect targets for swarms of drones, the new weapon of choice in aggressive attacks. And for all this we have perhaps one boat that patrols all this offshore infrastructure.

A proper defence policy would ensure that the defence supply chain has a lot of home-grown industrial support. It might even look to provide long-term energy pricing at competitive costs. It would have a navy capable of policing and defending its offshore infrastructure. Sadly, none of this is in good shape.

Back home, the central pillar of energy policy should be security. It is no good being “green” if you cannot defend your country. In the British case, a central piece should be a gas security policy, not bleating on and on about “getting out of gas”. We need gas and we will go on needing it for a long time to come. It is essential in the renewables strategy. It is not fossil fuels versus renewables. The reality is that it is both and it is going to continue to be both.

What should a gas policy look like? It has several parts: securing sufficient gas supplies; having enough storage to withstand shocks; providing an economic framework for gas generation of electricity that takes account of the impact on intermittency from wind and solar on the demand for gas-generated electricity; and a defence force capable of protecting the offshore gas infrastructure. Britain fails on all of them.

Let’s start with gas supplies. Since we are going to burn lots of gas for a long time to come, why would it be sensible to close off the development of Britain’s own North Sea gas reserves, and penalise existing production with extremely high taxes? No other country in the world is following Britain’s “leadership” on all this. Why is it sensible to instead rely as a consequence on Norway and LNG cargoes from the US instead?

The anti-North Sea oil and gas approach is best regarded as a mix of ideology and expediency. The ideology stems from the remarkable simplicity of the idea that Britain can continue as a major world economy relying overwhelmingly on wind and solar, and the hope of further nuclear in due course. Not coal like China and India, not coal and gas like the US. The aim appears to be the first country to be overwhelmingly based upon renewables and as quickly as possible. It is a piece of progressive ideology with little evidence to support it and little environmental benefit. It is one hell of a bet, and it is one that increases emissions by using at the margin the much more polluting US shale-based LNG over North Sea pipeline gas.

The expediency arises because of the desperate fiscal position Britain has got into. It needs the money, and hence it can justify higher taxes.

The consequence of these North Sea policies – higher taxes, banning new licences – is both immediate and medium-term. It is immediate because it tells the North Sea oil and gas companies they are not welcome (as, indeed, leading politicians have told them to their faces). These companies see much better prospects elsewhere. Lots of countries are boosting their oil and gas production. Why spend at the margin on maintaining existing assets when the government is so hostile to their very existence. Time for them to look elsewhere – as indeed they are already doing.

Instead of securing our gas supplies, we become dependent on the US LNG at the margin. That is what minsters mean when they talk of being exposed to world prices. Right now in the midst of the Iran war, the US is in a great bargaining position. Everyone wants cargoes of US LNG, and in the Far East they are willing to pay top dollar for them. Britain is not top of the pile, and US companies will be mindful of the rapid deterioration of the “special relationship”. Hence the price to Britain goes up.

If instead we looked to the North Sea to provide a medium-term secure supply, the opposite policies would be the better way of proceeding. Start with asking what long-term take-or-pay contracts could be struck in return for the development of newer fields, and the continuation of production from declining fields. Tie that long-term contract price to industrial energy costs, notably for critical energy-intensive industries, and especially those necessary for the defence supply chain. Companies could have fixed-price electricity supplies, and oil and gas companies could have the security of contracts to finance their investments.

Next up is storage. Britain has very little, and for a good historical reason. In the “old days” of the “bad old British Gas”, Britain insisted that British continental shelf gas production should be landed in Britain and sold under contract to British Gas. These contracts allowed British Gas to flex its gas-take, treating the gas wells as in effect storage sites to be drawn upon as needed. It therefore did not need much storage. Germany, by contrast, has built large-scale storage, with up to three months of supplies. Britain has a few days at best. Hence the criticality of those US LNG cargoes now.

In Britain, energy storage issues are very much to the fore when it comes to renewables. The government backs pumped-hydro storage, and it is active in promoting grid-supporting batteries. But on gas it is silent. Even the Rough storage facility is under pressure. In the “bad old days”, there were big seasonal swings. Hence a gas storage facility could be filled cheaply in summer, and then sold down at higher prices in winter. The economics of renewables with zero marginal costs and the rapid decline of energy-intensive industries have undermined this. Hence the commercial case for storage has collapsed. The result is that just when we need storage, we will have almost none.

The commercial impact of renewables has one further blow for gas. Conventionally a new gas station was built and initially run flat-out, recovering its capital costs, and only later moved up the merit order to become more flexible in use. This commercial case has been turned on its head. Why? Because renewables always run when they can (when the wind blows and the sun shines). They are paid a contract-for-difference (CfD) fixed price (even if the power is not needed), and hence the fact that their marginal costs are zero does not impact on their revenues – but it does on the gas power stations. When the wind blows and the sun shines enough, the wholesale price of electricity collapses and the gas power stations cannot recover even their gas supply costs. At other times, when the wind does not blow and the sun does not shine, the wholesale price shoots up and the gas power stations are needed to generate.

The result is that the intermittency of wind and solar renders the gas power stations intermittent too (and this is true for nuclear too). The consequences for the economics of a gas power station are dire. It does not know how much gas it will need and when, and it cannot contract on any basis other than “on demand”. The result is that there is little or no incentive to build new ones, and an increased incentive to close existing ones earlier.

The implication for gas policies is that if the gas is needed for security of supply and to maintain firm electricity power supplies, then it will need contracts. It is not just wind and solar that need government-backed contracts. There needs to be a strategic gas reserve, and gas power stations need to be paid to be available whether or not they are used. They could have a formal regulated asset base (RAB), like Sizewell and the electricity networks, or a capacity contract tailored to their peculiar circumstance driven by the intermittency of wind and solar.

And there we have the energy security policies. North Sea gas supplies from the British sector as well as Norway, long-term contracts for new supplies, industrial electricity contracts for energy-intensive industries – notably in the defence sector – backed by gas longer-term contracts, investment in storage, and a strategic gas generation reserve, to which is added a North Sea defence capability to protect the Norwegian gas pipeline and to ensure that the electricity interconnectors are protected from attacks by Russia or others.

None of this is anti-renewables, or against addressing climate change. Indeed, it is essential to both. The climate change agenda will not survive if the lights go out, or if security is undermined. Without gas, the energy mix will be subject to great volatility and much higher costs. Net zero and high prices have already proved difficult bedfellows.

Which brings us back to Iran and the Iranian war. One aspect of energy markets which our political leaders seem incapable of understanding is that a shock is not the same as a trend. It was a mistake made when Russia invaded Ukraine. Gas prices spiked, and politicians ranted on and on about the future of high and volatile gas prices. They are not the first to make this sort of mistake. When oil prices peaked after the Iranian Revolution back in 1979, politicians convinced themselves that the price of oil would go ever upwards, and even convinced themselves of the nonsense of peak oil. They repeated the error as oil prices peaked in late 2014.

What they forget to mention (or even notice) was that what went up came down again. After the Iranian Revolution by the mid-1980s oil prices were back down to $10/barrel and stayed there for the rest of the century, with one blip – the First Gulf War, when they went up to $30/barrel and then fell quickly back to $10/barrel. By the late 1990s, The Economist ran a front page cover asking whether oil companies could survive $9/barrel oil. After Russia invaded Ukraine the gas price fell back. By early 2026, it was 90% lower than its peak, and it had fallen 40% in 2025. The current shocks in this Iranian war are not trends, whatever the hysteria in the press. Price going up is a response to supply shocks as the market way to ration the supplies. Those without other contracted options from core supplies (like China and India with Russia) or without storage are desperate and pay top dollar. They cannot deplete storage they don’t have and wait and see, or look elsewhere.

After a shock, the reaction is typically to take more precautions against future shocks. No doubt lots of gas importers will be increasing their storage and diversifying their supplies. They will want to maximise their own production if they have it. The result is more resilience and the price falls. This time, the great gamble on the Gulf and the Strait of Hormuz may greatly weaken the market power of the Gulf States. Iran, too, might start to ramp up its production, as will probably Iraq and Saudi Arabia.

Markets work after a lag. For all the alarmism in the short term (and it might be tough), the consequence of the shock now is probably lower oil and gas prices in the future. The Gulf is not the monopoly it once was. The US once desperately needed Gulf oil, as Jimmy Carter found out. Now the US does not need Gulf oil or gas. The world needs US oil and gas. It is the energy superpower now. Britain should take note. It has made itself more energy insecure and dependent on the US.

238. They Were Never Going to Scale

Embracing Appropriate Technology in a Contracting World

Ludovic Viger

That one simple sentence cuts through decades of hype like a knife: THEY WERE NEVER GOING TO SCALE.

It was the quiet warning from the Appropriate Technology (AT) movement—the one the mainstream green energy narrative did quadruple backflips to ignore. Vast solar farms, towering wind turbines, gigafactories churning out batteries—they promised endless clean power on an industrial scale.

But physics, geology, and economics had other plans. As we hit 2026, the verdict is in: globalist green tech was never going to replace fossil fuels at the level required to maintain an infinite-growth economy.

The Wall of Physical Reality

The math simply doesn’t track. To swap our current energy base for industrial renewables, we require a “Great Mining” of rare earths and minerals that don’t multiply on demand. As we move to lower-grade ores in politically unstable regions, the Energy Return on Investment (EROI)—the actual “profit” of energy we get back after spending energy to build the tech—is plummeting.

Add to this the 35% spikes in battery costs due to recent trade tariffs, and the “cheap energy” dream has curdled into a protectionist nightmare.


The Liberation of Limits

This isn’t defeatist. It’s liberating.

THEY WERE NEVER GOING TO SCALE frees us from the myth that salvation lies in bigger, faster, more centralized tech controlled by distant corporations. It reminds us that chasing “scale” often chains us to fragile global networks and bureaucracies that fail the moment a shipping lane is blocked or a mineral cartel raises prices.

Instead, we can turn to technology that is small, adaptable, and human-scaled. This is the philosophy of E.F. Schumacher’s Small Is Beautiful. It’s not about rejecting progress; it’s about choosing progress that serves people and place, not abstract GDP metrics.

What is “Appropriate Technology”?

Schumacher argued for “intermediate technology”—tools more effective than traditional methods but far simpler and cheaper than high-tech industrial solutions.

The AT Manifesto:

  • Repairable: Fixed locally with local tools.
  • Capital-Saving: Prioritizes human ingenuity over massive debt.
  • Resilient: Works when the global “Just-in-Time” supply chain breaks.
  • Nonviolent: Low impact on the Earth’s finite resources.

Think biogas digesters from farm waste, hand-built solar cookers, or passive solar designs that heat homes without a single circuit board. These are technologies with a human face.

Share


Contraction vs. Collapse

We are entering an era of economic contraction. Resource peaks and debt burdens mean endless growth is off the table. But contraction isn’t collapse if we prepare.

In a world of “Efficiency,” systems are optimized to be lean, which makes them incredibly fragile. One disruption cascades into a total shutdown. Appropriate Technology embraces “Redundancy” and “Simplicity.”

The Complexity Trap

Joseph Tainter’s The Collapse of Complex Societies warns that societies eventually invest in so many layers of bureaucracy and tech that they reach “diminishing returns.” We spend more energy maintaining the system than we get out of it.

AT counters this by simplifying:

  • A community-owned windmill solves a need without a billion-dollar investment.
  • A backyard biogas setup turns waste into fuel without a global pipeline.
  • A hand-cranked grain mill works when the grid is down.

When the giants stumble, the small and the simple remain standing.


The Cooperative Engine

How do we deploy this tech without falling back into corporate traps? Through Cooperatives.

Worker-owned models align technology with local needs rather than shareholder returns. In contraction, co-ops buffer shocks: when markets falter, members prioritize livelihoods over dividends.

  • L’Atelier Paysan (France): This cooperative designs open-source farm tools with farmers, ensuring tech remains a tool for the worker, not a shackle.
  • The Mondragon Model: In the Basque region, large-scale cooperatives prove that we can have sophisticated industry while keeping benefits circulating locally.
  • Energy Collectives: Across the globe, neighborhoods are installing “micro-grids”—rooftop solar kits and micro-hydro owned collectively—to power homes without feeding the corporate beast.

The Script Has Flipped

The mainstream ignored this wisdom because it didn’t offer a way to get rich quick. But in 2026, getting “resilient” is the new getting “rich.”

THEY WERE NEVER GOING TO SCALE isn’t a counsel of despair. It’s an invitation to reclaim your agency. Free from scalability myths, we escape dependence on fragile megastructures. We build what we can maintain, and we own what we use.

How to start:

  1. Audit your tech: What do you own that you can actually fix?
  2. Join a “Library of Things”: Tool-sharing co-ops reduce the need for everyone to own a resource-heavy machine.
  3. Invest in Low-Tech: Support local energy collectives or experiment with passive solar heating.

Small is still beautiful—and in a contracting world, it might be our only way forward.

233. Is Centralisation to Blame for Britain’s High Construction Costs?

Sam Dumitriu Feb 3

Fact 1: Britain is an extremely expensive place to build just about any kind of infrastructure.

Britain is currently building both the world’s most expensive nuclear power station and the world’s most expensive high speed railway line. British tram projects cost on average twice more than the average European tramway and three and a half times more than the average German tramway. The planning application for the Lower Thames Crossing (a road tunnel between Kent and Essex) cost more to produce than it cost Norway to build the world’s longest road tunnel and the world’s deepest subsea tunnel combined.

Fact 2: Britain is an extremely centralised country. Local leaders in Britain lack the power to independently approve or fund (via local taxes) new transport infrastructure.

To obtain permission to build new transport infrastructure, English local authorities must submit a planning application (Transport Works Act Order/TWAO) to the Department for Transport. In the case of a recent one mile tram extension, it took four years from submission to approval for the West Midlands Combined Authority (WMCA) to obtain the TWAO.

To fund projects, cities and regions submit bids to the Department for Transport, who in close collaboration with the Treasury, decide whether or not to fund projects from general taxation. By contrast, Dijon (France) was able to plan, approve, fund, and build a 12 mile tram network in just 4 years. The project was funded via a local payroll tax on large employers (the Versement Transport). On a per-mile basis, the West Midlands project cost six times more than the Dijon project.

***

Is the latter (centralisation) to blame for the former (high infrastructure costs)? Alon Levy of the Transit Costs Project (TCP) doesn’t think so. In a recent blog, they argue that while there may be good reasons to devolve power, Britain’s centralisation isn’t the driver for Britain’s high infrastructure costs.

For those unaware, Alon Levy and the TCP have been extremely influential in highlighting the massive disparity in infrastructure construction costs between the Anglosphere and the rest of the world. The TCP has produced a number of country-specific deep dives into infrastructure construction. Readers can skim the Sweden, Italy and Istanbul studies to find out what works, or read the Boston and New York studies to find out what doesn’t. For those looking for even more lessons on what not to do, there will soon also be a UK study, covering Crossrail, the Northern Line Extension, and the DLR.

Levy’s key takeaway from this, as yet unpublished, UK study is that Britain’s infrastructure cost problems are not the result of excessive centralisation, but rather down to the gradual adoption of what Levy dubs the ‘globalised approach’. In essence, Britain, like other Anglosphere countries, outsources almost everything. Low-cost countries like Sweden and Italy maintain a core of engineering expertise within the state and complex projects are designed in-house then put out to tender. Britain, by contrast, is heavily reliant on private-sector consultants to design projects and public tenders bundle up design and construction. When projects finish in Britain, teams disband. Lessons learnt are lost. By contrast, the Swedish engineers who designed the Citybanan (a crossrail-style tunnel through Stockholm connecting up commuter rail lines) moved on to designing Nya Tunnelbanan (a massive expansion of the city’s metro system).

Levy points out that Italy can build cheaply (far cheaper than Britain) despite high levels of centralisation. What sets Italy apart is the deep banks of engineering knowledge within the state – knowledge that the British state can only access when it hires consultants at high cost (and at a severe informational disadvantage). It should be noted Levy concedes that Italian centralisation does differ in one key way: Britain relies on ministerial approvals while Italy lets civil servants with expertise in engineering get on with it.

***

My view is slightly different. I am persuaded that Levy is right that success is less about whether power is held centrally or locally and more about whether there is a clear programme of construction with in-house engineering expertise retained across projects, limited use of consultants and flexibility for builders to make changes . There is good evidence, for instance, that when the best engineers retire subsequent infrastructure projects are more expensive. However, I still think centralisation is an important part of the story. Let me explain.

I have argued before that while the direct costs of regulation, such as the requirement to build a £120m bat tunnel (a tenth of a percent of HS2’s total budget), are insufficient to explain why British infrastructure is so expensive to build, regulation is still a major cost-driver via an indirect route.

What matters for cost reduction is ultimately the ability to retain expertise between projects, to build supply-chains that spread fixed-costs over multiple projects, and to innovate in construction and design. The problem is regulation undermines all of these proven cost-reducers. In the case of nuclear, safety regulations force frequent design changes between projects undermining learning-by-doing. While a long drawn-out and uncertain planning process (plus the threat of judicial review) mean that investments in supply chains become incredibly risky – workers and equipment may sit idle for years between projects.

So why might centralisation be an issue? Because it exacerbates the planning and regulatory problems that drive costs increases.

In Britain, local authorities have every incentive to block new development and little incentive to say yes. New homes put pressure on public services and infrastructure. In some parts of the world, new development also brings a new cash flow. A $500,000 (£400,000) home in Houston generates around $9,000 (£7,200) in annual property tax revenue. Council tax in England is far lower, a home of equivalent value might bring in just £2,200 a year, roughly a third as much. And in Britain, councils have fewer freedoms to spend that revenue on their priorities – most of that £2,200 will go on statutory services like social care.

Britain’s most significant tax on housing is Stamp Duty, which flows directly to HM Treasury (and not to the local authority). Business Rates, which apply to commercial development, are only partially retained. Outside of special areas, local authorities only receive half of the revenue raised from business property taxes on new development. And funding formulas for local government often change for redistributive ends. Put simply, the fiscal incentives to approve development in Britain are extremely weak.

Some argue that the way to overcome local opposition to development is shifting decision making up a level. Labour’s re-imposition of housing targets and California’s Builders’ Remedy (where places that fail to build are forced to approve new homes) are two examples of this approach. The Nationally Significant Infrastructure Project system, where planning approval for major transport and energy projects is decided on by independent central experts (and not the areas affected) is another.

The problem is that nationalising planning policy doesn’t eliminate anti-development energy. It redirects it. The most effective way to stop unwanted development locally may not be to oppose it directly, but to lobby for national rules that make all types of development harder.

Want to stop new homes being built on farmland near the edge of your town? Lobby for a stronger green belt that blocks homes being built on farmland on the edge of every town. Want to stop a new motorway that might shift traffic to your area? Campaign for tougher nature protections that apply equally to motorways in Kent, trams in West Yorkshire, and nuclear power stations in Somerset. Anti-pylon activists in East Anglia are some of the strongest defenders of the National Landscapes duty, which blocked a station car park expansion in Essex, created problems for airport expansion in Bedfordshire, and delayed housebuilding in Kent.

And if you are a Government minister who wants to repeal a law that makes it easy to sue developers or a law that mandates extensive consultation, be prepared to fight a coalition of people opposed to motorways in Kent, homes in Hampshire, and nuclear power stations in Somerset who would have little in common other than opposing development near them.

Not every development is unpopular, but even popular developments have to comply with regulations and requirements designed to stop unpopular developments. There are few environmental wins more clear-cut than taking cars off the road and replacing them with trams. Trams are good for air quality, cut carbon emissions, and reduce noise. They are also popular. Poll after poll shows high levels of support for a tram in Leeds. Yet the same environmental bureaucracy built-up to delay and block more controversial types of development is also holding up popular new green infrastructure. Over 5,000 environmental surveys have been carried out for the now-delayed Leeds tram.

In other words, the incentive mismatch caused by Britain’s excessive centralisation has not only prompted the creation of tools to stop controversial development, but also created the crud that makes it hard to build almost anything.

This incentive mismatch is not the only driver of the growth of planning and environmental red-tape. People support environmental regulation in part because they sincerely want to protect the environment. Post-Grenfell fire safety rules make it much harder to build new residential towers, but they were adopted out of a genuine concern for safety. Planners genuinely believe that the planning restrictions they advocate around light, outdoor space, height, and so on, do create more ‘liveable’ places. Yet centralisation matters here too. If local authorities depend on new development for revenue, they would have a strong incentive to push back on excessive restrictions on building. There would be a political cost to regulatory growth. The problem is for many opponents and veto-players, the trade-off for greater environmental protection/fire safety (less development) is a feature not a bug.

France’s rapid nuclear buildout is sometimes understood as a triumph of the state overriding local objections. Tony Benn was famously told by a French official that ‘when you drain a swamp, you don’t consult the frogs’. Sizewell C by contrast had 7 separate consultations in 8 years. Yet there’s another side to the story. France’s tax system, which levied taxes on business structures (a bit like business rates), meant that areas which hosted nuclear power stations benefitted massively financially. Alex Chalmers notes that “French councils paid an average of €35 in subsidies … per local resident. In the 19 areas that hosted nuclear power, the average was €450.” This may be why support for France’s nuclear programme remained strong even in the wake of disasters like Chernobyl.

It is a world away from the incentives in Britain. Hinkley Point C’s community benefit package of £128m over 40 years works out to roughly £6 per Somerset resident per year. Britain’s tax on business structures provides much weaker incentives to approve development: councils retain only 50% of the rates they raise locally, face levies of up to 50% on ‘disproportionate’ growth, and see gains redistributed nationally based on ‘needs’ at regular intervals. Unlike in France, Hinkley Point C’s rates windfall will not lead to local tax cuts visible on every household bill.

There are other ways centralisation creates problems in Britain. Transport projects are typically funded out of national pots. There is a separation between who pays, who benefits and who approves. If a project is over-budget or gold-plated in various ways, locals don’t bear the burden. Londoners are not paying £4bn more in tax because Crossrail was £4bn over-budget. Instead, the costs are spread across the whole country. This can happen, as it did with HS2, but when a project has sufficient momentum behind it, it becomes a prime opportunity to get pet projects funded.

Britain’s planning system contains multiple veto points where public bodies who have, at best, weak incentives for projects to be delivered cost-effectively can cause significant delay (and in some cases, kill projects all together).

When Crossrail was being planned, Tower Hamlets Council submitted a list of 96 objections. After extensive negotiation Crossrail were able to resolve the dispute – by accepting 94 of them – though the Council came back with even more. Due to the length of Crossrail, this process was repeated for 15 other councils. In some cases, redesigns in response to objections (the Fire Brigade requested eight large emergency evacuation shafts across Central London) were themselves redesigned (read: cancelled) in response to objections from boroughs.

221. Can the Grid Carry the Power We Are Planning to Generate?

https://www.enr.com/ext/resources/2022/09/01/Hornsea-2.PNG?height=418&t=1662166168&width=800
https://www.nationalgrid.com/sites/default/files/styles/content_embedded_image/public/images/Electricity%20Transmission%20map.jpg?itok=ufeVLjGG
https://www.nationalgrid.com/sites/default/files/images/National%20Grid%20VIP%20Peak%20District%20iii.jpg

The UK’s electricity strategy assumes a rapid expansion of offshore wind. In energy policy terms this looks logical. The resource is large, domestic, and low-carbon. Renewables already provide a substantial share of national power, and offshore wind capacity is set to grow sharply over the next decade.

But futurists increasingly ask a different question. Not how much electricity can be generated, but whether the national system can carry it, store it, and rely on it when conditions change.

Carrying Offshore Wind Power Inland

Offshore wind is mostly generated far from where electricity is used. Large volumes of power must be brought ashore and then transmitted across the country. This places enormous strain on the high-voltage transmission system operated by National Grid.

Futurists point out three structural problems.

First, grid capacity is already constrained. Many offshore wind projects are ready to generate but cannot connect because transmission upgrades are years behind. Queue backlogs now stretch well into the 2030s.

Second, the grid was never designed for this pattern of flow. It evolved around centralised power stations located close to industrial demand. Offshore wind reverses that logic, pushing large, intermittent surges of electricity into a system that must then move it long distances.

Third, public resistance is growing. New pylons, substations and overhead lines cut through countryside and settlements. Planning objections are not a side issue – they are becoming a binding constraint.

From a futurist perspective, the problem is not engineering alone. It is social and political capacity to keep expanding a national system indefinitely.


The Hard Reality of Windless and Sunless Days

A deeper concern lies in the weather itself.

The UK regularly experiences winter high-pressure systems that bring days, sometimes weeks, of cold, still air. These are precisely the moments when electricity demand rises sharply, while wind output collapses.

Solar contributes little at this time. Batteries help only briefly. Long-duration storage at national scale remains limited and costly.

Futurists therefore stress that the issue is not average annual generation, but system reliability during prolonged lulls. These conditions are not rare anomalies. They are recurring features of the British climate.

This creates a growing tension. The more the system relies on weather-dependent generation, the more complex and expensive it becomes to guarantee supply during unfavourable conditions.


Can the Grid Expansion Be Funded?

Official plans assume massive investment in new transmission lines, offshore connections, substations, and reinforcement of local distribution networks.

The question futurists increasingly ask is simple. Who pays?

Grid expansion costs run into tens of billions of pounds. These costs ultimately fall on electricity consumers through higher bills, or on the state through borrowing and subsidy. Both routes assume continued economic growth and political consent.

In a future shaped by:

  • stagnant or contracting real incomes
  • rising public debt
  • declining discretionary spending

the assumption that society can endlessly fund large, capital-intensive national infrastructure becomes fragile.

Futurists argue that there is a growing mismatch between industrial-era infrastructure ambitions and the economic reality of a society moving into long-term contraction.


Localism as a Structural Alternative

This is where localism enters the discussion, not as ideology but as system design.

Rather than forcing ever more electricity through an increasingly stressed national grid, futurists suggest a gradual shift toward local energy systems.

These include:

  • local wind and solar used close to where it is generated
  • small-scale storage tied to communities rather than the national system
  • demand adapted to local supply conditions rather than the other way round

Under localism, the grid still exists, but it becomes a supporting network, not the single point of failure on which everything depends.

Local systems are inherently more resilient. When national supply tightens, local generation and reduced demand soften the impact. When failures occur, they are smaller, slower, and easier to manage.

From a futurist viewpoint, this mirrors wider economic trends. As national systems struggle with scale, cost and complexity, informal and local arrangements expand naturally.


A Change in Expectations

The deeper shift is cultural.

For decades, the assumption has been that electricity will always be available, instantly, everywhere, regardless of weather or cost. Futurists increasingly question whether this expectation itself belongs to the era of cheap fossil energy.

In a constrained future, electricity becomes something that is:

  • more variable
  • more locally managed
  • more closely matched to essential needs

Localism does not promise unlimited power. It promises adaptation.


The Bottom Line

Futurists are not arguing that offshore wind is a mistake. They are arguing that building generation faster than the system can carry, store and socially accept it creates new vulnerabilities.

They question whether:

  • the national grid can expand at the required pace
  • the funding model is sustainable in a shrinking economy
  • reliance on weather-dependent generation can be made fully reliable at national scale

Many conclude that the long-term answer does not lie in ever-larger national systems, but in a gradual shift toward locality-based energy, reduced expectations, and resilience through simplicity.

In that sense, localism is not a retreat. It is an adaptation to physical, economic and social limits that are becoming increasingly hard to ignore.


207. Energy Surplus, and the Evolution of Power: Roman Britain, Localism and Globalism

The history of the United Kingdom can be seen as an economy which grew and shrank and grew again, and so on, driven by rising and falling energy surpluses.

After Rome: Energy Collapse and Political Fragmentation (5th–9th centuries)

When Roman rule ended in Britain in the early fifth century, the collapse was not only political.  It was energetic and economic.

Roman governance depended on surplus extracted from agriculture and trade, enforced through taxation, roads, towns, and paid officials.  When that surplus disappeared, the system could not be maintained.

Energy surplus is the extra energy left after people have met their basic needs.  It is what allows societies to build, travel, govern, trade, and create things beyond survival.

Small surpluses come from human effort, animal power, food, wood, and water.  These support local economies and simple administration.

Large surpluses come from fossil fuels.  These support cities, extended supply chains, national governments, and global trade.

When energy surplus grows, economies expand.  When it shrinks, economies simplify and become more local again.

Britain then became fragmented into small, autonomous kingdoms.  Governance shrank to the scale permitted by available energy.  Power could only operate where it could be exercised directly.  Authority depended on walking distance, personal loyalty, and local knowledge.

Economic life became intensely local.  Energy came almost entirely from human labour, animal traction, and local biomass.

Local Biomass is:
Wood used for fuel, charcoal, and construction
Crop residues such as straw
Grasses and fodder grown to feed animals
Animals themselves as a source of energy
Human food energy produced from local agriculture

In a low-energy economy, almost all usable energy comes from biomass.  People eat locally grown food.  Animals eat local fodder.  Firewood is gathered nearby.  Materials are grown or harvested close to where they are used.

Biomass is limited by land and time.  You cannot extract more wood or food than the local landscape can regenerate.  That natural limit keeps economies small, local, and seasonal.  It also prevents long-distance centralisation, because energy cannot be moved cheaply.

Long-distance transport was expensive and unreliable.  Under these conditions, central administration was impossible.  Survival depended on proximity.

This was not disorder.  It was governance resized to fit a low-energy economy.

The Emergence of Local Administration: Shires, Hundreds, and Wapentakes (9th–11th centuries)

As agricultural output slowly improved, a modest surplus returned.

This allowed more structured local administration to emerge, particularly under later Anglo-Saxon rule.

England developed shires, later known as counties, as broad administrative areas.  Within them were hundreds, or in areas of former Danelaw influence, wapentakes.  The difference in name reflected legal custom rather than function.  Both were units of local governance designed to operate within strict energy limits.

Hundreds and wapentakes were not bureaucracies.  They were assemblies.  They handled justice, land disputes, obligations, and local order.  Courts met at regular intervals.  Attendance was personal.  Decisions relied on reputation, oath, and community enforcement.

These systems existed for practical reasons.  Travel had to be possible within a day.  Administration had to be cheap.  Authority had to be visible.  Justice had to be embedded in daily life.

Later, during the era of a national monarch, royal power was thin.  Sheriffs represented the crown, but relied heavily on local cooperation.  Governance was layered rather than centralised.

  • Norman Rule: Central Authority Built on Local Foundations (11th–13th centuries)

The Norman Conquest did not abolish counties, hundreds, or wapentakes.  It took them over.

The Normans imposed a new ruling elite, but relied on existing local administrative structures.  What changed was the direction of extraction and control.  Land was redistributed.  Obligations were formalised.  Written records became more important.

In this context, extraction does not mean only the physical removal of resources such as minerals or fuel.  It refers more broadly to the organised removal of surplus from where it is produced to where it is controlled.  This includes food, labour, energy, rent, taxes, and later money and profit.  Centralised systems depend on this process.  When surplus can no longer be extracted without damaging local viability, those systems weaken, and local forms of organisation reassert themselves.

The Domesday survey illustrates the shift to written records.  It was possible only because surplus and administrative capacity had grown enough to support a nationwide audit.  Yet the information gathered remained grounded in local knowledge.

This period marks the beginning of systematic centralisation.  Local courts remained active, but royal courts expanded.  Money replaced payment in kind.  Law became more uniform.

Central authority grew because it could now be afforded.

Growth, Energy, and the Limits of Medieval Centralisation (13th–15th centuries)

As water power spread and farming intensified, surplus increased further.  Towns expanded.  Cathedrals, castles, and manor houses multiplied.  Governance became more formal and more distant.

Yet this system remained fragile.  When surplus collapsed in the fourteenth century due to famine and plague, central enforcement weakened.  Labour shortages undermined manorial control.  Large houses became unaffordable.  Obligations loosened.

Local autonomy increased again.  Informal arrangements replaced rigid rules.  Authority drifted back toward locality, not through reform, but through necessity.

This pattern is essential.  Centralisation advanced only while surplus allowed it.  When surplus fell, local systems resurfaced.

Fossil Fuels and the National Bureaucratic State (18th–19th centuries)

The Industrial Revolution transformed the scale of economic and administrative life.  Fossil fuels release vast quantities of stored energy.  Coal allowed work to be concentrated, multiplied, and transported.  Production no longer depended on land, season, or muscle.

This new energy regime generated an unprecedented surplus.  Factories expanded.  Cities grew rapidly.  Transport improved.  Administration scaled up.  Permanent salaried officials became normal.  Authority could now be exercised reliably nationwide.

Counties and local courts were not abolished, but they were absorbed into a national hierarchy.  Local discretion narrowed.  Uniform rules replaced local judgment.  Governance became more distant because energy allowed it to be.

This period also saw the consolidation of the national monarchy and state.  Taxation systems expanded.  Law became increasingly standardised.  The costs of administration could be met because the surplus was abundant.

An Interlude: Railways as a Surplus Warning Signal

The nineteenth-century railway boom and bust reveal a crucial aspect of this phase of expansion.

Railways were made possible by coal.  Without fossil energy, rails, locomotives, steel production, and large-scale earthworks would have been inconceivable.  Coal powered not only the trains, but the financial and industrial systems that built them.  This sudden abundance of usable energy created a national surplus.

That surplus sought outlets.  Railways appeared to offer certainty, profit, and permanence.  Investment surged.  Lines were promoted far beyond immediate need.  Routes duplicated one another.  Some ran through sparsely populated areas with little long-term demand.

This was not irrational behaviour.  It was what surplus looks like when it is abundant and searching for expression.  Energy abundance encouraged confidence.  Financial systems amplified it.

The collapse that followed was not a failure of the railways themselves.  It was a correction in scale.  Capital had outrun underlying economic reality.  What survived was a smaller, more viable network.  What disappeared were speculative extensions that surplus had briefly made possible.

Railways also enabled a new level of administrative centralisation.  Distance collapsed.  Officials, goods, and information could move quickly and cheaply.  National governance became practical in ways it had never been before.  Local systems were increasingly subordinated, not because they failed, but because energy allowed authority to operate at scale.

Later contraction made the limits visible again.  Branch lines closed.  Rural connections disappeared.  The network retreated toward routes that still justified their energy and maintenance costs.  This was not merely a policy choice.  It was surplus reality asserting itself.

From Managed Centralisation to Global Overreach (Late 19th–20th centuries)

After the railway corrections, centralisation continued in a more managed form.  Infrastructure was treated as essential rather than speculative.  The national state deepened its role in welfare, planning, policing, and regulation.

Oil later extended this trajectory.  Energy became more flexible and mobile.  Cars, aviation, suburban living, and global supply chains expanded.  Economic life stretched far beyond local and even national boundaries.

Globalism was not an ideological project at first.  It was an energy condition.  Cheap fuel made distance irrelevant.  Supply chains lengthened.  Local production declined.  Authority moved further away from daily life.

The national state reached its greatest scale during this period because surplus allowed it to do so.

The Present Transition: Shrinking Surplus and Administrative Strain (21st century)

That condition is now weakening.  Energy still exists, but net energy is lower.  Costs rise.  Surplus shrinks.

Central systems strain under their own weight.  Enforcement weakens.  Services falter.  Global supply chains prove fragile and expensive.

As always, discretionary systems fail first.  Long commutes, non-essential retail, and high-energy lifestyles contract.  Large homes become burdens.  Inequality changes shape as complexity becomes costly.

At the same time, local systems re-emerge.  Food growing.  Repair.  Informal care.  Shared resources.  These are often described as social trends, but they are energy adaptations.

Why Counties, Hundreds, and Wapentakes Worked, and Why Something Like Them May Return

Counties, hundreds, and wapentakes worked because they respected three constraints.

They matched travel limits.
They minimised administrative cost.
They combined functions locally.

They were not designed.  They evolved.

Modern equivalents will not look medieval.  But they are likely to share key characteristics.  They will be small enough for people to recognise one another, large enough to pool skills and resources, and able to resolve routine matters without escalation.

They will handle practical issues first.  Care.  Maintenance.  Local resources.  Disputes.  They will gain authority through usefulness rather than legislation.

Digital tools may support them, but they will remain place-based.  Trust cannot be centralised.

From National Monarchy and Globalism to Local Autonomy

Historically, political scale follows energy scale.  Fragmented kingdoms emerged when energy was local.  National monarchies grew when surplus allowed centralisation.  Globalism followed fossil energy abundance.

As surplus declines, authority drifts back toward locality.  The national monarchy and state may persist symbolically, but practical power shifts downward.

This does not require collapse.  It requires adjustment.

Local systems will not announce themselves as replacements.  They will simply become the places where things still work.

A Note on Extraction

Extraction does not mean only mining or taking physical resources out of the ground.  It means the organised removal of surplus from where it is produced to where it is controlled.

Here is a clear breakdown.

At its simplest, extraction is the process by which energy, labour, or output produced locally is taken away from local use and redirected elsewhere.  That “elsewhere” might be a lord, a king, a state, an empire, or a global system.

In Roman Britain, extraction meant taxes in grain, goods, and money.  Agricultural surplus was removed from farms to feed armies, towns, and administrators.  Labour was also extracted through conscription and obligation.  Without this extraction, Roman administration could not exist.

In the medieval period, extraction took the form of rents, tithes, labour services, and fines.  Peasants produced food locally, but a portion was claimed by landlords, the church, or the crown.  That surplus funded manor houses, castles, and officials.  The key point is that production happened locally, but control of surplus did not.

Under the manorial system, extraction was often physical and visible.  Grain stored in a lord’s barn.  Days of labour owed.  Animals taken as rent.  The system functioned only while there was enough surplus to be extracted without collapsing production.

With the rise of national states, extraction became more abstract.  Taxes were paid in money rather than goods.  Surplus was converted into revenue.  That revenue funded bureaucracies, courts, and wars.  The mechanism changed, but the principle remained the same.

In the fossil-fuel era, extraction expanded again.  It included not only taxation, but wages, profits, interest, and resource flows.  Energy extracted from coal and oil fields was converted into economic surplus, which was then extracted again through markets and finance to support distant systems, global supply chains, and large institutions.

In the present context, extraction also includes the removal of local resilience.  When food, energy, care, and production are organised at a distance, localities lose control over their own surplus.  They become dependent on systems that extract value upward or outward, often invisibly.

So extraction is a recurring pattern:

Local production
followed by
the removal of surplus
to sustain larger, more distant structures

This is why extraction and centralisation go hand in hand.  Extraction requires surplus.  Central systems exist to organise and enforce it.  When surplus shrinks, extraction becomes harder.  Central authority weakens.  Localism re-emerges because less can be taken away without breaking the system.

Conclusion: Administration is an Energy System

Administration consumes energy.  Governance requires surplus.  When surplus expands, power centralises.  When surplus contracts, power localises.

The history of counties, hundreds, and wapentakes shows that local governance is not primitive.  It is efficient under constraints.

What lies ahead will not be a return to the past.  But it may rhyme with it.

184. Boundaries and Belonging in the Wood Economy

Boundaries and Belonging in the Western world was built on the power of fossil fuels. Coal, oil, and gas released more energy in a century than wood and muscle had done in thousands of years. They allowed cities to sprawl, food to travel, and people to live far from the sources of what sustained them.

Now that age is ending. As the fossil-fuel economy contracts — through depletion, cost, and climate constraint — its vast systems begin to shrink. The future will be slower, more local, and more dependent on renewable energy from the land itself. Out of this contraction will grow a new pattern of life: the wood economy.


The Natural Form of Localities

A locality is a human-scale ecosystem — a place defined not by lines on a map but by what can be sustained within its reach of energy and resources. Its extent depends on population density, terrain, and the effort needed to move people, goods, and ideas.

In the countryside, where populations are sparse, a locality may cover several former parishes, linked by woodland, water, and tramway. In towns it may be no more than a few streets and workshops clustered around a market square. Each finds its natural limit where daily cooperation and personal knowledge can still hold.

Dorothy Hartley, writing in Made in England, reminded us that water gathers in valleys and that “man follows water.” The mill stood where the stream turned, and cottages grew around it. In the coming age, those same patterns will return. Localities will once again form along rivers, ridges, and catchments, for water defines both boundary and lifeblood.


From Parishes to Localities

The ancient parishes of England were never arbitrary. Their lines often followed tribal lands, ridgelines, or watersheds — boundaries that made sense to people who walked them.

As the industrial framework recedes, those old contours will quietly reassert themselves. Localities will emerge around shared coppices, mills, and meeting halls. They may overlap or divide, depending on geography and population. The essential unit will be small enough for familiarity, large enough for self-reliance.

Energy descent makes smallness practical again. Without cheap fuel, long-distance commuting and centralised services fade. Authority and accountability return to where people can see one another’s work.


Cities Dividing into Localities

Cities were once groups of villages. London, Birmingham, and Manchester all began as loose clusters of settlements that later fused together under coal and steam.

As fossil-fuel energy declines, this process reverses. Cities will redivide into localities — self-managed neighbourhoods with their own gardens, workshops, and shared facilities. Electric grids may fragment; heating will become localised; transport will slow. The metropolis will soften back into a constellation of distinct communities, each aware of its boundaries and its dependence on nearby others.

This is not collapse, but re-formation — the industrial city returning to its village roots, adapted to a lower-energy future.


Population and Scale

The functioning size of a locality depends on density and resources. Rural localities may sustain a few hundred people across wide acres; urban ones may include several thousand. Beyond that, personal accountability fades and bureaucracy returns.

Sociological research supports this. Communities of about five hundred to five thousand can manage their own economies and decision-making without rigid hierarchies. It is roughly the range in which people can know one another by face and reputation — the foundation of trust.


Water and Power

Water is both a boundary and an energy source. Streams, rivers, and valleys determine settlement, as they always have. Water mills will return to importance — grinding grain, sawing timber, pressing oil, or generating small amounts of electricity.

Each catchment becomes a cooperative system: those who live upstream must safeguard the flow for those below. This natural interdependence replaces distant regulation. The landscape itself becomes the framework of law.


Shared Culture and Specialisation

Localities will not all look alike. Each will develop its own identity and special skill. Just as Studley in Warwickshire became known for needle making, others will be known for woodworking, pottery, herbal medicine, or glass.

Such specialisation gives character to the country and underpins small-scale trade between localities. Products carry the mark of place — tools stamped with a local symbol, pottery fired with clay from a known pit, honey tasting of a particular valley’s flowers.

The national economy thus becomes a patchwork of productive localities, trading modest surpluses rather than mass goods.


Migration and Renewal

Migration will continue — both within and into the UK — but at a slower, more deliberate pace.

Within the country, people will leave high-cost urban areas for smaller, self-reliant settlements where they can work directly in food, craft, or care. Migration from abroad will also persist, as it has through all British history. Newcomers will find belonging through participation — working in coppices, mills, or workshops, and sharing in local festivals and responsibilities.

Cultural diversity will remain, but it will be expressed through work and contribution, not separation. Each new skill or tradition becomes part of the local identity, as happened through centuries of craft migration before the fossil age.


Religion, Practice, and Social Cohesion

Faith will return to smaller meeting places — timber halls, converted barns, or open groves. Religious life will be woven into the calendar of work and season: planting, harvest, and renewal.

Doctrinal difference will matter less than shared values — fairness, stewardship, and respect for life. The rhythm of communal feasts and quiet observances will reinforce belonging and give spiritual coherence to the practical life of the locality.


Railways and the Shape of Settlement

Even in a shrinking fossil-fuel economy, inter-locality rail lines will survive. They are among the most durable artefacts of industrial civilisation — built to last and easily maintained.

Coal, charcoal, or wood-gas-fired steam engines will continue to move goods and travellers at moderate speeds. They will form the spine of national cohesion, linking one cluster of localities to another.

Settlement will once again centre around stations, as it did before the motor age. People will walk or ride five miles to meet the train, just as they did in the 19th century. Footpaths and tramways will radiate from each station like the spokes of a wheel, connecting workshops, markets, and homes.

Around these railheads small service centres will grow — inns, warehouses, repair shops, post rooms, and guild exchanges. The old sprawl of suburbia will contract into distinct, walkable communities, each aware of its boundary and connection.

The train, no longer a symbol of haste, becomes the rhythm of inter-local exchange. It allows movement and trade without sacrificing locality.


Boundaries That Breathe

The boundaries of localities will never be fixed. They will expand and contract as woodlands grow, water shifts, and populations change. Cooperation between neighbours replaces central direction.

Localities will link through federations — councils of guild representatives and mints — managing trade, transport, and environmental care. Decision-making will rise only as far as necessary, never higher.

These boundaries breathe like the lungs of the nation, each drawing in what it needs and exhaling what it can share.


The Shape of the Nation to Come

As the fossil-fuel economy contracts, it will not simply vanish — it will recede like a tide, leaving behind a network of harbours, tracks, and skills ready for reuse. The national framework remains, but it is no longer a structure of command; it becomes a pattern of cooperation.

Britain will settle into a mosaic of working localities — each tending its own woods and water, producing food, craft, and culture, and linked by the rail lines, canals, and coastal routes of the old industrial world. The capital and the great cities will endure, but not as engines of growth: they will serve as exchange points, libraries, and archives — the memory of the nation.

Movement will slow, but life will deepen. The quality of existence will no longer be measured by output but by balance — between work and rest, between locality and landscape, between human need and nature’s capacity.

This is not a return to the past but a re-rooting in continuity. The wood economy represents not nostalgia, but maturity — a civilisation adjusting to the limits of the living world. It is a Britain smaller in scale, steadier in rhythm, and richer in meaning — a land once more shaped by the patient flow of water and the enduring work of human hands.


183. Britain’s Growing Dependence on Foreign Electricity – Why Localism Is the Answer


The Telegraph: “Britain more reliant than ever on foreign electricity imports” (20 October 2025)

The Telegraph reports that Britain is now importing around 16 percent of its electricity in the first nine months of this year, up from 15.6 percent the year before. The cause lies in the decline of the nation’s generating capacity, high domestic prices compared with France and Norway, and the economics of undersea interconnectors that automatically draw in cheaper foreign power.

This growing dependence exposes a fundamental weakness in the centralised energy system. When national supply contracts, and foreign imports fill the gap, Britain becomes more vulnerable to international price shifts, market volatility, and cross-border politics. The remedy is not simply to build more giant projects but to change the structure of the system itself.


Localism: The Practical Alternative

1. Resilient, locally controlled supply
Local energy generation – solar panels on roofs, community wind farms, small-scale hydro, or biomass systems – can supply local needs directly. This reduces exposure to the fluctuating international market and gives communities a degree of energy independence that the national grid cannot.

2. Matching production with local demand
A localised system aligns supply with the pattern of local consumption. Energy generated nearby is used nearby, cutting transmission losses and easing strain on national infrastructure.

3. Faster delivery through community engagement
Large projects often stall in the planning system. Local schemes, supported by residents and councils, can be built quickly. Local ownership generates pride and participation, creating a virtuous circle of trust and investment.

4. Keeping value within the community
When electricity is produced locally, so is its economic benefit. Revenue from generation stays in the locality, creating jobs and funding further investment in storage, maintenance, and energy efficiency.


What This Looks Like

Localities could develop networks of community energy cooperatives, each managing their own mix of solar, wind, and battery storage. Councils could coordinate neighbourhood micro-grids, ensuring power stability and fair distribution. Local demand-management schemes could smooth peaks in usage, reducing the need for imported electricity at critical times.

These developments do not replace national systems – they strengthen them from the ground up. The national grid becomes a backup, not the lifeline it is today.


A Necessary Evolution

The UK’s generating capacity fell to 71.7 gigawatts last year, down 3 percent. That trend will not reverse quickly. Centralised, capital-intensive projects take years to complete. Local energy projects can be conceived, financed, and operating within months.

Localism therefore represents the natural evolution of the British energy system – smaller, faster, more flexible, and more secure.


Conclusion

Britain’s growing reliance on foreign electricity is a symptom of over-centralisation and under-investment in local capacity. The answer lies not in larger reactors or longer cables, but in empowering local communities to generate and manage their own energy. Localism restores control, strengthens resilience, and keeps wealth circulating where it is produced.

The power Britain needs for the future may not come from across the Channel, but from its own localities – rooftop by rooftop, turbine by turbine.

173. When Less Is More: How Localism Saves Time, Energy, and Sanity

This piece builds on the themes of “Beyond Growth: The Unavoidable Reality of Nature’s Limits”.

It explores how localism offers a natural path forward as the industrial economy reaches its limits of complexity, cost, and energy use. The argument here is simple: when money, time, and energy are seen together, the localist system emerges not as a retreat from modernity, but as its practical successor — leaner, slower, and more human.


We’ve grown used to measuring everything in money. Governments talk about GDP, companies talk about profit, and even charities measure their “impact” in pounds. But few of us stop to ask a simpler question: how are we actually spending our time, and how much energy does it take to keep our modern way of life going?

If we look at those two things — time and energy — the story of the industrial economy begins to look rather odd.

The time drain in your pocket
Take your smartphone. It’s a wonderful tool, but also a thief of hours. The average adult in Britain now spends about four hours a day staring at one. Some of that time is useful — arranging a delivery, checking the weather, or messaging a friend. But most of it isn’t.

Scrolling through news feeds, watching short videos, chasing adverts, re-entering passwords: this is busy work, not productive work. It feels active, but it rarely produces anything of value.

If you add it up, that’s more than 1,000 hours a year — almost half a working year — spent in digital drift. Imagine what that same time could do in the real world: repairing a fence, helping a neighbour, or tending a garden.

The rise of the one-time password
It’s getting worse, not better. Have you noticed how many times a day you now have to “prove” who you are?

One-time passwords, security codes, captchas, and two-step verification now clutter almost every online interaction.

Each one takes only a few seconds, but across millions of people and thousands of logins a day, it adds up to an invisible national time tax. It’s the cost of living in a complex, centralised system that no one fully trusts.

These checks don’t grow food, fix shoes, or care for the elderly. They simply maintain the machinery of complexity.  The industrial economy, which once promised efficiency, now devotes an increasing share of our collective time to protecting itself from itself.

The hidden electricity bill
Phones themselves don’t use much power — perhaps a few kilowatt-hours a year, costing less than a cup of coffee. The trouble lies in the system that supports them.

Every text, photo, and video passes through mobile masts, fibre networks, and giant data centres that run 24 hours a day. For every unit of electricity used to charge your phone, thirty to fifty units are burned somewhere else to keep the network alive.

When you multiply that by 50 million UK users, the total is about five terawatt-hours a year — roughly 1½ per cent of all the electricity Britain uses. That’s equivalent to a small power station running flat out just to support our smartphone habits.

And most of that energy isn’t producing anything tangible. It’s pushing adverts, holding temporary data, and waiting for the next scroll.

The industrial model: high output, low efficiency
The modern industrial economy runs on this kind of hidden overhead. Every product or service depends on huge networks of energy, information, and security. The system looks efficient when you measure it in pounds per hour, but not when you measure it in human hours or kilowatt-hours.

For every hour of true production, several more are spent on administration, verification, and digital upkeep.

The localist alternative
Now imagine a more grounded way of working — the localist economy.

Here, people make, grow, repair, and care directly. They use simple digital tools when needed but don’t live through them. Work is personal, trust is local, and value is measured by usefulness, not by the number of clicks.

A local baker sells to nearby families. A handyman repairs what’s already there. A neighbour shares surplus fruit rather than advertising it online. Electricity might come from rooftop panels, a village turbine, or a community battery. Transactions are trusted, so no one wastes time proving their identity three times a day.

Time is used directly, and energy travels short distances.

Why localism becomes competitive
At first glance, this might seem nostalgic or even inefficient — until you remember that national electricity and digital overheads are now very expensive.

Industrial firms are locked into the national grid, long supply chains, and heavy data use. Their costs rise with every energy price increase and every new security regulation.

Local producers, by contrast, can use their own power and keep things simple. They don’t need to heat giant buildings or refrigerate goods for long journeys. They don’t run constant advertising campaigns or manage digital payment systems. They just work and trade.

So as national energy prices climb, local producers quietly become more competitive.

Time efficiency versus financial efficiency

It’s worth separating two kinds of efficiency.

The industrial world is efficient with money but wasteful of time.
The localist world is modest with money but careful with time.

In human terms, the second is often more productive. A person who spends their day doing useful, tangible things — even unpaid — contributes more to life than someone trapped in administrative loops or digital distraction.

The phone, used properly
This doesn’t mean we should throw our phones away. They’re marvellous for the right tasks: sharing knowledge, finding tools, checking weather patterns, or contacting customers. The problem is overuse. The aim is to put the phone back in its proper place — as a servant, not a master.

If average daily use fell from four hours to half an hour, the nation would save tens of billions of human hours each year and several terawatt-hours of electricity. That’s a lot of freed capacity — both mental and electrical — for things that actually matter.

The wider picture
When energy and digital costs rise faster than wages fall, simplicity wins.
Localism’s strength lies in this simplicity: short distances, direct trust, human time, and small power sources close to where people live.

The industrial economy will still exist for some large-scale or specialist tasks, but its cost base will keep rising as it feeds its own complexity. The localist economy, lighter and slower, will quietly outcompete it in many everyday activities — not through subsidies or slogans, but through basic physics and human sense.

A quiet revolution
The recovery of productive time and local energy isn’t a step backwards. It’s a return to proportion.

As people spend less time proving who they are and more time being who they are, life will feel less hurried and more useful.

That may turn out to be the real measure of prosperity in the years ahead — not how much money changes hands, but how wisely we spend our limited time and energy.

171. Energy and Biochar: Using Fire to Cool the Earth

Every economy depends on energy. In the fossil age, that energy came from coal, oil, and gas — fuels so powerful and portable that they shaped the whole structure of industrial life. But as those fuels fade, we will once again draw heat and power from wood. The question is how to do it cleanly, fairly, and in a way that strengthens the land rather than exhausting it.

The Return of Charcoal

Charcoal has always been the craftsman’s fuel — dense, light, and steady. It burns hotter than wood, and with far less smoke. In a wood economy it becomes both energy and culture. Charcoal burners return to the coppice, tending slow fires under turf, producing the black fuel that feeds forges, kilns, and cookhouses. Their work is seasonal and skilled, and the village depends on it.

Biochar: Carbon That Stays Put

Out of charcoal-making comes a second gift: biochar. When wood is burned in a kiln with little oxygen, part of its carbon becomes stable, refusing to return to the air. That char can then be:

  • Used as fuel in stoves and workshops.

  • Buried in soil, where it improves fertility and locks carbon away for centuries.

  • Mixed into building materials and roads, turning the built environment itself into a carbon store.

This idea, developed by Albert Bates and Kathleen Draper in Burn: Using Fire to Cool the Earth, turns an old craft into modern climate care. Instead of spending carbon, we begin to bank it.

The Carbon Cascade

Bates and Draper describe a “carbon cascade” — a chain of uses where carbon is stabilised a little more at each step.

  1. A tree draws carbon from the air.

  2. Some of its wood is burned cleanly for heat.

  3. Some becomes biochar and is locked into soil or walls.

  4. A portion stays in standing timber or coppice, growing again.

Each step keeps more carbon in useful form and less in the atmosphere.

Smoke and Health

The old image of smoky chimneys belongs to the past. In a managed system, wood fuel is well-seasoned, kilns are airtight, and masonry stoves replace open fires. Communal bakehouses and bathhouses concentrate combustion in efficient hearths, run by trained stokers. Biochar kilns produce far less smoke than open burning, making clean air a community achievement.

The Energy Ledger

Energy in a wood economy is measured as carefully as money.

  • One coin might equal a sack of wood worth about 100 kilowatt-hours of heat.

  • A household might use 60–80 coins a year for heating and cooking.

  • Coppice yield decides how many coins can be minted.

This keeps heat within the limits of the forest. Waste becomes expensive; thrift becomes virtue.

Heat, Light, and Motion

Beyond household fires, energy is shared:

  • Masonry heaters store warmth for community halls.

  • Waterwheels and hand-cranked flywheels power workshops.

  • Biochar kilns provide heat for drying food or timber.

The goal is not endless power, but enough — reliable, renewable, and rooted in the land.

Using Fire to Cool the Earth

The paradox is real: by burning wood in the right way, we can cool the planet. Each kilo of carbon locked in biochar is carbon taken from the sky. Each cottage that burns seasoned wood instead of coal avoids adding new carbon. The coppice that regrows next year closes the loop.

A wood economy does not fear fire. It learns to use it with precision and respect — to warm homes, to forge tools, to enrich the soil, and to steady the climate.

169. Escaping the Iron Age: Steel, Wood, and the Shrinking Economy

Kris De Decker’s article How to Escape from the Iron Age? casts a stark light on one of modern society’s hidden constraints: steel. Every bridge, vehicle, wind turbine, and machine depends on it. Steel is the backbone of the industrial economy – and one of the most carbon-intensive materials we produce.

De Decker highlights a painful contradiction. To build the renewable energy systems that might decarbonise industry, we need vast amounts of steel. Yet producing that steel today depends on fossil fuels. Recycling cannot close the loop: there isn’t enough scrap, and different grades don’t easily match.

His conclusion is firm. Use lighter vehicles. Build smaller, simpler structures. Prevent corrosion. Make more use of recycled steel. Scale our systems down to fit what can be sustained.

The industrial mindset

This is sensible, but it still assumes an industrial mindset. De Decker writes as though the economy will keep on growing – just with fewer tonnes of steel. The vision is essentially industrial society, only slimmer.

But what if that assumption is wrong? What if the age of growth is over?

Steel in a shrinking economy

A shrinking economy changes the terms of the question. Instead of asking how to sustain expansion, we ask how to live well with contraction. That means fewer mega-projects, less long-distance trade, and less reliance on global steel plants tied to fossil fuels.

It is in this context that wood and other biological materials come to the fore.

The case for wood

Wood is not a perfect substitute. It has limitations in terms of scale, durability, and land use. However, those limits appear differently in a downsizing world. We will not need endless skyscrapers, superhighways, or sprawling steel-framed warehouses. What we will need are homes, workshops, halls, small bridges, and local infrastructure.

Here, wood, straw, hemp, earth, and carpentry excel. Timber structures, when well-maintained, can last for centuries. Engineered wood can carry heavy loads and span wide spaces. Local forests and sawmills can provide building materials without relying on global supply chains or fossil-fuel-based blast furnaces.

Local skills and trades

A shift toward a wood-based economy would also be consistent with localism. Carpenters, joiners, lime-plasterers, sawyers, and forestry workers would become essential trades again. Each community could use the resources of its surrounding land. Waste cycles would be shorter. Skills would be preserved and shared locally rather than outsourced to distant steel complexes.

Living well with less

The real lesson is not simply to ration steel within the old industrial frame. It is to accept contraction – and design a smaller, lighter, more local economy. In that future, wood and other plant-based materials are not just substitutes. They are central to living well within limits.


163. The Electrification of Road Transport Will Turn Out to Be…

Copied from a piece by The Honest Sorcerer, Sep 28, 2025

The conclusion of this piece, in relation to the future of diesel for freight transport, is that “The future will be increasingly localized, with much less product variants and with much simple lifestyles.”  Yet another reason for a future of localism.

The world economy is grappling with a gradually worsening diesel shortage. In fact we might have already passed peak diesel in 2023, already. Despite claims to the contrary the world is still fed, moved, mined and built using this extremely energy dense fuel, thus its increasingly tight availability is starting to become a limiting factor to the growth of the world economy. The question poses itself: can the electrification of transport and mining ease the pain somewhat, or is it yet another myth?

World oil and natural gas supply is about to peak, then begin its long decline in the years ahead. While this statement stirred great controversy two decades ago, today it seems to be normal news. Almost too normal — as if the world no longer needed oil. Looking at the prices alone West Texas Intermediate at $65 per barrel seems to be a bargain, especially when compared to the price of gold or other commodities. Surely, if we needed more petroleum its price would be much higher, right? Well, as usual, things are a bit more complicated than that. In fact, I argue, the collapse of oil prices foreshadow a much greater than expected fall in oil supply, but let’s not get ahead ourselves just yet.

Oil is not just another commodity. It is still the lifeblood of this civilization thanks to its immense energy density, portability, low weight and widespread availability. Despite the fact that its use is a major contributor to climate change, we still heavily depend on it for agriculture, mining, long distance transport and construction. Yet, as the image below (taken from the same Ember document we discussed last week) shows: transitioning to an electricity driven transport system takes longer than expected. To be on the optimistic side I could say we just have to wait another century. Or two.

Fossil fuel use in transport. Source: Ember

All that glitters is not gold

 

I’m not here to spread unwarranted optimism, though. We simply don’t have time till the end of this century to make a dent on fossil fuel use in road transport — and not primarily because of climate concerns. Diesel fuel availability worldwide is already on a high plateau, even as we add more and more unconventional oil and natural gas liquids to the mix we euphemistically call ‘oil’. Before 2014 every barrel of oil added to world supply resulted in a proportionate increase in diesel fuel consumption: the conversion ratio hovered around 30% (i.e.: one third of each barrel of oil was turned into gasoil). After 2014, however, this tight correlation started to break down: diesel consumption could no longer keep up with growth in oil supply. While prior to 2014 diesel supply grew at a steady 2% year-over-year, after 2014 that annual growth rate virtually collapsed by an order of magnitude to 0.28%. What’s that all about?

Diesel fuel consumption worldwide is already at a high plateau, even as we add more and more unconventional oil and natural gas liquids to the mix. R values represent correlation between diesel consumption growth and increases in world oil supply. The closer this correlation is to 1 the better the match between the two data sets are. Data source: Energy Institute / Chart: own work

As we have seen from the ratio of electricity use in road transport, that abrupt slow-down in diesel consumption growth could not come from truck drivers switching to batteries all of a sudden. If we take a good hard look at the source of “oil” supply growth since 2014, however, we might quickly realize that not all that glitters is gold — i.e. not everything is “oil” in that ever growing mix. Production growth of conventional onshore and shallow water crude — the best inputs to make diesel fuel from — began to stall in the middle of the 2000’s already, with almost all new sources of oil coming from unconventional wells ever since 2015. These new sources of petroleum, especially tight oil (oil trapped in low-permeability rocks like shale and limestone) and natural gas liquids (hydrocarbons extracted from raw natural gas during processing, including components like ethane, propane, butanes, and pentanes), however, contain very little if any diesel compounds (1). Sure, refineries could and did make a lot of plastic and gasoline out of this new found “oil”, but very little truck fuel. You see, this is the problem with trying to “replace” conventional oil with all kinds of liquids produced by the petroleum industry: most of it is unsuitable for use in trucks, excavators, ships, locomotives, combined harvesters and the rest (2).

Note how the peak oil movement in the early 2000’s was right: conventional onshore plus shallow water crude oil did peak in 2005. Adding deepwater oil into the mix pushed out this peak by two years only. These conventional oil sources are on the decline ever since, with natural gas liquids, extra-heavy and tight oil being the sole sources of growth these days. Source: IEA

What does the future hold, then? Well, not more conventional oil, that is for sure. According to the forecasts prepared by Rystad Energy and used by the IEA, we have 2–3 years till both oil and natural gas production peaks worldwide, then begins to decline. And if you take a look at the chart below, you can see that conventional oil production will experience an especially steep decline, despite additions from investments in existing and approved projects. Unconventional oil production will continue to expand into the future, but it will be unable to offset the decline from traditional oil fields, let alone make up for the fall in diesel fuel production.

Diesel availability can thus be expected to drop precipitously in the decades ahead, foreshadowing serious problems in road transport, mining, shipping and mechanized agriculture.

Source: IEA

Oil companies will not sit idle, and watch their market collapse, though. They will do everything to at least mitigate that catastrophe ahead. According to the IEA analysis linked above:

“After a primary recovery period, during which oil and gas is produced via natural reservoir drive mechanisms, operators can deploy a variety of measures to boost production or to slow decline. This includes infill drilling of both vertical and horizontal wells, pumping and lifting, large-scale injections such as water flooding, and enhanced recovery techniques. In practice, these activities can occur in sequence or in combination according to suitability, availability and economics of the technology, and in accordance with a company’s reservoir management practices.”

However, these techniques are not without their own risks:

“Once well density is maximised and infill drilling slows, production decline may accelerate above the rates observed before the new drilling was undertaken.”

To put it bluntly: enhanced oil recovery can buy us a little time, but at the cost of an abrupt decline in the end. Not the most reassuring news, if you ask me. Switching fuels sources will be of little help either. Encouraging home owners to change to electric or gas heating from oil, will not solve anything since both are dependent on a non-renewable resource equally prone to peak and decline just like oil (40% of US electricity is still generated by natural gas). The same goes to trucks, buses and agricultural machinery powered by CNG or LNG: since worldwide gas production is about to peak together with oil, switching between the two energy sources will not improve the situation the slightest.

Electrons to the rescue!

 

That leaves us with one thing to pin our “hopes” on: the rapid electrification of road transport and mining. And why not agriculture or container and bulk shipping? — one might ask. Well, weight is already a huge issue when it comes to agricultural machinery. Soil compacted by tractors can absorb less moisture and plant roots do not develop properly in them. Ocean shipping, often covering thousands of miles, is also “hard” (read: impossible) to electrify — no battery would last a month long journey across the Pacific. And while wind sails and solar panels could reduce fuel consumption by a couple of percentage points, they cannot completely eliminate it. That leaves us with using batteries in road transport, thereby saving fuel for agricultural use and shipping where heavy batteries and electrification is still not an option.

IEA (2025), Electric bus sales share by region, 2016–2024, IEA, Paris https://www.iea.org/data-and-statistics/charts/electric-bus-sales-share-by-region-2016-2024-2, Licence: CC BY 4.0

So what are the trends in heavy-duty electric vehicles? According to the EIA’s Global EV Outlook 2025 electric bus sales have already reached an invisible ceiling (around 60% of all units sold) in China, while other regions are still dominated by diesel bus sales. Demand for electric trucks, on the other hand, is still in the 1–5% range — even in China. No wonder, despite the optimistic sentiment shared by the EIA and some other organizations, long distance (500 km range) battery electric trucks are still two to three times more expensive than regular ones, and require multi-hour long stops to recharge. Using a fast charger, on the other hand, would degrade the battery much faster than regular charge, so the cost of replacing batteries much more often would quickly negate the benefits of not having to wait several hours for each recharge. And while battery swapping could be an option, building continent wide networks of standardized battery swapping stations is still a pipe dream. Consequently electric trucks seem to remain stuck in the niche of short distance milk runs, parcel deliveries, or drayage (the transport of shipping containers over a short distance to their final destination).

Battery electric trucks are ideal for cycles with combinations of lower daily mileage, lower speeds, and predictable routes, not for long distance delivery consuming the vast majority of diesel fuel worldwide.

Then what about electric vehicle trends in mining? Well, apart from some promising experiments, the market for battery electric mining equipment is virtually non-existent at the moment. Even the most optimistic analysts admit, that there are serious productivity concerns when it comes to switching to battery electric mining trucks: “Currently, electric trucks cannot match the uptime of diesel trucks, which require only about 10 minutes of refueling per day compared to the 1 to 2 hours battery charging.” And not only that. “Battery technology remains a key obstacle, with current advancements from suppliers like CATL, ABB, and Northvolt only recently meeting the high demands of haul trucks. The lack of a unified standard in battery designs and chemistries complicates the selection of the optimal solution for mining applications.” From where a 32% compound annual growth rate (unprecedented in any other business) would come from then, remains a mystery for me. And remember, if Rystad’s calculations are correct, we are looking at a nosedive in conventional oil production in the years ahead. We don’t have decades to develop and to ramp up new battery technologies.

Pipe dream on steroids. Source: IDTechEX

The little time left to ramp up electrified mining and road transport is not the only limitation, though. While battery technologies could and most probably will improve in the future, generating the megawatts of electricity needed to fast charge these huge batteries will require a massive expansion of the electric grid, or necessitate a similar scale power generation on site. Since grids are overloaded already — and because most major mines are far away from civilization — this latter, however, could only mean natural gas turbines. “Renewables” could only provide some auxiliary support, as a mine cannot be shut down just because its overcast outside or the wind isn’t blowing. (The same goes to long distance trucking, just sayin’.) This continued reliance on fossil fuels begs the question, though: what’s the point of electrification if we just swap one fast depleting fuel (diesel) to another one (natural gas), or in the case of China: coal?

Economic reality

 

Finally this takes us back to the economics of extracting and making these fuels. As we have seen above, demand for diesel was not dented by electrification or alternative fuels. As a result the world is already grappling with a serious diesel shortage, evidenced by record high refinery margins made on making and selling this type of fuel. Ever since 2022 (the failed return to growth after the pandemic and Western sanctions completely upsetting diesel supply in the EU) there is a chronic shortage of the right kind of oil to make diesel from. And with relentless attacks on Russian refineries, diesel export capacities are dwindling as well. Adding all sorts of liquids from unconventional sources, on the other hand, have only resulted in a decline in oil prices, and a widening gap between desires and reality. After ten years of struggling conventional oil (and consequently diesel) supply, the penny has dropped: real, productive economic growth could no longer continue. Something got to give: the Chinese building boom had to end, and Europe’s prosperity had to be sacrificed on the altar of continued financial expansion — lest we wanted to risk tipping the entire system over.

Perhaps the best indicator of this combination of demand destruction, mounting recession fears and flight to safety is the gold to oil ratio, representing how many barrels of oil you can buy with one ounce of gold. You see, the price of oil is the first to plummet during a recession, while gold is seen as a safe haven to protect “wealth”. Whenever this ratio blows out, it indicates a flight to safety and prevailing market caution. As shown on the chart below, we are well past anything we have seen in the past — except for the 2020 health crisis, which resulted in negative oil prices. Such low prices, however, virtually guarantee the outcome laid out by Rystad and the EIA above: oil at $65 or below is simply too cheap for most of the drilling companies to go after. The material costs of drilling ever deeper, less and less productive and ever faster depleting wells simply does not worth the expenditure at these low prices. And soon, not even at $95 a barrel.

Gold to Oil Ratio — Historical Chart. Source: Macrotrends

Conclusion

 

Based on these premises electrification can only slow the decline in transport and mining volumes somewhat, but not considerably. As the looming diesel crisis becomes acute, the price of this fuel could skyrocket — but only for a very short time. Since our entire world economy with its six continent supply chains and high material intensity relies on cheap fuel to operate, should such a price spike occur businesses would go bankrupt in droves. A slow but steady rise in the price of diesel, on the other hand, could make anything mined, transported or built by oil so expensive, that people could no longer afford them, leading to a deflationary crisis. Either way demand for diesel would fall in tandem with supply, leaving us with less and less stuff manufactured then brought in from far away. Eventually all the benefits of globalization would be eliminated: no more cheap clothes made available by cheap labor in Cambodia, or battery minerals mined in the Congo, copper in Chile and nickel in Indonesia.

The future will be increasingly localized, with much less product variants and with much simple lifestyles. Remaining diesel supplies will be diverted entirely to maintain agriculture and food delivery, focusing on plant based foods (animal husbandry requires a lot more fuel than growing peas and beans). For the average citizen this will translate into higher food and skyrocketing meat prices, leaving little to no budget to buy anything else than a shirt or a pair of shoes every now and then. (Especially so, if you consider the effect of forced localization raising the cost of doing anything as opposed to just importing stuff from the cheapest source.) Infrastructure projects will be abandoned, just like major housing developments as these activities take a lot of fuel to complete.

How our complex, self-adaptive world economy would react to such a shock as a withdrawal of its prime source of energy, is anyone’s guess. We are looking at a highly volatile situation ahead, lasting decades into the future. Currency crash, inflation, deflation, stagnation and decline are all in the cards. Once the initial part of the crisis is over, we will be looking at a totally different economy though. Many companies will go bankrupt, and the workforce hence released would have to find jobs in agriculture and local workshops, as the demand for cheap labor could only increase with less and less affordable fuel to drive machinery. Adopting a much less materially intensive lifestyle could, however, match the availability of diesel supply, and together with a persistent fall in birth rates could ensure a smooth landing towards the end of this century when oil finally runs out. Yes, I know this might sound messy and pessimistic for those pinning their hopes on this technological civilization going on forever and a day… I have to ask, though, how exactly did you expect ‘infinite growth on a finite planet’ to play out then?

156. A Grim Encore: Europe’s Descent into Coal

Civilisation rests on pillars—food, water, steel, cement, and above all, energy. Without them, everything crumbles. That foundational truth, articulated in “A Return to Coal” by Consciousness of Sheep on September 8, 2025, rings louder now than ever consciousnessofsheep.co.uk.

Once the world’s industrial heart, Europe now teeters on the verge of a second Dark Age—for reasons that read like tragicomic irony.

The Mirage of “Cheap” Russian Gas

For decades, European rhetoric cast Russian gas as cheap and plentiful. But that was a myth. In reality, while Russian pipeline gas benefited from transport infrastructure and long-term contracts, pricing steadily converged with—or even exceeded—European spot and LNG levels Reuters. The notion that Russia ever offered a perpetual gas discount was less energy economics and more wishful politics.

Renewables That Aren’t So Renewable

Europe pinned its hopes on non-renewable renewable energy-harvesting technologies (NRREHTs)—wind and solar. But these technologies lack the physical inertia of traditional plants like coal, gas, or nuclear. That’s a serious grid integrity issue. When something disrupts the system—say, a lightning strike at a wind farm or sudden loss of production—there’s no spinning turbine mass to smooth the shock. The result? Cascading blackouts and grid instability.

Even sustainably-minded myths crumble under scrutiny: renewables can’t provide the fast ramp-up, inertia, or black-start capabilities essential to modern grids.

Lignite: Europe’s Dirty Refuge

So where does Europe turn? The article points—with mordant humor—to Europe’s vast coal reserves, especially lignite (brown coal) in places like Northern Ireland—and critically, Germany. Ironically, the nations most bullish about decarbonisation—Britain, France, Germany—may be the first to revert to coal when cheaper Russian gas flows eastward.

It’s especially telling that nuclear shutdowns and intermittent renewables are leaving Europe exposed—only to fall back on one of the dirtiest and least sustainable fuels.

The Irony of a Green Collapse

Here’s the tragic core: efforts to phase out fossil fuels—often at the cost of nuclear decommissioning—have made Europe more fragile, not greener. Germany’s premature nuclear exit, green policy fetish, and reliance on renewables without proper backup capacity led to industrial decline and imports of coal-based wind turbine components from China  In the UK, expensive LNG imports have hamstrung heavy industry; steel production falters, business bankruptcies skyrocke.

All the while, the “green transition” depends heavily on subsidies and mandates—renewables get priority dispatch, despite lacking inertia, and profits for renewable operators are barely viable without these supports.


Conclusion: Coal’s Comeback – Wry, Grim, Inevitable?

Europe may well be hurtling back toward coal—not because of innovation, but under the weight of failed energy policy, shaky grids, and geopolitical isolation.

  • Russian gas wasn’t really cheap, and its myth masked deeper vulnerabilities.
  • Renewables without robust backup are fragile illusions, not anchors of sustainability.
  • Coal—lignite in particular—lurks as a last-resort fallback, especially for nations that once led energy reforms.

This is not a “green transition” but a reversal, propelled by miscalculation, rigid ideology, and the brutal physics of energy systems. The irony is bitter, the direction unmistakable, and the cost – economic, environmental, and societal – immeasurable.