269. Local Abattoirs and the Future of Local Food

Recent reporting has highlighted the rapid closure of abattoirs across the United Kingdom, with serious consequences for family farms and rural communities. The number of licensed abattoirs has fallen from around 2,500 in the 1970s to just over 200 today. As facilities disappear, farmers are increasingly forced to transport animals long distances for slaughter, often 30 to 40 miles or more.

At first sight, this appears to be just another symptom of economic pressure on the farming industry. In reality, it reveals something deeper about the structure of the modern industrial food system. Over the past fifty years the processing of food has become concentrated in fewer and larger facilities. Small abattoirs have been replaced by large regional plants designed to serve supermarket supply chains rather than local markets.

For the industrial food system this concentration makes sense. Large plants reduce unit costs, standardise production, and supply national distribution networks. But the system works only as long as farming itself becomes large, centralised, and integrated with mass distribution.

Family farms operate in a very different world. Their animals are often sold locally, through farm shops, local butchers, farmers’ markets, and direct sales to households. For them, the loss of nearby abattoirs removes a vital part of the local food infrastructure. Without a local slaughter facility, the practical ability to sell meat locally begins to disappear.

The consequences are significant.

Animals must travel longer distances, increasing stress and reducing welfare. Farmers incur higher transport costs. Booking slaughter slots becomes difficult as fewer facilities serve wider areas. Some farmers report that they have had to abandon direct meat sales altogether because the processing infrastructure no longer exists locally.

This situation illustrates a broader structural weakness in the industrial system. When key facilities become centralised, entire local economies lose the practical capacity to operate independently. A farm may still produce livestock, but without nearby processing it cannot easily turn that livestock into locally sold food.

In the emerging era of economic contraction, this concentration becomes increasingly fragile. Transport costs rise, supply chains become less reliable, and large processing plants depend on continuous high throughput to remain profitable. Under such conditions, the disappearance of local infrastructure becomes a systemic risk.

Localism offers a different perspective.

In a local food economy, the abattoir is not simply an industrial facility. It is part of the basic infrastructure of the locality, alongside farms, mills, bakeries, breweries, and local markets. Its role is to enable livestock raised within the locality to be processed and sold within the same area.

Historically this was the normal arrangement. Most towns once had their own slaughterhouses. Animals rarely travelled far from the farms where they were raised. Meat was sold through local butchers who knew the farmers supplying them.

The industrial era replaced this distributed network with a highly concentrated system. For several decades the arrangement appeared efficient because cheap fossil fuels allowed animals, meat, and processed products to be transported across the country with little apparent cost.

But as economic conditions tighten and the cost structures of the industrial system change, the weaknesses of that model become increasingly visible.

From a localist perspective, the current crisis in abattoirs is not merely a problem to be solved by subsidy or regulation. It is a signal that an essential part of the local food economy has been removed.

Rebuilding local abattoirs would therefore have multiple benefits.

Farmers would regain the ability to process livestock locally. Animal journeys would become shorter and less stressful. Local butchers and markets could source meat from nearby farms. Food supply chains would become shorter and more resilient.

Perhaps most importantly, the locality would regain control over an essential part of its own food system.

In the long term, a distributed network of small and medium-scale abattoirs may prove far more compatible with a shrinking, decentralised economy than the highly concentrated processing system that dominates today.

The present wave of closures therefore poses an important question.

If the future economy becomes more local, more human-scale, and less dependent on long-distance transport, should the infrastructure of food production not evolve in the same direction?

Local abattoirs may once again become a normal feature of the British countryside – not as relics of the past, but as practical foundations of a more local food economy.

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.

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.

256. Local Communication when the National Systems Fail

Our broadband and digital phone have just returned after a period of failure. During the outage we were cut off from normal contact. No messages, no calls, no access to services. It felt sudden and complete.

This small event illustrates a much larger issue. The United Kingdom now depends almost entirely on centralised communication systems. These systems are efficient and convenient, but they are also fragile. When they fail, even for a short time, whole communities can become isolated.

In the past, communication had a strong local layer. People relied on neighbours, local gathering points, and simple methods of passing information. That layer has largely disappeared. It has been replaced by systems that are distant, complex, and beyond local control.

This shift has brought benefits, but it has also removed resilience. A locality that cannot communicate without national systems is a locality that cannot organise itself in a crisis.

The question is not whether the national system should be improved. It should. The question is whether it is sufficient on its own. Recent experience suggests that it is not.

This leads to a simple but important idea. Each locality should develop a basic communication system of its own. This would not replace the national network. It would complement it. Its purpose would be to ensure that, when the main system fails, people can still share information, offer help, and maintain a sense of order.

Such a system need not be complex. In fact, its strength lies in simplicity. It should be based on methods that do not depend on distant infrastructure. It should be understood by local people and capable of being put into action quickly.

At its heart, this is about responsibility. Communication should not be seen only as a service provided from outside. It is also something that a locality can organise for itself. Rebuilding that capacity is part of adapting to a less certain future.

The recent outage is a small warning. It shows how quickly normal life can be interrupted. It also points to a practical response. Alongside national systems, we need to rediscover simple, local ways of staying connected.


A practical local communication model

A local communication system does not need advanced technology. It needs clarity, agreement, and preparation. The aim is to ensure that people can share information within the locality when national systems fail.

The starting point is to define the locality. This should be a small, recognisable area where people have some awareness of one another. It may be a village, part of a town, or a cluster of streets.

Within this area, a small group of volunteers can take responsibility for organising communication. Their role is not to control information, but to enable it to flow.

The system can be built around a few simple elements.

First, agreed information points. These are physical locations where notices can be posted and read. Examples include a village hall, a shop, a church gate, or a central notice board. Everyone in the locality should know where these points are.

Second, a basic contact network. This could take the form of a phone tree, where each person is responsible for contacting two or three others, using whatever means are available. If phones are not working, this becomes a walking network.

Third, local coordinators. These are individuals who gather and share essential information. They might report on power, water, road access, or local needs. Their role is to keep information accurate and up to date.

Fourth, simple communication tools. Battery radios, two-way radios, and even whistles or bells can all play a role. The key is that they do not rely on the national network.

Fifth, agreed routines. For example, people might know to check the notice board each morning, or to attend a daily meeting point at a set time during an outage. Regularity creates reliability.

Finally, awareness and participation. The system only works if people know about it and are willing to take part. This requires occasional reminders and, if possible, simple practice.

This model is not complicated. It does not aim to replicate modern communications. Its purpose is more modest and more important. It ensures that a locality can remain connected, informed, and cooperative when central systems fail.

In a future where disruption may become more common, this kind of local capacity will be an essential part of resilience.

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.

241. A Different Definition of Progress

Tim Morgan argues that governments are still offering what he calls “solutions of quantity”. They promise more growth, more spending, more prosperity, more defence, more of everything. The assumption is that expansion will solve our problems. But if meaningful growth has ended, this promise cannot be kept.

The alternative is not despair. It is a shift in emphasis. If we cannot make people more prosperous in the material sense, we can make their lives better in the practical sense.

Making lives better in a post-growth society begins with security. Not the abstract security of global markets, but the everyday security of food, shelter, warmth and care. A government that cannot promise rising incomes can still promise that no one will be left without the basics. Stable access to food grown closer to home. Housing that is modest, affordable and well insulated. Streets that are safe and walkable. Health services that focus on prevention and steady support rather than constant expansion.

Quality also means time. In a growth economy, time is compressed. Work intensifies. Travel expands. Digital systems demand constant attention. In a steady or contracting economy, the aim should be to reduce unnecessary activity. Shorter supply chains. Shorter commutes. Fewer layers of bureaucracy. If people travel less because discretionary spending falls, local shops and services can reappear. Daily life becomes more rooted. Time once spent driving to distant supermarkets or commuting long distances can be spent in the locality.

Community is another solution of quality. Growth economies tend to centralise and concentrate. Large institutions replace smaller ones. Decisions move upward and outward. In a post-growth world, the direction can reverse. Local decision-making can increase. Informal systems can complement formal ones. Mutual aid, local repair, shared gardens, small workshops and food production can provide both practical benefit and social connection. The gain is not measured in GDP but in resilience and belonging.

Public services, too, can improve in quality even if they cannot expand in scale. The NHS, for example, may not be able to offer ever more complex and expensive interventions to everyone. But it can emphasise continuity of care, community health, and support close to home. Education can focus less on feeding a global labour market and more on practical competence, citizenship and adaptability.

The physical environment is central. A better life in a non-growing economy means cooler streets shaded by trees, homes that use less energy, local food production, and less reliance on long-distance imports. It means designing settlements for human scale rather than traffic flow. It means recognising that wellbeing depends as much on surroundings as on income.

Government communication must change. Instead of saying, “We will make you richer,” it can say, “We will make your essentials secure. We will reduce waste. We will protect what matters.” This requires honesty. It requires admitting that perpetual expansion is not possible on a finite planet. But it also requires confidence that stability, fairness and dignity are achievable.

A solution of quantity promises more. A solution of quality promises better.

In the decades ahead, the political courage will lie not in promising a return to rapid growth, but in shaping a society that works well without it. A society where prosperity is measured less by accumulation and more by sufficiency, health, competence and neighbourliness.

If growth has ended, civilisation has not. The task is to make life steadier, calmer and more secure. That is not a retreat. It is a different definition of progress.

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.

232. The Post-Consumerism Economy

For two centuries the economy has been driven by consumption. Growth depended on people buying more goods, travelling more often, and replacing things before they wore out. That model is now reaching its natural end.

Post-consumerism does not arrive by choice or ideology. It arrives because households run out of spare income, energy becomes costly, and materials are harder to obtain. When discretionary spending declines, the economy changes shape.

In a post-consumerism economy, demand for non-essential goods falls steadily. Fewer cars are replaced. Fewer gadgets are upgraded. Fashion slows. Long-distance leisure travel becomes occasional rather than routine. Advertising loses its power because people are no longer looking to buy.

This does not mean economic collapse. It means economic reorientation.

Spending shifts from novelty to necessity. Food, shelter, heat, repair, care, and local services become the core of everyday economic life. Work follows that shift. Employment grows in maintenance, food production, local distribution, health support, and adaptation of existing buildings. Employment declines in mass retail, long supply chains, and discretionary manufacturing.

Production becomes smaller in scale and closer to where people live. Goods are made to last, to be repaired, and to be shared. Skills regain value. Practical knowledge matters more than branding. Time becomes more important than speed.

Money circulates more slowly. This is not a failure. Slow circulation reflects caution and prioritisation. Households become careful managers of limited resources rather than eager consumers of surplus goods.

The role of government changes. In a consumer economy, government encourages spending to maintain growth. In a post-consumerism economy, stability matters more than expansion. Policy shifts towards securing essentials, protecting local supply, and enabling people to meet their needs close to home.

Localities gain importance. When transport, energy, and income are constrained, daily life contracts geographically. People rely more on what exists nearby. Informal exchange grows alongside the formal economy. Mutual support, small trading, and shared activity fill gaps left by withdrawing markets.

Cultural values change quietly. Status becomes less about ownership and more about resilience, usefulness, and contribution. Repair replaces replacement. Care replaces convenience. Sufficiency replaces excess.

Post-consumerism is not austerity imposed from above. It is a practical response to limits. It reflects an economy learning to operate within what can be sustained, rather than chasing what can no longer be afforded.

The future economy will not look smaller in human terms. It will look denser, closer, and more grounded in everyday life. It will be shaped less by what people are persuaded to want, and more by what they genuinely need.

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.


220. Herefordshire Council joins partners in testing emergency blackout communications

Herefordshire Council has recently taken part in a major emergency planning exercise designed to test how local authorities would stay connected during a widespread power failure. This work forms part of ongoing efforts to strengthen community resilience across the West Mercia area.

The exercise, known as Exercise Echo, simulated a situation where a large-scale blackout knocks out traditional communication networks, including phone lines, mobile networks and internet services. Emergency planners from Herefordshire, Worcestershire and Shropshire counties came together with volunteer radio operators to see how they could maintain critical communications in such a scenario.

In December 2025 teams set up independent radio systems on high-ground sites such as the Malvern Hills and Clee Hill. These specialist radio relays enabled councils’ emergency planning hubs in Hereford, Worcester and Shrewsbury to transmit and receive messages without relying on the usual infrastructure. The aim was to ensure that, even if power and commercial networks were down, information could still be shared between authorities, and help could be coordinated effectively for residents.

While the likelihood of a nationwide blackout is low, planners emphasise that the value of such exercises lies in preparing for any eventuality. Large-scale power failures can arise from severe weather, technical faults or system overloads, and they create significant challenges for local services trying to support vulnerable people or maintain essential functions.

Herefordshire Council is part of the West Mercia Local Resilience Forum (LRF), a partnership of emergency services, councils, health agencies and volunteer groups working together to assess risks and prepare for emergencies. The LRF’s work includes planning for threats such as flooding, severe weather, transport incidents and loss of critical infrastructure like electricity.

Exercise Echo builds on earlier tests between Herefordshire and Worcestershire, and planners say it confirms the potential to expand and improve these alternative communications systems as part of wider emergency preparedness measures.

For residents and businesses, the council’s broader advice on emergency planning is to be aware of community resilience resources and to have personal plans in place for unexpected events.

Note: Are Parish Councils responsible for the preparation of contingency plans in the event of local power outages?

214. Will a Shrinking Economy Make Global Warming Go Away?

As the economy shrinks, global warming will ease – but it will not disappear, and there is no honest basis for saying when it might.

Economic contraction reduces energy use, transport, construction, manufacturing and long supply chains. These are the main sources of greenhouse gas emissions. If contraction is deep and long-lasting, emissions will fall sharply. On this point there is little dispute. A smaller economy emits less carbon.

But global warming is not driven by today’s emissions alone. It is driven by the accumulation of greenhouse gases already in the atmosphere. Carbon dioxide remains for centuries. Methane is shorter-lived but highly potent. Even if emissions were cut close to zero, temperatures would remain elevated for a very long time. Some further warming would still occur because the climate system responds slowly.

This means there is no moment at which global warming simply stops. There is only a slowing, then possibly a stabilisation, and only much later a very gradual decline.

Some changes are already locked in. Sea levels will continue to rise for centuries. Oceans will stay warmer and more acidic. Ice loss will not reverse on any meaningful human timescale. These processes do not respond quickly to economic change.

What contraction can do is prevent escalation. It can stop warming from running away beyond human capacity to adapt. That is not a full solution, but it is the difference between difficulty and collapse.

Timing matters, and here certainty is not possible. If global economic contraction were sustained:

  • emissions could fall within one or two decades
  • temperature rise might stabilise later this century
  • climate instability would persist for many decades
  • sea level rise would continue well beyond 2100

There is no credible date at which the problem “goes away”.

The honest conclusion is this. A shrinking economy does not restore the old climate. It limits further damage and makes adaptation possible. That is not failure. It is realism. It shifts the task from chasing growth-based fixes to learning how to live within new climatic limits, locally and materially.

That is as far as authenticity allows us to go.

212. The Wood Economy Revisited: A Future Rooted in Locality

The wood economy is becoming an essential part of the emerging informal economy as the industrial system contracts.

This piece explains how woodland, simple tools, and long-established country practices can help communities meet everyday needs close to home.  It shows how wood underpins food, heat, building, movement and local exchange in a future shaped by constraint rather than growth.

Wood in Local Communities Through History

For most of British history, wood lay at the centre of daily life.  Local communities depended on nearby woodland for heat, cooking, tools, buildings, wagons, fencing and household goods.  Coppiced woods provided fuel and poles on a regular cycle, while hedgerows supplied timber, shelter, wildlife habitat and food.  Woodland was rarely decorative.  It was a working asset.

Many villages managed shared woods through custom rather than formal authority.  People understood how to cut, season and use wood because survival depended on it.  This long experience shows that a locality-based wood economy is not new.  It is a return to ways of living that sustained communities for centuries.

Woodland and the Wider Country Economy

Woodland forms part of the essential landscape needed for a self-reliant food economy.  Hedgerows, copses and shelterbelts protect crops, reduce wind, retain soil moisture and create favourable microclimates.  As the economy shrinks, large farms are broken up, and more people work the land directly, these wooded features become central to everyday production.

Earlier writing on farming noted the increasing need for simple, human-powered equipment, as diesel will become unaffordable.  Wood supplies handles, frames, wheels, carts and barrows in a world where metal may be scarce or costly.  Woodland management, therefore, links directly to the revival of small farms, gardens and mixed livelihoods across the country.

Seasonal woodland work also returns.  Coppicing, charcoal-making, hedgelaying, and sawpit work provide winter employment that fits naturally with the farming year.  People move between land work and wood work as seasons change, creating a flexible pattern of labour suited to a shrinking economy.

Why Wood Matters in a Shrinking Economy

As the wider economy contracts, households depend increasingly on what they can produce or exchange close to home.  Wood is one of the few materials that can be grown, worked, repaired, reused and converted into energy without industry.  It is renewable, warm, workable and versatile.  It provides heat, shelter, tools, fencing, charcoal and countless everyday goods.

Industrial materials such as steel, concrete, and plastics cannot be produced locally.  Wood can.  This difference places wood at the centre of the future informal economy.

Locality-Based Production

As discretionary employment declines and essential work expands, demand grows for local supplies of wood for buildings, fencing, fuel, tools and workshops.  This leads to the revival of small woodlands, community wood centres and informal sawpits.

Each locality manages woodland for mixed uses.  Coppicing returns because it provides a steady flow of poles, firewood and small timber.  Hedgerows are maintained for both materials and wildlife.  The emphasis is on continuous production rather than clear cuts.  Examples already exist, such as the Woolhope community woodfuel cooperative in Herefordshire, which manages woodland for long-term local heat supply.

Local Wood Co‑operatives

Across the UK, several groups already manage woodland and supply local heat in ways that reflect the future wood economy.  The Dartmoor Woodfuel Cooperative brings together woodland owners and biomass boiler users to produce local woodchip for heating buildings.  The Springbok Sustainable Wood Heat Cooperative runs a district heating system fuelled by wood harvested from nearby woodland.

These examples show how communities can manage woodland themselves, reduce reliance on external energy and keep woodland in continuous production.

Wood for Heat, Cooking and Power

As fossil fuels become expensive and unreliable, heating and cooking shift toward biomass.  Wood-burning stoves and ranges become common, supported by shared wood yards within the locality.

Charcoal plays an essential role in cooking, water filtration and small craft industries.  People relearn how to make charcoal using earth clamps or simple kilns, turning coppice waste into a clean, storable fuel.  Charcoal making provides seasonal work and links woodland management with food and craft activity.

Buildings and Structures in the Country

Future wooden country buildings will support farming and locally based work.  Buildings are simple, functional and wood-framed, using local timber where possible.  Sheds, shelters, workshops, and small dwellings will support food production and wood-based activities.

As the industrial system contracts, formal planning systems may fade altogether.  Construction focuses on need rather than permission, with local agreement replacing central control.  Large-scale buildings will decline because communities will become largely self-contained.  Within each locality, modest structures related to farming, wood production and craft activity will be built as required.

Wooden Tramways and Local Movement

Before iron rails and powered transport, wooden tramways were widely used to move heavy materials short distances.  Timber rails reduced friction and allowed carts or wagons to carry loads that would otherwise require far greater effort.

In a shrinking economy, wooden tramways offer a practical way to move logs, firewood, stone, compost, crops and building materials between woodland, fields, workshops and stores.  Built and maintained from local timber, they require no fuel or complex machinery and sit naturally within a wood-based economy.  They support steady, predictable movement rather than speed.

As mobility declines, transport becomes slower and more local.  Wood is used to make and repair handcarts, barrows, bicycle trailers and small wagons.  These simple tools move food, timber, water and goods around the locality.  Movement beyond the locality declines as discretionary travel falls.  Daily life reorganises around short distances.

Everyday Woodcraft and Skills

The wood economy relies on skills learnt locally.  People make fence posts, gates, stools, shelves, carts, tool handles, bread paddles and household items.  Exchange often takes place through barter, gifting and shared work rather than formal money.

This strengthens local identity and reduces dependence on distant supply chains.

Woodland, hedgerows and copses form part of a broader food-producing landscape.  As more people work directly in farming, wood supplies fencing, animal housing, tools and heat.

Wood processing often takes place alongside farm work.  A hedgelayer produces bean poles and firewood.  A smallholder runs a sawpit in winter and grows food in summer.  This flexible pattern of work defines the emerging economy.

Woodlands moderate the local climate.  Trees hold moisture, reduce wind, cool summer heat and shelter crops and animals.  These effects reduce risk and increase resilience as external inputs decline.

Coppice, Hedgerows and Long‑Term Structure

Coppice cycles provide a living store of future materials.  Short cycles supply poles and fuel; longer cycles provide larger timber.  Coppiced woodland regenerates itself without replanting, offering durability and continuity.  Hedgerows provide annual cuttings, firewood, poles and stakes, becoming productive assets rather than boundaries.

Historically, woodland was governed through local rights such as estovers.  Estovers were traditional rights in English common law that allowed people to take necessary wood for fuel and essential repairs.  Such customs show how communities once managed shared resources through agreement rather than central authority.

As industrial goods become scarce, wood replaces many everyday items.  Wooden fixings, tools, crates, fencing and utensils reduce dependence on long supply chains and keep essential goods available locally.

Lightly wooded areas support goats, pigs and poultry.  Animals browse, forage and shelter among trees, strengthening the local food system.  Earlier work also explored wood coins as a simple system of local exchange.  These are not money but tokens representing practical work, often linked to cutting, seasoning or processing wood.  Rooted in real labour and local materials, they help value circulate within the community.

A Slow and Inevitable Transition

The wood economy will not arrive suddenly.  It will grow quietly as incomes fall, travel declines and industrial goods become harder to afford.  Communities turn to what they can produce locally.  Wood meets many needs without industry.

The wood economy is the natural outcome of a shrinking formal economy.  It is practical, achievable and grounded in the landscape.  Above all, it supports the social economy that emerges when people depend more on one another and less on distant systems.

Justice and Governance in the Wood Economy

As the industrial economy contracts, its large and remote systems of government also weaken.  These systems were built on scale, fossil energy and distance.  In a wood economy, governance must return to a human scale.  Power becomes visible, comprehensible and grounded in everyday life.

Justice in the wood economy is not imposed from above.  It grows out of custom, shared need and practical stewardship of land, woodland and resources.  The aim is not efficiency for its own sake, but fairness, continuity and low energy use.

A Single Council and Court

Each locality governs itself through a single body that combines the roles of council and court.  This Council of Custom and Stewardship sets local ordinances, oversees shared resources and settles disputes.  The model draws inspiration from historic systems such as the Chief Pleas government of Sark, in the Channel Islands, where a single assembly and its committees manage law, administration, and justice for the whole island.

Adult residents of several years’ standing may vote and stand for election.  The council will be small enough for members to know one another and the people they serve.  Members retire in rotation to preserve continuity while allowing renewal.  A presiding executive Steward will carry out day-to-day duties and represent the locality when required.

The Annual Assembly of Continuity

Short-term councils can respond quickly but lack a long-term perspective.  To address this, each locality holds an Annual Assembly of Continuity.  Long-standing residents gather to debate and agree on matters that affect future generations: woodland rotation, housing limits, water use, energy sources, education and trade priorities.

Decisions agreed at the assembly form a binding framework for the year ahead and are recorded in a Book of Continuity.  In this way, immediate decision-making is guided by long-term responsibility to land and community.

Law and the Court of Custom

Disputes are heard in public by a small panel of council members, supported by a clerk and, when needed, a jury of neighbours.  Most cases concern boundaries, woodland use, water access, noise, craft standards or broken agreements.

Punishment is rare.  The purpose of justice is restoration rather than deterrence.  Outcomes focus on apology, repair, compensation or service to the community.  Decisions are recorded, forming a growing body of local common law rooted in lived experience.

Localities cooperate through voluntary federations to manage shared rivers, tramways, woodland, paths and trade.  Delegates are chosen for competence rather than ambition.  Their task is to negotiate, not command.

Where disputes cannot be resolved locally, they may be referred onward by agreement.

The UK-Wide Court of Review

To preserve fairness across the country while respecting local autonomy, a single UK-wide Court of Review exists.  Its role is limited.  It does not legislate or manage daily life.

Instead, it ensures that local ordinances remain consistent with common law principles, basic fairness, environmental responsibility and agreed national standards such as weights, measures and coinage.  It also resolves disputes between localities when federations cannot reach an agreement.

Localities lead.  The national body reviews.

Policing and Safety

Each locality appoints a Constable and Deputies, usually by rotation or election.  Their role is to keep the peace, respond to emergencies and act as witnesses or mediators.  Their powers are deliberately modest.

Order rests more on reputation, visibility and mutual dependence than on coercion.  Serious crimes are rare and handled jointly by several localities under the guidance of the Court of Review.

Why Governance Evolves with the Wood Economy

This approach fits the wood economy because it is simple, transparent, and low-energy.  Decisions are made close to where their effects are felt.  Responsibility is personal rather than abstract.  Long-term stewardship is built into the system.

As with the wood economy itself, these forms are not prescriptions.  They will be refined through use.  What matters is that law remains near to those it governs, power remains visible, and fairness remains the foundation of community life.

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.

177. When the Waters Rise: Localism in an Age Without Government Rescue

Aviva’s report, Building Future Communities, prompted this piece. It warns that millions more homes in Britain will face flooding by 2050. The threat is not confined to coasts and rivers. Much of the new risk will come from within towns and cities, where heavy rain overwhelms drains and the land can no longer clear the water.

The report describes a Britain where formal defences can no longer cope. Dykes, pumps, and culverts were built for a climate that no longer exists. The ground is wetter, storms are heavier, and budgets are thinner. Aviva calls for resilience in building and planning, but it also hints at a more profound truth — that some places may no longer be defendable.

History offers a warning. On the Humber estuary, the medieval town of Ravenser Odd was once a busy port with its own market and church. It stood near today’s Spurn Point. Repeated storms and shifting tides gradually destroyed it. By 1362, it had been swallowed by the sea. The people left, and the name survived only on old charts.

Hull stands further inland, but faces a similar danger. About ninety per cent of the city lies below the level of a high tide in the Humber. Its safety depends entirely on a network of pumping stations that lift water out of low ground and push it towards the estuary. When tides are high, sluices close and the pumps must run continuously to prevent water from flowing back into the city.

In 2007, heavy rain overwhelmed parts of the system. Pumping stations failed, and water poured through streets and homes. Since then, the pumps have been modernised, but their dependence on electricity, maintenance, and constant management remains. Without them, large areas of Hull would lie underwater within days.

The city’s long history of self-reliance is reflected not only in its flood defences but in its communications. Hull is the only place in Britain with its own independent telephone network, founded by the city council in 1904. Local control of the telephone system meant that engineers and pumping stations could always stay in contact, even if national lines failed. The decision was made for practical reasons — to keep the pumps, power, and emergency services connected — but it became a symbol of the city’s independence. That local autonomy, once an oddity, now looks like a model for the future.

The lesson is stark. Hull does not stand above the flood. It stays dry only because machines keep it so. As sea levels rise, the pumps must work harder against higher tides. When costs or power shortages interrupt the system, flooding will return.

Flooding is not just a coastal story. Inland towns face a different but equally dangerous threat. Tewkesbury, where the Severn meets the Avon, has flooded repeatedly in recent years. In 2007, it was cut off entirely, and thousands of homes were lost to the water. Each time the pattern repeats — heavy rain, full rivers, overwhelmed drains, and a slow, difficult recovery.

Another, quieter problem is rising groundwater beneath our cities. In Liverpool, engineers now have to pump water constantly out of railway tunnels to keep them dry. The British Geological Survey has found that the city’s water table is rising because industry has gone. Factories and shipyards once drew large volumes of groundwater for cooling and process water. When that abstraction stopped, the underground water began to return. Basements, subways, and tunnels that were once dry are now under threat.

The same is happening across post-industrial Britain. Groundwater is creeping back into places built on the assumption that pumping would go on forever. It is a hidden flood, rising from below, just as the tides rise above.

Together, these examples show how fragile the modern landscape has become. We have built towns and cities that depend on constant effort to keep nature out. When that effort falters — through power failure, neglect, or economic decline — the land reclaims itself.

Government cannot hold back every tide or drain every valley. Aviva has told Parliament that hundreds of thousands of properties are already more at risk because existing flood defences are deteriorating. Insurance is being withdrawn from high-risk areas. The era of guaranteed rescue is ending.

Localism will become the only workable response. Communities will have to decide which ground can be held and which must be given up. They will need their own plans for shelter, food, and recovery. In some places, retreat will be wiser than defence.

Abandonment is not failure if it allows life to continue elsewhere. New settlements on higher ground could become the next generation of self-reliant communities, built around local supply, shared work, and mutual care.

Ravenser Odd was lost when the sea advanced faster than its people could adapt. Hull, Tewkesbury, and Liverpool each face the same test in different forms — the sea, the storm, and the water below.


When Water Has the Last Word

The idea of retreat is not new. Throughout British history, many inland settlements have disappeared when the land became too wet to live on.

In the 14th century, the upland village of Hundatorra on Dartmoor was abandoned after years of cold, wet seasons. Its fields, once tilled for grain, turned to bog. The people left, and a few stone houses are all that remain today.

Further north, in 17th-century Moray, the village of Culbin was lost when violent storms and shifting sand choked the drainage of the River Findhorn. The rising water and drifting dunes buried farms and crofts. Families walked away and never returned.

The pattern continues in modern form. Tenbury Wells in Worcestershire has flooded so often that insurers are withdrawing cover. Businesses cannot reopen after every deluge. One by one, they leave. This is how abandonment begins in our time — not with disaster relief, but with quiet departure.


When the waters rise, the question will not be whether government can save us, but whether we can save ourselves. Localism is not just the response to a failing system. It is the only way of living that can endure when the formal world begins to sink.


Postscript

The story of flooding is also the story of economic change. The industrial economy depended on heavy infrastructure, central planning, and a constant flow of energy to hold nature in check. Pumps, drains, and flood defences were all part of that system.

As the formal economy weakens and energy becomes more costly, these systems can no longer be sustained everywhere. What follows is the return of the informal economy — the local, the adaptable, and the human.

Localism is not just a social response to crisis; it is the next stage of the economy’s evolution. When the machines fall silent, it will be the people nearby, not the institutions above, who keep life going.


175. Building Future Communities 2025: Reporting on Prospects for Flooding in the UK

The Aviva “Building Future Communities 2025” report is a well-structured analysis of how the UK must prepare for the escalating impacts of climate change—especially flooding, subsidence, and heat—by mid-century. Although written from a corporate and national policy perspective, it contains significant implications for localism that go well beyond its surface message.

Aviva is a major UK-based insurance and financial services company. It’s one of the largest insurers in Britain.


Aviva warns that by 2050:

  • Flood-risk homes in England could rise by 25–27%, reaching about 8 million properties.
  • 1.4 million more properties could face subsidence risk.
  • Extreme heat will endanger health, infrastructure, and habitability.

The report proposes six “calls for change”:

  1. Tougher planning rules to stop building in flood zones.
  2. Compulsory low-cost flood-resilience measures in all new homes.
  3. Mandatory Sustainable Urban Drainage Systems (SuDS).
  4. Government-backed Natural Flood Management (NFM) and private-sector investment.
  5. A Resilient Buildings Taskforce to unite housing, finance, and planning policy.
  6. More innovation and regulation to protect homes from heat.

Case studies (York, Cardiff Bay, Edinburgh Castle, etc.) show practical responses already underway.


Implications for localism

Although the report’s framing is largely top-down, its findings implicitly confirm the necessity of a bottom-up, community-led transition—the essence of localism.

1. The failure of centralised systems

The report highlights how national flood defences, urban drainage, and central planning cannot cope with climate-driven pressures.

  • Surface water flooding, now the biggest rising risk, is inherently local and unpredictable.
  • Many defences are owned privately or by local authorities, not by the Environment Agency.
  • Maintenance and funding backlogs show that central government control is overstretched.

→ Localism implication: resilience must increasingly be managed at the community level—through neighbourhood flood groups, local adaptation plans, and locally funded or self-organised works.


2. Community resilience and neighbour networks

Aviva praises the Pontcanna (Cardiff) initiative, where residents created a local flood plan, registered vulnerable people, and rehearsed emergency procedures. This is an explicit demonstration of social capital in action—the very network of informal relationships on which localism depends.

→ Localism implication: the most successful adaptation is social, not technical. It arises from relationships of trust, cooperation, and shared responsibility—core principles of an informal economy.


3. Nature-based solutions as local land stewardship

Natural Flood Management (tree planting, leaky dams, wetland restoration) relies on small-scale, distributed action across catchments. Such systems cannot be delivered solely by national agencies; they require local landholders, farmers, and communities to collaborate.

→ Localism implication: environmental resilience becomes a shared landscape duty, giving rural communities a new civic and economic role as custodians of their ecosystems.


4. Adaptation of the built environment

The report calls for widespread retrofit of flood and heat-resilience features. This aligns with the idea of re-localised construction trades—craftsmen, small builders, and voluntary repair groups—replacing large corporate developers. Local adaptation will depend on distributed skills and small-scale enterprise, not remote regulation.


5. From formal control to informal initiative

Although Aviva recommends new national regulations, the underlying data point to a future where:

  • Insurance cover becomes increasingly conditional or unaffordable.
  • National defence budgets cannot protect all communities.
  • Individuals and local groups must act pre-emptively.

→ Localism implication: a gradual withdrawal of the formal system (insurance, national infrastructure, planning control) will push resilience functions into informal systems of mutual aid, self-protection, and local investment—hallmarks of a shrinking, post-growth economy.


6. Restoring natural and social capital

Aviva’s support for nature-based flood management and local resilience groups unintentionally endorses local economic self-reliance—where communities invest time and effort in collective maintenance rather than financial growth. This is consistent with your argument that as discretionary markets decline, social and ecological repair will become the new economy.


Critical reflection

While the report’s tone remains corporate and technocratic, it reveals an unavoidable truth: the formal, centralised model of climate governance cannot secure the nation’s resilience. Communities must become self-organising, ecologically literate, and mutually supportive. In short, climate adaptation is the practical route by which localism will emerge from necessity.


concluding observation

The “Building Future Communities 2025” report, though framed as a call for national coordination, actually illustrates the limits of that coordination. In practice, resilience will depend on thousands of local initiatives—socially embedded, place-based, and self-managed. Climate change is not only a threat but a catalyst for the transformation from a formal industrial society to an informal, localist one.

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.