A day in London for the launch of my new report ‘The Shale Gas Shock’, published by the Global Warming Policy Foundation. I argue that shale gas calls the bluff of the renewable energy movement in the same way that genetically modified crops called the bluff of the organic farming movement. Just as GM allows the organic dream of drastic cuts in pesticide use to come true without high cost, so shale gas promises gradually to displace both coal (in electricity generation) and oil (in transport), drastically cutting carbon emissions without needing subsidy. Since subsidy is the lifeblood of most of the busybodies in the energy business, and since good news is no news, few people turned up for my report’s launch.
Back in the north, watching Newcastle United unconvincingly defeat Birmingham at St James’s Park, I tried to explain ‘Blaydon Races’ to my wife’s Swedish cousin. Tyneside’s national anthem chronicles no climactic battle, doomed love affair, prolonged feud or heroic feat, but the crash of a horse-drawn bus when a wheel fell off. Bizarrely, the crash never even happened, let alone on the date mentioned in the second line, 9th June 1862 — four days after the song was first performed by the song’s writer, Geordie Ridley (no relation). Apparently the only bit that was true, in a verse added after the event, is the line (in Ridley’s spelling) ‘The rain it poor’d aw the day an’ myed the groons quite muddy’.
By last weekend, it had not done that for weeks. I realised the drought was getting to me when I dreamed about rain. For weeks we have stared at the sky, and the web page of the Met Office rainfall radar, in the hope of a smudge that might presage a deluge.