Lost In Translation

Some (on the right, in the fossil fuel lobbies, among the climate catastrophe deniers and net zero detractors) are advocating heavily for the UK to increase rates of extraction of oil and gas from our offshore North Sea fields, by honouring two licences currently subject to litigation and by approving new licences.

They claim it will (a) bring down the price of fuel to UK consumers, (b) make us less reliant on imports of oil and gas, (c) provide revenue to the exchequer, (d) create jobs and (e) that as everybody else continues to drill anyway, why shouldn't we, "in the national interest".

Leaving aside that such a move would run contrary to both the legally binding Climate Change Act (2008) and the current government's manifesto, there are several compelling reasons for not doing so, but they mostly get conveniently lost in translation, so let me set the record straight.

this leads...

Even giving the go-ahead for the already approved Rosebank oil and gas field near the Shetland Islands and the Jackdaw gas field near Aberdeen won't actually achieve objectives (a), (b) and (c) for the following reasons:

Rosebank contains very little gas: it is 90% heavy crude oil. UK refineries are not equipped to refine it, and as such, it is not suitable for domestic use. It would be loaded onto tankers and sold by the fuel companies on international markets at global market prices to the highest bidder. Extracting more of it would not change the international cost of oil and gas. It would not heat British homes, fuel British industry, or lower British bills. Activating Rosebank would actually increase the UK's CO2 emissions by some 10% per year!

What is more, the primary financial beneficiaries of proceeding with Rosebank would be its owners, not the exchequer or UK taxpayers. Rosebank is owned jointly by Shell and Equinor (80%) and Ithaca Energy (20%). Based on a long-term average oil price of $70 per barrel, the field's owners stand to earn £1.5 billion in profit. UK taxpayers, by contrast, would shoulder over 80% of Rosebank's development costs through tax relief. Shell and Equinor effectively pay no tax in the UK because it is offset by the tax relief they receive, and Equinor pays tax in Norway, to that country's benefit.

Jackdaw has gas, probably enough to supply a mere 2% of UK requirements up to 2036. It would be relatively straightforward to connect that platform to the UK pipeline network. However, the gas beneath Jackdaw is CO2 dense and drilling it could produce 35.8m tonnes of carbon over its 10-year lifetime, the equivalent of 90% of Scotland's emissions for 2023. As for new jobs created, the estimate is 15 permanent positions (yes 15). 

Shell owns Jackdaw, so the financial caveats attached to Rosebank largely apply to Jackdaw as well. The fuel company and its shareholders will be the prime beneficiaries and any potential revenue to the UK exchequer will be offset by the tax relief the government affords Shell (which paid zero tax in the UK last tax year).

Those are the facts which have been roundly ignored in the pronouncements and soundbites of Tory and Reform politicians advocating a "drill, baby, drill" policy in recent months.

Actually, the best way to achieve the goals of (a), (b), (c) and (d) is by steadfastly opposing option (e) and by accelerating our endeavours to switch over to renewable energy and achieve net zero as fast as possible. Britain has led the way since 2008. Our best hope is to continue to do so.

The alternative is more of what we have seen this summer.

...to this

“As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; They kill us for their sport.” (King Lear IV:I:37–38)

Here's my latest, a work-in-progress:

Bad Gods And Greedy Fools

If ever the saga of our hellish end-of- times 

gets uncovered by some intrepid voyagers 

from across the sea of stars, as they

disinter our history from the planet's silent, 

cinderous shell, wondering what catastrophe 

befell so mighty a civilised world, will they 

struggle to believe they've translated aright, 

that we brought destruction on ourselves? 

That bad gods and greedy fools conspired

like wanton boys to wreck the very paradise

they enjoyed, the ecosphere that sustained them?

How could such crass stupidity, such lack 

of care, of empathy play out on a rare sphere

once both beautiful and bountiful, now pocked

with burnt out cities and the ashen ghosts

of monstrous fallen data temples dedicated

to Artifice? How could they give nature the slip?

Why did nobody try harder to stop such madness? 

Was it some decadent death wish allowed

That bad gods and greedy fools conspired

like wanton boys to wreck the very paradise

they enjoyed, the ecosphere that sustained them?

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Summer

After eight years as a regular Saturday blogger, I'm searching for a seasonal summer slant that's not been used before. This week's record temperatures - Tropic of Bowland anyone? - might have proved newsworthy for a couple of days but are soon to be a commonplace feature of British summertime, it would seem. More concerning is that "beating Keir Starmer" and "getting Brexit re-done" (whatever the hell that means) look to be more important to the Tories than ensuring we are meeting the challenges of global warming and our legally-binding Net Zero undertaking. Let's face it, it's not been a priority of this administration, despite the UK hosting COP26; in fact we're going backwards - less on track than we were five years ago apparently - and Alok Sharma, the government's climate minister, has threatened to resign if the new PM fails to commit to a strong green agenda.

Anyway, here's my slant: Summerland. I don't know if you've seen the movie of the same name? It was released in 2020 (first year of Covid) and probably didn't get much exposure as a result, which is a shame because it's a first-rate film, an instant 'lost classic' as it were, with a great story line, terrific acting (Gemma Arterton and Lucas Bond in particular are excellent) and the cinematography is stunning. I won't spoil the plot, for do try and catch it if you can, streamed, on DVD, or whenever it crops up on your TV.

Summerland

Suffice to say the movie introduced me to the idea of the Summerland, essentially a pagan concept of an afterlife. Formalised to an extent in theosophical belief and writings (thanks to Swedenborg, Davis and Leadbeater inter alia ), Summerland would seem to represent the highest level or sphere that souls can aspire to between incarnations, before Nirvana is attained (for theosophists believe we are all on a cyclical mission to reach perfection). It is also sometimes referred to as the astral plane, a sort of sunlit upland for those who managed to live good lives before shucking off their mortal host. There is a lot more weird stuff associated with theosophy - like Sanat Kumara who is believed to be the spiritual deity governing Earth from the floating city of Shamballa, somewhere above the Gobi desert - but the movie doesn't get into that level of complexity. For researcher Alice in her cliff-top house and for blitz evacuee Frank, it simply posits the existence of Summerland, and the ability of those with sufficiently open minds to actually glimpse it in the ether as some reassurance in war-torn 1940 that existence goes on after death. Unlikely, of course, but charming nonetheless. 

Moving on back down to earth in 2022, my own 'house on the strand' (it's not actually on the sea-front but a short walk inland, as anyone who has visited will tell you), is oriented almost precisely east-west. The front faces the rising sun, which filters through the bedroom blinds on a summer morning. It's a splendid thing to wake up to, blue sky, gently warming bright air, the promise of a glorious day to come. By mid-day (give or take a seasonally-adjusted hour) the sun is right above, heading west, flooding the back garden while the front gradually becomes shadowy. It's a house of two halves. The front rooms are warm in the morning but cool in the afternoon and evening as the heat of the day intensifies; the back rooms and back garden are refreshingly cool in the morning but suffused with light and heat right through to sunset. I migrate between front and back as the mood or the need dictates. It works perfectly. Then there are the wrens.

Wrens are beautiful little birds, more often heard than seen because they are small and shy, but they have a distinctive sound and are far more populous than people think (estimated 11,000,000 in the UK). They are also territorial. I have two distinct families of them, one in the front garden and one in the back, with the house acting as a sort of buffer. Occasionally I hear the males singing at the same time, usually but not exclusively at the start of the day. It's a thrill and a highlight of summer mornings, and although I've written a whole blog and poem about this charming bird before (linked here, click on the title:  Tails Up), I thought why not do so again from a slightly different, somewhat humorous perspective?

Wren Singing

This then, in first draft, is for wrens everywhere, even though they can't read...

Wrens In Stereo

If I awake at dawn, the norm for a summer morning,

I can lie drowsy listening to the front-of-house wren

belting forth his silvery song from the magnolia tree

beneath my bedroom window, rallying all to the day.

Less distinct, being further away, the backstage wren

will join the chorus, rehearsing some mercurial lines

until he's note perfect in the shrubbery. If sometimes,

I suppose it's just by chance, their modulations chime

to great effect, I can feel uplifted by the sound, rouse

myself  to stand equidistant  along the gallery, better 

to balance both outpourings.  They're not performing 

so for me, more likely to secure their territories anew,

but what a rare delight to be showered at start of play

by wrens in stereo for ten or fifteen minutes, overture

to the quiet daily drama unfolding in a writer's house,

better by far than an intrusion of radio or breakfast tv.

Thanks for reading, S;-)

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Melting Points

I’m trying to imagine the scene in the Advertising Agency. The copywriter is trying to get an angle with which to market this new confectionary. The client is coming out with interesting but not that useful descriptions of the product. ‘It’s small’. ‘It’s portable’. ‘It’s cheap’. ‘It’s sort of chocolate’. ‘It’s sort of hard as well’. ‘They melt in your mouth, not your hands’.

That light bulb moment. It did actually sort of happen like that. But how did they arrive at that moment?

Forrest Mars was the son of the founder of the Mars Company. He wanted to innovate on his own rather than stay in his father's company. Forrest Mars Sr. moved to England, where in 1932 he began manufacturing the Mars bar for troops in the United Kingdom. It was during the Spanish Civil War that Mars purportedly encountered soldiers eating small chocolate beads encased in a hard sugar shell as part of their rations i.e. Smarties.

Apart from the fact that chocolate smeared hands could be dangerous if handling a rifle there was, in an age when sales of chocolate typically dropped off during summer months due to the lack of air conditioning, the fact that they were not melting. Forrest was thrilled by the prospect of developing a product that would be able to resist melting in high temperatures. He returned to the United States and, shortly thereafter, approached Bruce Murrie, the son of Hershey executive William Murrie, to join him in his new business venture.

Anticipating a shortage of chocolate and sugar as World War II raged on in Europe, Mars sought a partnership that would ensure a steady supply of resources to produce his new candy. In return, Murrie was given a 20 percent stake in the M&M product, which was named to represent ‘Mars’ and ‘Murrie.’

In case you were wondering, and these are the latest figures I found, an average batch of M&Ms is 30 percent browns, 20 percent each of yellows and reds, and 10 percent each of greens, oranges, and blues. I think I should now purchase a packet to check them out.

It starts to get a bit confusing after that in terms of what adverts were used for what product. Treets were a brand of confectionery sold by Mars Limited in France, Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands. They appeared in the UK in the 1960s; these were later marketed as Peanut Treets (sold in a yellow packet), together with Toffee Treets (sold in a blue packet) and Chocolate Treets (sold in a brown packet).

All three shared the same glazed coating, but the filling of the button-shaped Chocolate Treet consisted solely of the milk chocolate which surrounded the peanut or toffee pellet in the other versions. All three were marketed with the slogan ‘Melt in your mouth, not in your hand’.

The brand was discontinued by Mars in 1988. Chocolate Treets had already been replaced with Minstrels. Peanut Treets were discontinued in favour of the multi-coloured Peanut M&M's.

I’m going a bit off piste here but I found it fascinating that astronauts apparently love them because things taste different in outer space. As foods taste blander, the astronauts prefer stronger flavours that include spices and sugar. M&M’s are also compact and self-contained so there’s no chance of biting one in half and creating stray crumbs. And if one or two do go floating away, because they’re brightly coloured, they’re easier to find.

The poem to accompany this article has nothing to do with chocolate and everything to do with the chance to mention my new pamphlet ‘Notes on the Causes of The Third World War’ which is available from Indigo Dreams Publishing.

This poem can be found on page 9:

A Present from the Past

There is a Professor of Glaciology
at this University
who starts her first lecture
to a fresh intake of students thus:

Lock the door and don’t move.
I mean it.
This stuff melts, even here,
I’d hate to see your grants cancelled.

And then she slowly,
some may say dramatically,
removes insulation
from a long slim column of ice
drilled from a glacier
that once covered
where these words are being written.

She’s told me,
many times,
that the most common question
in the Refectory later
is why those cores
were ignored.

Thanks for reading, Terry

Editor's Note: Terry's excellent pamphlet is available to order here: Terry Quinn Pamphlet

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Why Do Bears Sing?

Surely the most pertinent question for the inhabitants of Planet Earth right now and the one most deserving of a straight answer is not strictly to do with national determination, the rise of populism, religious/sectarian strife, cynical capitalist machinations or even one's favourite festive food (from a supermarket your choice). The big concern ought to be global warming  - although it informs and is impacted  by several of the afore-mentioned issues.

That global warming is happening is an undeniable fact - unless you're unfortunate enough to have a head like a trumpkin. The questions (actually a multiplicity) and eagerly sought answers relate to causes, effects and potential remedies. Here, then, a bit of a rhetorical Q&A; nothing that hasn't been said before, but I feel it's worth re-iterating in light of the most recent warnings from the IPCC (the UN's Inter-governmental Panel on Climate Change) of imminent environmental catastrophe unless behaviours change.

Q: Is the steady rise in global temperatures that we have witnessed in the last fifty years due mainly to the actions of mankind?
A: All the informed scientific evidence is that this is the case and the principal catalyst has been the rapid increase in 'greenhouse gases' around the world from fossil-fuel burning factories, power-plants and motor vehicles.

Q:Is the rise in temperatures triggering climate change as a result?
A: Again, this appears to be irrefutable. Ice-caps are melting, sea-levels are rising, flooding of low-lying areas is becoming more prevalent. Wind and rainfall patterns are changing as the oceans warm, leading to an increase in arid deserts in some parts of the globe and more extreme weather conditions (hurricanes, typhoons) in others.

Q: Is any of this necessarily dangerous?
A: It certainly is for low-lying or arid regions which will become uninhabitable. Human suffering and population migration on a mass scale are likely to result. It could also mean that lands that are currently prime food-producing areas cease to be so or to be as productive as they currently are.

That UN IPCC report warned that we've only got just over a decade in which to act decisively in order for global warming "to be kept to a maximum of 1.5C, beyond which even half a degree will significantly worsen the risks of drought, floods, extreme heat and poverty for hundreds of millions of people... But the greatest difference would be to nature. Insects (which are vital for pollination of crops) and plants could lose half their habitat if temperatures rise by even 2C."

The latest informed estimates from climatologists is that average temperatures could rise by as much as 5C over the next fifty years if the targets of the Paris accord are not met. The implications are truly frightening.

Q: Is everyone but the scientific community and the 'green' think-tanks and pressure groups still under-estimating or dismissing the severity of the problem?
A: That would appear to be the case and is the most worrying aspect of the issue. At a governmental level there is a collective dragging of feet, even to conform to the agreed to legislation and the agreed-to timetable to implement it to reduce carbon emissions and reliance on fossil fuels... and then there are the governments that appear to be paying lip-service to agreed limits or are threatening to renege on agreements they signed.

Q: Is there any difference that individuals can make?
A: Of course we can all try and be good citizens by recycling waste, reducing our own energy use and influencing the markets in the way we shop (avoid air-freighted produce, buy local etc). Any initiative is better than none - but the quantum changes will only happen when green policies become mainstream - so maybe that sort of seismic political change is the next logical development, the greening of the political climate, a burgeoning Green Party, something to be actively encouraged and signed up to? (I'm just thinking out loud now.)

Anyway, my head hurts. Time for a poem and to answer the question about bears singing. Last week's effort was a bit on the bleak side and so although the issue of global warming is mighty serious (and no mistake), I've tried to leaven the poetic baguette with the yeast of humour. (Warning - this is a work in progress and definitely not yet in its final form.)

Sleeveless In Seattle
No wonder
all of nature's got its knickers
in a twist - it's December
and we're sleeveless in Seattle
for fuck's sake;
while down the coast
swathes of California are toast
and across the continent
low-lying lands are sinking
under ice-melt.

Time to rewrite the book of lore -
those country saws
mean nothing anymore.
Ne'er cast a clout?

We're sleeveless in Seattle
and from shore to sandy shore
it's springtime before Christmas.
The best exotic marigolds
will flower for New Years - in fact
they've not been out of bloom for seasons.

Non-hibernating bears sing loud for honey,
but the bees all got too hot and died
and so there isn't any...hear them howl.

Nor will there be fruit swelling
in those fabulous southern orange groves
nor any cereals soon
from the breadbin of the nation.
That old harvest moon
becomes redundant
once the dustbowl settles
and the hungry droves migrate out west
to overcrowd our temperate home.

Nature's clearly out of sorts,
severely out of synch.
Sure she'll get the reasons figured
in due course. Meanwhile,
rattled rightly to our very bones
we'll ration hope, do what it takes,
notch our belts more tightly
to stop the trousers
slipping off our skinny arses
and sleeveless in Seattle
out sing the howling bears
in praying this climatic nightmare
of our own devising passes.


Thanks for reading guys and gals, S ;-)

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