A day at the races
Bizarre double whammy weekend of horrendously early alarm clocks (4.45am surely doesn't count as morning, unless approaching it from the other direction, wondering if you can leave the party yet), long sleeps on long trains and role-playing.
Saturday was Piers' meet-the-public for another potential windfarm in deepest Wales. Piers often gets abused at these events, so we keep going along hoping to capture some drama. But, unsurprisingly, all the well brought-up NIMBYs would never be as ill-mannered as to make death threats on national TV.
Sunday was a day at the races. One of the main arguments against the windfarm is that it's going to be too noisy. Yet it's on the same site as a jet car racing track - the self-proclaimed "noisiest sport in the world", which holds events twice a week, for up to 10,000 people and 30,000 cars.
The tone was set by some very young attention-deficit kids crawling the walls of the train as their parents tried to calm them down with family packets of biscuits EACH (60 odd biscuits), washed down by bottles of coke. More screams, more sugar, more screams, more sugar... what is so hard to understand?? Felt like offering them a bite of wholemeal hummus sandwich (I wasn't eating it - too boring) but instead turned headphones up and willed climate change do it's worst.
Flashbacks again to The White Album, as the woman handing out the MEDIA jackets could barely control her excitement that we were going to experience jet cars for the first time - "The ground starts trembling, the roar splits your ears and, as the car goes by, the CS gas sprays all over you... it's going to be the best day of your life".
All my worst fears have been confirmed.
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