Three or four years ago, a strange thing began happening in the gardens of our generally quiet, well-mannered and considerate part of the Great Wen: lights started going on as soon as there was a hint of twilight, not to be switched off again until the owners decided it was time for bed. Thankfully, not everyone followed this peculiar and, on the face of it, pointless trend. So far, mercifully, only a handful of houses have joined the Cult of Perpetual Daylight.
The only thing the three sets of owners owners seem to have in common is that they all had their gardens re-styled before developing their addiction to luminescence. The householders are not all the same age, they don’t all have kids, and they don’t all come from lands of the midnight sun. And, to be fair, one of them only puts their lights on occasionally in the evening, and sometimes even sit in their garden when it is illuminated. The other two do it practically every evening, summer and winter, and seem to make it a rule never to enter their gardens when the lights are blazing.
Just to be clear, we’re not talking eco-friendly, solar-powered semi-hidden garden lights winking alluringly like glow worms amidst a gentle lattice of foliage. As far as I can tell, these are bog-standard lights. In each case, the owners have planted a number of very tall, pencil-thin trees to capture the light and carry it upwards, so it can be enjoyed by those of us they probably assume are too poor to pay for the electricity needed to light up our own gardens.
Now, to be honest, the effect on their neighbours – including me – is fairly limited. I suspect none of us spends a lot of time staring out of our back windows enjoying the darkness, or in our gardens enjoying the stars – London already emits far too much light to pick out anything much less obvious and visible than The Plough or Orion’s Belt.
But why would anyone owning a tiny garden plot attached to a small terraced house actually want to increase light pollution? Their gardens are okay, I guess, but not so outstandingly beautiful or original as to merit being gazed at in rapture during the hours of darkness. And if they have security issues, why not get one of those lights that goes on when an intruder (or a cat) approaches the back door There are plenty in our area (motion-sensitive lights, I mean). No, this doesn’t appear to be a matter of security or aesthetics.
So what in the name of al that’s holy is going on here?
Just another example of the selfishness of the “me” generation? A need to assert one’s individuality when living in one of a row of houses that all look pretty much the same and are all the same size? I’m sure these people don’t think of themselves as anti-social: I bet they carefully sift their rubbish into the right boxes and bags for collection and feel good about doing their bit to save the planet; I bet they’re horrified when they see some slack-jawed knuckle-dragger tossing litter on the pavement; I bet they’re all sitting around with their fingers crossed hoping for a “positive outcome” from the Copenhagen summit; I bet they shudder when they hear schoolchildren swearing in the street.
And I bet they’d be appalled at the selfishness of any neighbour who left a radio blaring in their garden all evening.
But Isn’t that really what they’re doing?
Harumph!
No comments:
Post a Comment