There is an energy crisis in the UK – anyone with half a brain could have seen that coming

SO, the cable that brings electricity from France to England has burned out, the price of gas has more than doubled and our ­precious wind ­turbines are sitting in the North Sea, as lifeless and limp as an old man’s todger, because there is no wind.

Ordinarily, we’d simply crank up the coal-fired power stations, but they have been closed down so that Boris can achieve his goal of being carbon neutral.

And we haven’t even built our new nuclear power station yet because the few eco-loons who aren’t currently glued to the M25 are running about on the ­proposed site finding voles.

Anyone with half a brain could have seen this coming.

That if we nail our colours to the mast of green power, events would inevitably gang up to ensure that one day, we’d have none at all.

We’re told that power cuts are not on the cards. But I wouldn’t be so sure about that.

And I wouldn’t really mind either because, truth be told, they were a laugh.

Obviously, today, you wouldn’t have a wi-fi router and you wouldn’t be able to charge your phone or your laptop.

Or your car, come to think of it, which means you wouldn’t be able to visit friends who do have power.

Nor would you be able to go to work because the credit card readers wouldn’t work, or the tills, or the shop floor robots, or the barcode scanners, or your desktop computer.

Or any of the equipment used by doctors.

The only people who’d be unaffected are the woodland weirdos you see on Countryfile who make a living by boiling wood to make hoes.

Tinder would be down too, and even if it was up for long enough for you to make a date, you wouldn’t be able to see what he or she looked like.

So yes, there would be some downsides but I’m old enough to remember what happened the last time we had power cuts in 1974 and it wasn’t all bad.

LOSE POWER

Every week, the Doncaster Evening Post would provide a list of times when each village would lose power and we’d pin it to the back of a kitchen cupboard door and use it to plan our lives.

We’d sometimes have dinner at four in the morning and breakfast in the middle of the afternoon, and in between, there was much to think about.

Did we have enough   candles? Have we got some batteries for the torch? Is there some coal for the fire?

My job every day was to remove the battery from my dad’s Cortina, which we’d then use to power a small black and white television.

And then put it back when the lights came on again.

They were happy times. Good, family times.

Like those early days of lockdown, only with added darkness.

And pneumoconiosis.

This time, I shall probably be even happier because I’ll know the whole country will be full of sullen kids, staring at their dead phones and thinking, “Well, if this is what it’s like to be carbon neutral, can we open the coal mines again?”

Funny, isn’t it, that the 1974 power cuts were caused because we had too much coal, and the next ones will come along because we don’t have enough.

As in all things, then, a steady course down the middle is the best solution.

We should go green, but carefully — not in a big, mad, panicky rush.

Busy female stars don’t need an agent

DANIEL CRAIG, who’s stepping down as 007, says that the role of James Bond should not be given to a woman.

Instead, he says, women should be offered better and bigger roles in other films.

Really? What’s he talking about here? Fury Road? Hancock? Prometheus? Atomic Blonde?

Or is he on about all those power-women movies that don’t have Charlize Theron in them?

Like Alien and Red Sparrow (starring Jennifer Lawrence) and Black Panther and The Danish Girl and Erin Brockovich and Captain Marvel and The Hunger Games and The Last Jedi and Legally Blonde and Gravity and Ocean’s 8 and Fargo and The Sound Of Music and Mamma Mia!

And those are only the ones I can think of off the top of my head.

Going splat in a hat

I’VE always never wanted to do parachuting.

The idea of jumping out of a fully functioning plane holds absolutely no appeal whatsoever.

I’d rather cup James May’s sack.

In fact, I’ve always thought that people who go parachuting for fun might have a screw loose, and this week it’s occurred to me that they do.

Because I watched a flock of them floating down to earth beneath their big silk handkerchiefs and they were all wearing helmets.

Why? Because if you hit the ground at 200mph, a bit of plastic round your head is going to make absolutely no difference at all to how dead you are.

Light or wrong

A MAN called Lord Rees is calling for less light pollution and says stadiums are a notable offender.

Well, yes, when they are lit up at night they do produce a lot of glare, which means nearby telescope enthusiasts can’t see the Milky Way.

But what’s the alternative?

Asking Messrs Salah and Ronaldo to fumble around in the dark?

My Suzi beats 'em all

FOR the last year, I’ve been trying to find a no-nonsense car which could do all the dirty work on my farm.

Fetching. Carrying. Transporting sheep. Log carrying. Fert spreading. A real workhorse.

I tried the new Land Rover Defender but it’s too expensive and, I fear, too fragile.

I tried all the pick-up trucks but they’re too big to get through the woods.

I looked at the Fiat Panda 4x4 and the various offerings from Volvo and I was on the verge of giving up when Suzuki sent round its new Jimny.

It’s tough and reliable and practical and very good-looking.

Plus, it’s light and has a low-range gearbox so it’s nigh on impossible to get it stuck.

And best of all, it costs less than £17,000.

As I’m from Yorkshire and that’s the best value this side of a copy of The Sun or a Happy Meal from McDonald’s, I bought one immediately.

The only trouble is that everyone on the farm loves it so much, I haven’t been able to get in it yet.

Fool o’ beans

SO let me get this straight.

A 42-year-old woman was admitted to hospital in Stoke suffering from pneumonia and was given first-class, state-of- the-art medical care – for nothing – until she was on the road to recovery.

And now she is complaining because she was given a plate of beans for lunch, and a carton of apple juice.

What was she expecting? A lobster thermidor? With a nice glass of Chablis?

It’s the NHS, for Christ’s sake. Not Claridge’s.

Small wonder she wants to remain nameless.