“EYESORES!” thundered my friend, shaking a fist at the wind farm on a hillside in the Scottish borders, “It’s ruined. How could they? To this place!” We had laboured uphill for the view, but for the next 15 minutes he angrily ate his lunch with back turned, an act of protest with a cheese and ham sandwich.
Confession time: I actually quite like the sweeping, architectural power of a wind turbine. I find a hillside of them beguiling and quite serene. We scurry below, whilst the mighty ’mills glide
