Blame our boom years for today's energy price news

Things get "tight and uncomfortable".

“Life could get very tight and uncomfortable around 2015 to 2018”, said Ofgem’s departing chief executive, Alistair Buchanan to the BBC’s Today Programme this morning.

The “tight and uncomfortable” refers to new energy price rises forecast amid power station closures. Coal is, in Buchanan’s words, “coming off the bars now” and nuclear and renewable sources are still in their infancy. So, in another breath of optimism, Buchanan explains: “We’re going to have to go shopping for gas in world markets... which briefly will be tight themselves, so we’ll have a double squeeze”. Again he emphasises, “Prices are going to get quite squeezy as supply and demand converge”.

Words like “uncomfortable” and “squeezy” from an influential figure like Buchanan are worrying. Although nobody yet knows quite how harsh these price rises will be, there is one certainty – this is unwelcome news.

For once, though, these unwelcome bills are not Coalition policy, they are the direct result of our boom years. International emissions agreements signed between 2004 and 2008, right before what Buchanan labels the “financial tsunami”, take most of the blame. While environmental policy, not the economy was headlining political rhetoric and green protests, not occupy movements were plaguing London’s streets, deals were made to cap emissions. These good intentions have now come back to haunt us as coal power stations are forced to close earlier than expected, and our reliance on gas doubles from 30 to 60 per cent.    

Allocating blame to the past eases the pain. Decisions have been made and we must live by the consequences. But the effects are only short-term: once our wind turbines start spinning, wave hubs start floating and nuclear power plants start...humming, we will surely be back in the black.

Photograph: Getty Images

Oliver Williams is an analyst at WealthInsight and writes for VRL Financial News

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood