WE may as well start looking now, before the dark days of winter are upon us.

If the coalition’s exceptionally foolish Secretary of State for Energy and Climate Change gets his way, our hillsides will be plastered with wind turbines and you’d better remember where you left that box of candles you bought all those years ago during the winter of discontent.

I predict that the modern generation, used to having if not it all then most of it, will not take well to the lights going out.

Chris Huhne is a green ideologist. That means no government assistance to develop reliable and inexpensive nuclear power. His answer? Build thousands of windmills. The windmills of Mr. Huhne’s mind really do go round in ever decreasing circles. His policies will not ensure that the lights stay on. We could face power cuts a lot sooner than we think. And ironically, when those wind turbines that ruin the view have ground to a halt through lack of wind, or too much, what will we do then?

The only hope is to fall back on nuclear power. In fact we should not be even considering using clean energy as a fallback situation. Development of new nuclear energy plants is already behind schedule. Huhne’s green thinking will land us in a disastrous mess, where industry and the economy grind to a halt and it’s too late to do anything about it.

THESE BOOTS WERE MADE FOR — SHEARING

BOOTS that were once the chosen attire of hard-bitten Aussie sheep shearers are now the choice of WAGS and celebrities and, according to mountain rescuers, the latest “inappropriate” attire to be spotted on the Lake District fells.

It raises the age-old question of what is and isn’t considered suitable for the hills. According to recent comments by air ambulance fliers and mountain rescuers, Ugg boots are an accident just waiting to happen.

There are always the tales, some real and others apocryphal, of walkers being dragged to safety off the mountains wearing flip-flops and slippers, mapless and without sustenance or sense. Lake District rescuers say that 10 per cent. of the 675 people they helped last year were deemed to have poor footwear and a percentage of incidents could have been avoided by better preparation and heeding basic advice.

Yet I suspect, by that token, one of the great mountain legends, Eddie Campbell, would have been labelled foolish. In my early fell running days the grey bearded, grizzled Campbell was a hero. Three times a winner of the Ben Nevis Race, he had done the ascent of the Ben well over 1,000 times in his faded blue singlet, red bandana and Green Flash plimsolls.

It was said that Campbell never used a compass, had no time for maps, yet was as sure footed as a mountain goat. Like Gordon Pirie he said pumps made you run correctly. Ironically, cancer did what the hills failed to do and claimed Campbell at the age of 64.

Then there was the late Raymond McHaffie, from Keswick, who scuttled up Shepherd’s Crag wearing boxing gloves and roller skates, just to prove it was possible. No doubt some purists thought this was quite shocking. It most certainly took place long before risk assessments and health and safety.

For 40 years, until my knees gave up the ghost, I was out on the fells most days. Yet I never owned a pair of boots in my life. I always wore trainers as long as they had a decent bit of grip. Once you’ve twisted your ankles half a dozen times it doesn’t hurt so much and you do learn where to place your feet on awkward ground.

Of course I don’t advocate inexperienced walkers taking to the hills in ridiculous footwear without clothing to fit the weather. There used to be one group of youngsters who came to the Lakes every August and invariably had to be rescued after setting off hopelessly ill-equipped for fell walks late in the day. Unfortunately you can’t legislate against idiots.

But it is difficult to impose a set of standards. Otherwise Eddie Campbell would never have become “Mr. Ben Nevis” and McHaffie would have remained grounded. Mind you, there are limits to the freedom of the fells. Even the manufacturers of Ugg boots say they are “a lifestyle choice” whatever that means. I think if I ever see a pair on the fells it will be more a case of “ugh …” than “ugg”.

A WORTHY CAMPAIGNER

TIME flies and it doesn’t seem like one whole year since I started writing Nobbut Lakeing’ for the Herald, although it is 50 years since I first contributed anonymously to the columns of this newspaper as a schoolboy assistant to its then Keswick-based correspondent Ella Bone. In those days, local newspapers were a centrepiece of community life. Nowadays there are many who forecast the demise of newspapers altogether, with Twittering, Facebook and other aspects of the Internet taking over.

My mentor when I left school and went to work for the Herald was John Hurst, my esteemed predecessor in this column. I could not have had a better teacher. John knew what local people thought. He knew what troubled them. Mornings spent with Penrith councillor Arthur Stamper drinking coffee in the Tudor restaurant brought forth many a story and seeds of a campaign.

Those qualities may yet be the salvation of local papers. Raising money for important causes; fighting to keep schools, old folks’ homes and churches open; railing against developers threatening to ruin parts of our heritage. These are the things where newspapers still beat the Internet hands down.

John Hurst was a campaigner ahead of his time. He saved a village school. He fought for a view from a cricket field. He knew the value of our history and traditions. If I have inherited only a fraction of all that, I am rather proud to have been given the opportunity to follow in his pen strokes.

PARLEZ VOUS CUMBRIAN?

FORMER rugby league commentator Eddie Waring and Carlisle United manager Greg Abbott leave me with the abiding thoughts of this week.

Waring because, recalls octogenarian wordsmith Stuart Hall, he was once sent for elocution lessons. With all those early baths and up and unders, Eddie was a celebrated mangler of the English language. After four sessions he was asked to leave the classes — all the other students had begun to speak like him.

Hall was in the news this week with his criticism of the BBC’s obsession with regional accents. The Beeb does seem to have a proclivity for positive discrimination when it comes to accents. I have no objection to Geordies or Brummies fronting programs and reading the news, provided they are the best man or woman for the job rather than having been selected by some politically correct head of TV or radio in order to fill a certain ratio.

Meanwhile Greg Abbott reveals he is spending some of his afternoons learning French to enable him to converse with his new Ivory Coast striker Francois Zoko. I hope he does better than I did at O-level, where I apparently accused my aural examiner of having “the bottom of a horse” and followed it up by telling this unsmiling and middle-aged official his eyes were “as beautiful as the morning mists rolling in over Skiddaw”.

Greg has my heartfelt sympathy as he wrestles with Francais for Francois. He’s a big bloke to unwittingly insult if he gets the translation wrong.