Industrial Wind Turbines are monuments to man’s greed and stupidity. Period.
BY MATTHEW CORRIGAN
Twenty years ago a restless youth spent an idyllic spring and summer working throughout Western Brittany. Last week, after far too long a delay, I finally managed to return for an all too brief seven days to what, for me, is the loveliest region in France.
It’s clear some things haven’t changed during the last two decades. The warmth of the Breton people is still very much in evidence, welcoming as they do, with endless good humour, the tourists and our ham-fisted efforts to communicate in long-forgotten classroom French. Myriad silent and dreamlike villages still dot the countryside, stuffed to the gunwales with flowers providing an explosion of colour to contrast with the stone grey ancient churches that still dominate the centre-villes.
For anyone used to our overcrowded roads, the simple act of travelling from point A to point B is a joy. American-scale highways cross the…
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