Category: Blog posts

Shifting in real time

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I was astonished to read that this summer in the UK has been the hottest on record, not because I doubt the data but because my own memory of it feels so out of kilter. I’ve lived through it and it felt toasty at times but others have felt hotter. Perhaps the summers of 2020 and 2021 felt hotter. The lockdowns and pandemic situation might have made those feel hotter – everything felt more claustrophobic and turned up a level then. Even more so during 2020, when neighbours were carrying out an incredibly loud, judderingly bone-shaking extension. The noise and vibrations felt so intense, they created a feedback loop between the discomfort and the heat.

A big part of why it felt different to me is also probably because I’ve been lucky enough to move since then. During those pandemic times I was living in an Edwardian, first floor, purpose-built maisonette – a building designed for quite another climate. Now I live in a house that, whilst not very easy to keep cool, is nonetheless much easier to do so. Particularly at night, which meant I’ve been able to get some respite from the heat rather than feeling like my eyeballs were going to burst. I’m also in an area that’s more surrounded by trees, so that’s potentially giving more of a cooling feel too. I can come up with these different ideas to rationalise my thinking, even as I wonder if it’s just me trying to explain being in a more privileged situation.

Still though. The recency bias of a few autumnal feeling days and lots of rain means that those glorious sunny days feel a long time ago. Even scrolling back through photos, I see lots of sunny days but also plenty of grey days with occasional drizzle in the mix too. Knowing that I’m looking back at a summer which is record breaking and struggling to assimilate that information with what I remember and see. To see the shifting baselines happening, in real time, to myself, someone who works on climate issues and is aware of this in a way others might not be, feels disconcerting. If I can’t even persuade myself, how can I be surprised that others aren’t alarmed?

In a New York minute…

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Looking at the weather report last night for today, it said there would be rain, lots of rain, a bit later on in the day. Not just a bit of rain but some good double blob levels of rain.

I woke up this morning to bright blue skies. Not a cloud to be seen in the sky. The soft, warm light gradually growing in its seemingly implacable intensity. As the early morning turned into kind of time that no longer feels like a secret pocket of time to be awake in, a virtuous bonus for the owls amongst us, but the kind of time most might be awake – the big blue sun filled sky carried on.

Checked the weather report again. Surely it wasn’t still predicting rain. Out of this most gently insistent blue sky – it seemed impossible.

Gradually some clouds appeared, then a few more came with tints of grey.

The seemingly impossible happened. Double blob rain out of a darkened sky. No blue to be seen. Replaced with thoughts of putting on a light and getting a jumper.

It is easy to forget everything is changing all of the time. Easy to feel moments are bigger and more substantial than they are. Good and sometimes astonishing to be reminded otherwise, fortunate that reminder comes today in the form of some much needed rain…

On not knowing…

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It’s a weird space to be in, to not know things but be trying to know and explore. To bump up against the edges of not knowing. To not know how to know. To allow yourself to be bored and uncomfortable. To go down some rabbit holes without knowing if they are rabbit holes or the thing that will unlock the knowing…

It’s rare to be in a space where it’s okay to not know. To be able to admit that – because it feels possible, permissible and safe to do so.

I was reminded again of this whilst reading the rightly furious and urgent piece by Rachel Donald – ‘The crisis of imagination’. It’s easy to think we have such a rich understanding of the world – from ever more detailed research, footage from space and down deep into the earth’s core and back in time which shows us our world in so many different ways. Yet public discourse, in politics and online, often isn’t kind to those who admit they don’t have all the answers.

Making ways to allow ourselves, individually and collectively to not know – and not to stop there but be open to finding out – is key. To be prepared to face some mild discomfort in admitting our ignorance, so we can better focus on what needs to be done.

Walked the homes

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Do Ho Suh’s exhibition at the Tate is so titled because traditional Korean buildings known as a hanok can be disassembled and reassembled elsewhere, a process of ‘walking the house’.

It was wonderful to be immersed in someone expressing different aspects of the home. From the physical aspects to the emotional and temporal. Seeing them all overlaid together, as they are for people most of the time but which feels rare to see in artworks. Homes can often be featured in art but rarely as the main event, more commonly as a backdrop or fleeting glimpse. Something that tells us about someone but isn’t usually the main focus of the piece.

Public/private split

Homes are usually thought of as private spaces, or at least they have increasingly been for the last few hundred years. People lived together in much more communal set-ups. Sharing rooms, beds and homes. Things that we would now consider private, like using the toilet or having sex, were much more public activities then. It’s apparently why swear words were related to religion up until a few hundred years ago – that was a transgressive thing to talk about, whereas swear words now are more about sex and toilet things because they have become private matters, things to be ashamed or embarrassed about.

Here, Suh upends that, making the private public. He has houses within houses, parts of homes which have become public spaces as they are demolished. A childhood home rubbed down and rebuilt within the gallery. Every part of the exterior traced onto paper, lines and designs, to capture the look and feel of the place. Films showing homes exposed to the public as they are demolished, private walls becoming briefly public before they disappear.

Homes in this telling are not just becoming public because we get to see the private light switches and fire hydrants of previous homes but, in sharing his artistic response to his home, he’s also helping us move from the specific to the universal. In showing us where he’s lived in a way which invites us in, creates some intimacy, he’s also inviting people to think about their own home. Helping us bring our own homes into that gallery, comparing ours with his, reflecting back on our own, seeing how others live.

Gender and homes

Homes have traditionally become a place that’s associated with women rather than men, as many, including Bowlby, Gregory and McKie have reflected. Following the split between public and private spaces, men became more associated with public spaces and women with private spaces. Perhaps if the exhibition had been by a woman rather than a man, it might have resonated slightly differently. A sense of women working within the parameters they are typically afforded. Whereas having a man make art from it, and see it as something which is worthy of making art with and from, is another way of helping to show and shift that division.

Modernity and homes

Putnam identified two successive transformations of contemporary living from traditional 19th Century models of home. The first was the emergence of the modern home between about 1920-1950 when domestic spaces were designed around the technical core of sewers, water, gas and power cables. A time when these innovations were new for most people and somewhat astonishing, or perhaps a little terrifying too. The second shift he identifies is around the 1960s, when the technical, economic and political structures of modernity became part of the background of modern home life. At that point, as what he describes as ‘the material life supports of modernity are taken for granted’, the cables and sewers and suchlike fade into the background and the home becomes a space in which people personalise their space and negotiate with each other about how it looks.

In that context it was fun to see cables, wires and light fittings represented. Those life supports, especially things like cables, don’t tend to be shown and have disappeared into a sense of what normal homes look like. Often in lifestyle magazines cables and wires get edited out of pictures, as though the items they are powering magically work without showing the plugs. That it’s not cool or aspirational to need to connect in to power sockets.

Suh shows the different aspects of the home which would normally be hidden, peeling away layers of life. Simultaneously showing the modernity of the home which is taken for granted by those who have grown up with it, and also going back to the pre-modern home where it’s not taken for granted and is instead something to marvel at. Bringing them to the fore again allows for the magic and importance of them to be seen and recognised.

Making homes our own

When people move into a place they often try and remove traces of previous occupants to ‘make it their own’. Suh shows there are many ways to make a home our own.  He had to get permission from some of the landlords to make the art,  a way of taking ownership of the home – it’s his art when it’s out in the world, even if it wasn’t and isn’t ‘his’ home.

In one of the pieces, he layers up aspects of different homes – light switches and plugs, light fittings and door handles. It gave me a time-travelling sense of all of the people who would have used those light switches and door handles. The different hands that had used them, the lives they have supported. As we become more separate in our homes, with much less communal living, more people living by themselves, and even within homes as we have separate spaces, overlaying parts from multiple homes gave a more communal sense of home.

Memory and meaning

For some, home is a place of practices and habits, for others it’s a place that holds memory and meaning. The pieces by Suh blur those boundaries. The practice of making art, the holding on to places and details which act as anchors for both practices within the home and also memories.

The pieces are a way of preserving the past but also, for him as an artist, of making the future – exhibitions and work, building a body of work and meaning. Tracing the contours of the building, with his childhood home literally rubbing every part of the outside of the building, capturing the details on fabric which then gets remade into a simulacrum of his home – but not a place you could actually live within. A memory of the memory. A memory that looks like the memory, in the same way a story that gets told and retold can become a memory of the story, rather than a memory of the memory.

As Brickell reflects, home isn’t just a place where history ends up but where history emerges from and, quoting Caluya, the home exhibits ‘a certain plastic tendency that enables its boundaries to expand and shrink’. This work does that too, delicately and painstakingly tracing the boundaries of the homes but with an intention for those very boundaries to go further out into the world.

The exhibition space itself felt like things were quite crushed together and could have done with some more space to breathe. Nonetheless, providing room for people to see homes as worthy of being considered art, and not just glamorous homes but the life support parts, created a space for thinking about homes that we can take from the gallery into the world and back home again.

Bedding down

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Beds have come to seem so normal but for most people in time and space, the kinds of mattresses we think of as standard in the UK just aren’t. Sleeping on bare earth – or at least, earth covered with grass and herbs to provide some kind of matting for people to walk around and sleep on. Hammocks and boxes, benches and coffin-like beds. Mattresses made of linen, feathers or straw, beds have been through lots of iterations.

My bed, I’m so happy and lucky to say, is very much not like sleeping on bare earth. It is so comfortable and either explicitly or implicitly I register that each time I get in. A daily joy and privilege. It’s quite firm but not too firm. There’s some give in it but it doesn’t feel squashed or like I’m suffocating or being swallowed up by the bed.

Yet I wonder what it would feel like for people who are used to sleeping on rolled up plant materials if they were to magically be able to try out my bed. Whether they would lie down on it and be blown away by the comfort levels, see their own situation differently. Wish for something else. Or whether it would just feel too uncomfortable. Too much. Or perhaps too little. Missing that connection with the ground. Feeling a bit unmoored from their life and homesick for something that felt more natural, rather than being on some complicated set-up.

Shove suggests that so much of what we experience as comfort is set by wider expectations. With the availability of technologies which allow us to control the temperature in rooms and buildings more easily there was a need for designers to have an understanding of what temperature range they should be aiming for. This has led to the development of a norm around temperatures in buildings which then creates a feedback loop, or ratchet as Shove describes it, which leads to increases in usage more widely. Somewhat terrifyingly, Walker, Simcock and Day found the temperatures people prefer in their bedrooms are generally lower than the 18 degrees recommended by the energy sector. This guidance can help to reset expectations and could lead to further increases in energy consumption.

So perhaps those mythical time travellers who get to test my bed might not like it if they just gave it a one-time try. Their expectations would still be with their own beds and perhaps mine wouldn’t feel right for them.

A really big shift, perhaps bigger than the actual bed technology, is the one from sleeping being a more communal activity to sleep as something private. There is a wider move to more privacy at home, and beds are just part of that. Until around the Victorian times in the UK, sleep was a much more shared experience. It used to be common for all the members of a household to bed down together. Halls were multi-purpose rooms where people would eat, work, hang out and sleep. Servants and masters, young and old sharing beds or a room. Hard to imagine that being the norm for most people in space and time, yet there was considered to be an intimacy to sharing that space. For many members of the nobility, inviting people into their bedchamber was considered to be offering or getting a huge privilege. A much more communal existence than most people have now.

This shift by the Victorians was driven partly by increased concerns around the moral implications of people sharing beds, and partly because of hygiene considerations. There became more awareness of how infectious diseases could be spread, and therefore more of a drive for people to have their own space to try and reduce that risk.

That seems impossible for most of us to imagine. A tangible way in which people from previous generations lived lives that are very different to our own.

Of course, there are now hundreds of thousands of people around the country, one of the richest in the world, for whom imagining that is easy because it is their reality today too. Families or groups of individuals sharing one room. That room becoming like the Hall of old – with one room also becoming the living, working and eating space. Sometimes the room they have to use for cooking too. Living rooms in rental places increasingly getting used as living rooms, either by the people renting having to make that decision to be able to afford the space, or landlords making that decision for people.

As with other changing expectations, the gap between expectation and reality means what once might have made a home feel communal and normal, now feels like a lack of care or respect. This creates a sense of emotional discomfort which can be just as unpleasant to live with, and in, as physical discomfort can be. Much has changed with beds and how we sleep but until we have more of a shared agreement, and actions to match, we’ll continue to have people living amongst us who have beds and sleeping arrangements that seem like time travel to most of us.

In plain sight

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Always really humbling and hopefully helpful to see things hiding in plain sight that have been taken for granted that don’t quite work.

The definition of fuel poverty has changed a lot over time. Broadly speaking it’s about finding different ways to express the fact that people don’t have enough money to be able to heat their homes to a suitable temperature. There’s a separate debate about the term, and it’s not one that many people would recognise for themselves but still, those are not really for today.

There are all kinds of subtleties to that though. People’s circumstances can change for various reasons, all of which affect their ability to pay. From changes in their income – which is the main reason people move into or out of fuel poverty, to changes in the household – increases or decreases, or someone becomes unwell. There are plenty of other reasons besides but they give a sense of the fact this isn’t an absolute number that can be used as the benchmark to assess a household’s situation.

Yet when we look at fuel poverty, we look at the energy costs. This includes costs to heat the home and typically heating is the largest part of the cost. It’s not the only part of the cost. Even just looking at gas costs doesn’t allow you to separate out the heating costs, as people also use gas for hot water and potentially for cooking too.

Somewhere along the way those different aspects – assessing fuel poverty on the basis of ability to heat the home, and looking at energy costs in the round, got joined together.

Perhaps it wouldn’t matter. As many, including Druckman and Jackson suggest, energy costs for heating are more variable than electricity costs. Heating costs are more dependent upon the energy efficiency of the home and the need for different levels of comfort. So perhaps it’s a pragmatic proxy that avoids making life even more complicated.

Nonetheless, that sense of being shown by Walker, Simcock & Day how those two different considerations have been joined together in a way which isn’t articulated clearly was astonishing.

A reminder of how often there can be shared blind spots. Unspoken understandings and misunderstandings which then block opportunities or set parameters unnecessarily.

Things fall apart

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It’s easy not to pay attention to the different parts of our home when they are working well. Not the things that we were already wanting to change but those taken for granted parts of home. Switching on a light or a plug socket. Flushing the toilet. The buttons, dials and levers do as we instruct them. The magic happens. Home as a machine for life.

When it works it works and we don’t tend to give thanks each time we use something. The intricacies of the technology are, for most of us, something unfathomable. An accumulation of knowledge, trial and error, insights and experimentation moulded into tools which make our lives easier. Untold hours, unexpected inspiration and dedication of people who’ve come before us turned into an easier way to make tea or clean your clothes.

Modern life has then done a pretty good job of making the technology invisible. When the Victorians put in the sewer they were so proud of the technology and what it meant, they made sewage pipes visible so people could see the marvel. They built Crossness Pumping Station – a veritable cathedral with jokes in the ironwork. Now though, underneath and through the home the wires, cables and pipes are usually hidden away. Interior design magazines often edit out wires and cables to make the place look tidier, a crisper look, more aspirational.

Putnam describes those hidden sewers, cables and utility mains as forms of material life support. Home then becomes, in their view, not just a place which holds memories, or a space for socialising but a support service.

A sign of how modern, or post-modern, homes have become that these technologies are just part of how we live now. Putnam sees this shift as the second of two successive transformations of contemporary living from the traditional 19th Century models. The first shift they identify was the emergence of the modern home between c.1920-1950 when the domestic space was designed around the technical core of those underpinning material supports. They describe the second shift in the 1960s when the technical, and they suggest the economic and political, structures of modernity became part of the background for modern home life. With this shift, where basic aspects of how we are fortunate enough to live become taken for granted, ‘home becomes the supreme domain for personalization and, by consequence, of endless negotiations’.

Moving up Maslow’s hierarchy of needs when we no longer need to think about the basics of shelter and care for ourselves. Those supports are woven into the fabric of our homes and the expectations of our lucky days.

Then when something doesn’t work, well, it’s then that we notice them. We feel the knock-on impacts of that on our behaviour. Things get glitchy. We have to run errands to try and get something to fix it ourselves, or to try and deal with the impacts of the thing being broken. Searching for different approaches to fix things, or just to understand what the issue is. The hope when we try a new thing. Looking for signs that it is working. Tossing aside the new when it hasn’t worked. More and more time and money getting spent trying to fix something.

Things feeling a bit more fragile and off – that this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. We bump back down to the bottom of Maslow’s hierarchy. The home shifts from the background, supportive and magical, into the foreground of problems, mess and frustration. We notice when things don’t work, we feel our luck when dealing with the loss.

Opportune boiling

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Really interested in the perspective of Sovacool and Geels reflecting on past energy transitions as ones that were opportunity driven, compared to the current energy transition which is problem driven.

In the past, energy transitions – as they describe them, for another day whether what has actually happened is we have ‘more and more and more’ energy sources – were about trying to do things better, faster, easier. More useful sources of energy, or energy sources that could be more easily deployed meant an increased level of comfort – with better quality and longer lasting light sources, people could stay up later, do more activities, make more time for themselves outside of work. It also allowed tasks to be more easily done, from the home to the factory. Machines picking up and outpacing what people could do. An increase in the amount of materials or products that could be made, or making it easier to clean the home and cook.

In terms of the transition to low and zero carbon sources of energy, the driver of the change is about reducing the environmental impact. From an individual or even organisational perspective, not much would change in terms of what can be done. Most people are interested in energy to the extent it helps them do the things they want to do, as Fouquet describes it, the ‘energy services’ – such as heating, electricity, running computers, phones or the like. Changing the way in which energy is generated to low carbon sources doesn’t do anything to immediately make a change in terms of how people can use and benefit from the energy.

It made me wonder again if part of the way to engage with the shift away from fossil fuels is to try and identify the issues with the current technologies. At the moment in the UK, most homes are heated by gas boilers. So all discussion is about how heat pumps work compared to gas. There seems to be an implicit assumption that the starting point is good and fine, so then discussions about how it feels to live with a heat pump are always slightly apologetic.

There are so many things about gas boilers that aren’t great though. Ignoring for now all of the air quality and carbon emissions arguments. Purely thinking about them from the perspective of how they work in the home, how they feel – there are loads of things which don’t work so well.

Most people think they know how to use their gas boiler – there’s generally a button you can press which just sets off an explosion of highly combustible gases in a box in your home, which then quickly warms the place. It’s then easy to switch off in the same way. All very straightforward. Although that idea of how explosive it is doesn’t feel like something that is naturally a seller, yet we somehow have accommodated ourselves to the fact of the explosiveness and manage not to think about it. Not having that in the home feels like a win though.

Meanwhile, most homes don’t have their boiler set-up, or used in the most efficient way. So it’s actually not a very easy to use system in practice. Nor is it therefore an efficient system, which means people are paying more than they need for whatever comfort they are getting. Or indeed could have more comfort and warmth than they are getting for the same price or less. If people are interested in the level of comfort rather than the cost, being able to give that comparison feels like one which is of much more interest to people.

The sense of the warmth being really enveloping is one that many people enjoy and is something that’s seen as a negative for heat pumps, where that almost palpable sense of the heat doesn’t come through. It can be satisfying but then quickly feels a bit too much. Leading to a see-sew sitch where you then have to turn the heating down or off to make it more comfortable and not so stuffy.

This can be particularly an issue overnight when it’s cold. Hard to know how to get the balance of bedding and heating right so it’s comfortable. Just right, not too hot and not too cold. If you wake up in the night and need to get out of bed when it’s cold it can just be awful. Takes as long, often longer for me, to give a pep-talk about getting it done quickly as it does to actually get out, do the thing and run back to bed.

Just a few of the many ways in which boilers don’t deliver the comfort we want, yet somehow the goodness of them generally and compared to other options feels unarguable, sacrosanct. Maybe we need to start picking at that thread and finding out more about what people don’t like about their current set-up?

The RoI of paint

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Luring you in with my jargon chat there. Not here to talk about the French king of paint. RoI is what the cool kids use to talk about a return on investment.

In economics world, where we are rational actors, the talk is about return on investment. If an organisation or an individual invests £x, how long will it take them to see a return on that? Investing £x means maintenance or running costs will be x% lower and therefore you can calculate how long it will take to generate savings which add up to original investment. Aka your return on investment.

All sounds really straightforward and scientific. Hard crunchy numbers which are inarguable. Intentionally so I think. Constructing approaches which reinforce the impression that this is an objective approach in a world which seems to think objectivity is good thing. As Christie, Smith and Munro (2008) reflect, detachment, objectivity and scepticism are simply forms of emotion work which have been privileged within accounts of the scientific method, and I would argue more broadly too.

Yet how those numbers get developed, who is in control of defining what does or doesn’t weigh on the scales is also fundamental. In another lifetime I was trying to develop a project using the feed-in tariff – a governmental mechanism to provide an above-market price for renewable energy generated. When the feed-in tariff was first introduced the rates were really high, such that it would only take about 10 years to break even on the tariff, with another 15 years of income given the feed-in tariff lasted for 25 years. This was far and away a better deal than lots of other investment opportunities. It was so good that we didn’t even try to claim bill savings from the energy generated because there were a lot of variables in consumption patterns and we didn’t have sufficient confidence in the indicative numbers we generated.

It wasn’t our first rodeo doing this kind of project so we felt confident that we had covered the different elements to build up the cost profile that people would expect. Over time in discussion with senior decision makers, we were asked to add all kinds of costs in which were normally outside the scope of costs for this kind of decision. More and more costs got added on and the numbers that popped out the other end of the evaluation got worse and worse. We looked to offset this by adding in projected cost savings on energy but eventually the model broke. It became clear that they just didn’t want to do the project, so they kept going until the RoI looked so bad that people said there was no way they could support the project. They ‘weren’t sure’ about the technology but could turn it in to numbers that looked empirical, feel like they were doing their job properly and meant they didn’t need to engage with their lack of knowledge.

Yet there are many items we spend money on where even attempting that kind of calculation doesn’t make sense. Paint for instance. Or a vase. Maybe it’s easier with paint. We can at least try and make a guess at whether one kind of paint might last compared to a cheaper one. That’s not entirely straightforward though either. What does it mean for paint to last? Never gets any marks on it at all? To bounce back after marks have been attempted to get cleaned off? Or something more ephemeral – it lasts longer because we really like the colour and it fits with the place and how we want it to be? Continually works as we look to shift things around in terms of the look of the place?

We can do some research to get feedback on how long paint ‘lasts’ but is that a meaningful metric for how people actually make decisions? For many people, the premium for some paints like Farrow & Ball is worth it because of the vibe the paint has. It makes people feel they are buying some of that lifestyle which the relative difference in costs compared to cheaper paint allows, in a way the cost differential between their home and one more in keeping with the atmos isn’t.

Of course, paint is much cheaper than lots of other things people can do to their homes. So transformative as well. A tin of paint, a few hours and a totally different space. Hard to think of something which can make as much of a difference as quickly. In terms of bang for your beautifully coloured buck it scores highly. When people move into a new place there can often be talk about wanting to make the place their own (Cook, 2021). Paint is such a strong way to do that, literally getting attached to the place. The act and practice of making the place your home.

It’s therefore unsurprising that people will be prepared to spend a bit more on paint and might not think about the RoI, compared to more expensive things like heat pumps or solar PV. In both cases the question might be around whether they can afford it or not, it’s just that in the latter case the upfront cost is much higher and therefore it might not be possible to satisfy the want.

For many people, they’ve already got a heating system which works. Making the change to a heat pump or getting solar doesn’t solve a problem or give them an opportunity. It will make their home slightly differently warm. It might bring with it indeterminate concerns about running costs or how it works. It’s a lot of cost, in a world where choosing the heat pump or solar likely means choosing not to do lots of other things. Of course there are an increasing number of people for whom it isn’t a choice in the first place but for those who have enough in the bank or can borrow, it is a choice and one it can be hard to justify.

Of course we’re talking about costs which are orders of magnitude different but does that mean the thought processes which lead to the choice are totally different?

Friction burns?

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A recent report by Citizen’s Advice found that 72% of people would be open to making environmental improvements to their homes in the next five years. Absolute scenes – there’s the market transformation we need. 72% is just brilliant news, if we’re thinking about the Technology Adoption Curve, which of course we are, then we’re deep into late majority territory where this is just all very mainstream and normal. How do we go about getting the supply chain ready to do all of that work in that short space of time?

Hang on though, there’s a kicker. People went on to say that they would prioritise kitchens, bathrooms and other measures over environmental measures. Stand down the supply chain. Or maybe – as you were…

What I’m interested in is why people would prioritise kitchens, bathrooms and the rest over environmental measures. In some ways it seems obvious, kitchens and bathrooms are more appealing and desirable. There are magazines and shows which do makeovers and it’s all very lifestyled and lovely whereas lots of us – most of us? – find heat pumps ugly. It’s also crucial to eat and clean yourself, so there’s that. However, it’s also crucial to be able to keep warm, with lots of health conditions linked to, or exacerbated by cold weather. It’s also crucial to be able to use electricity in today’s society.

There’s more reasons besides but I’ve been wondering if there’s something about the comparative friction between kitchens, bathrooms and other aspects of home renovation, compared to energy and environmental measures. Friction on a day to day basis but maybe also societal frictions.

On a day to day basis, if you don’t like the look of your kitchen, bathroom or elsewhere, you will be constantly reminded of it. It might become a low grade hum that you get used to but this can then be amped up whenever you’re reminded of how much you don’t like it. Whether that’s visiting a friend who has a nice(r) place than yours, or seeing them on TV, in films, social media or magazines. There are potentially lots of times when you’ll be reminded of how you don’t like your kitchen or suchlike in a way that doesn’t happen so much with energy or environmental measures.

As Pennartz notes in ‘At home: An anthropology of domestic spaces‘, an aspect of a space being pleasant is how easy it is to be convivial in it. If the space makes it harder to do that, say the kitchen is designed for just one person then that doesn’t feel very sociable and there’s a friction between the desire and the reality.

There has been a shift away from gendered spaces, with men also likely to be in the kitchen. As such, that sense of friction between what people want and how the space operates affects both genders, and therefore more people, more often.

There’s also the friction in use. If a kitchen or bathroom isn’t set-up as you would want then this can catch you each day. Whether it’s a cupboard that doesn’t shut properly, a shower that doesn’t properly attach to the wall so you have to hold it to shower yourself, or whatever else it may be, there can be things which every day, sometimes multiple times a day, create friction and frustration.

Where is the friction with energy usage though? People who pay by direct debit don’t need to really engage with their bill on a daily or monthly basis, as it’s smoothed out across the year. It’s hard then to get any real time friction between the usage and the cost. Not least because, as costs continue to rise, people can reduce their energy consumption and still see rising prices. Under the current pricing structure with standing charges fixed irrespective of consumption, this regressive pricing structure makes that particularly true for those on lower incomes or using less energy.

People don’t have the social friction of not having a heat pump because most people don’t have one either. There’s also not so much of a friction around having a home that isn’t so warm. People will often choose to put the heating on when they’ve got guests, to make sure they feel comfortable.

There’s also not so much friction from the supply chain when trying to get more environmentally friendly measures – for instance a replacement boiler rather than a new heat pump. There are just over 20,000 qualified heat pump installers in the UK, compared to over 150,000 gas engineers. It’s therefore much easier to find someone who can repair or replace your gas boiler on a like-for-like basis. Homes are set up for boilers rather than a heat pump. If you want to switch to a heat pump if your boiler dies you’ll end up with friction. The heat pump can’t go into the space you had your boiler in. You’ve then got a random space you need to sort out, which might or might not be useful. Mine is in a wall cupboard with no base, so the boiler bits can disgorge themselves. If I switched to a heat pump I’d then have a cupboard I can’t use. More friction arises trying to figure out where a heat pump and hot water tank can go. This has been made easier by the removal of a planning requirement which says it needs to be at least one meter from the boundary

Is friction different to hassle though?

The ‘hassle-factor’ is often cited as a rationale for people not to do something, in relation to the home or more generally. Friction seems different to hassle in terms of the ongoing impact, particularly in relation to the visibility of a heat pump or solar. The hassle might be there to get it put in but then once in that hassle would go. The friction might remain when you see it on a daily basis and find it really ugly, or it’s taking up space and it takes a while to get used to the new configuration of the spaces and knock-on impact on the various practices. With larger properties with lots of land that might not be an issue – it can be hidden away somewhere and that friction doesn’t arise as often. For people with less space that might be experienced as daily friction which has been introduced into their lives.

Energy usage can create a sense of friction. A room which isn’t a comfortable temperature creates a sense of friction. This can be between the need for it to be warm and cosy and the sense of how it is. As expectations have increased about the level of warmth we should be feeling in our homes, there can also be a friction between lifestyles – the clothes we wear at home, and the temperature of the space. Whilst for much of history the initial focus would have been on putting on more clothes or being more active to get warmer, people are now more likely to focus on the heating to get their required level of warmth.

The friction between want and reality can also lead people to not use rooms at certain times or temperatures because they are too uncomfortable. This can also manifest in making it harder to do certain activities – studying can be more difficult when it’s cold for instance, as can other more sedentary actions like reading or watching TV.

This leads to a friction in use but most people focus on ways to reduce their energy bills by changing their tariff or provider as the way to reduce that friction. By cutting the costs of energy it’s therefore more affordable to use the same amount of energy, or more – hence the rebound effect where people take cost savings from more insulation as higher levels of comfort.

Inherently though, most people don’t experience friction when using their boilers, which is the main fuel source for most people. There’s plenty of evidence to suggest that actually people aren’t using their boilers very effectively or efficiently and if they were they could cut their costs significantly. That actual friction is not visible to them though – the cost of their energy bills are hard to relate to any actual friction as most people can make the boiler switch on and off, so the fact it’s not working as efficiently is somewhat hidden to them.

This can then lead people to feel like changes to their heating system is someone else’s desire or need rather than their own. Someone else is experiencing a sense of friction between what they think should be happening and what isn’t happening. Being asked to do something about it means that people can feel they are being told to choose something that isn’t a priority for themselves, over things which are. This can create multiple frictions – between their own sense of themselves as people who care about these things and yet are choosing to put time, money and energy into other things; and on a financial level between the things they want to spend money on and what they are being told they should be spending money on. Potentially this also creates a friction which then impacts upon their voting actions – looking for those who help to reduce that friction for them.

On a daily basis then, people are perhaps more likely to feel a sense of friction by other factors in the home than energy or environmental issues. Even where they do manifest as friction they can be mediated by other actions in a less time, money and personally energy intensive way, so it’s perhaps not a surprise people don’t prioritise home improvements with environmental dimensions more often.