In the olden times the above would be called a telegraph road. Telegraph (not the eponymous Tory newspaper) has been quite dead for 40 years.

Telegraph poles (which is still the present-day official monicker of rung-studded timbers erected on the side of a road) would, up to the early 20th century, support telegraph wires: one copper wire suspended on the poles, with the return path provided by steel rods driven into the ground.

Nowadays the “wire” you see on the photo is not a wire. It’s an optical fibre carrying a multi-gigabit/sec internet traffic directly to country houses scattered around farms and villages. No green boxes in the street, no routing stations. I know it, because one of the houses is mine. I get almost a Gigabit/sec (which is currently the national speed limit), many times more than I had in an urban setting. Isn’t it ironic?

It is supposed to be spring now, but the Atlantic breeze can still chill to the bone, and the clouds scudding across the view block the sun.

It will warm up soon.