I’m a builder, not a scientist. I don’t spend my days arguing about carbon targets. But I do spend my days on muddy sites, looking at water where it didn’t used to sit and ground that doesn’t behave the way it did 20 years ago.
Whatever anyone thinks caused it, you’d have to be wilfully blind not to see that the climate has changed.
Which means we should be planning for the world we’re actually in now, not trying to shove the genie back in the bottle and pretend it’s 1995. That means changing how and where we build.
So here’s a simple question. During the recent floods, did any local council send a drone up, take some pictures, overlay them on a map and draw a thick red line that said “no building inside this”? Because if not, why not?

We can – but we shouldn’t
Just because we can engineer our way around flood risk doesn’t mean we should. Just because we can pile concrete into groundwater-prone slopes doesn’t mean we should. Just because we can prop up unstable land with steel, drains and clever drawings doesn’t mean we should.
And just because developers know they can drown overstretched planning departments in paperwork – thousands of pages, buried figures, selective surveys – until something important will get neatly missed, doesn’t mean we should be letting them build in places every local person knows are totally unsuitable. I’ve read about the Fingleton Review saying nature protections place ‘unnecessary costs’ on developers. From where I’m standing, that sounds like a pair of bull’s testicles. Protecting nature isn’t a luxury! It’s flood management. It’s slope stability. It’s future-proofing. And it’s cheaper than fixing failures later. Anyone who’s ever been called back to a job that’s gone wrong knows that.
What really sticks, though, is who pays when it all goes wrong? It isn’t the big developers. It’s the people buying the houses – paying top money for homes that are value-engineered, tightly packed and sold with glossy brochures … but very little margin for error.
Meanwhile, the land keeps the memory of where water wants to go, whether we like it or not.
Good building used to mean understanding the land first. Somewhere along the line, we decided clever reports and profits mattered more than common sense. I’d suggest we’ve had enough proof lately that the land still wins.

The Grumbler – the open opinion column in The BV. It’s a space for anyone to share their thoughts freely. While the editor will need to know the identity of contributors, all pieces will be published anonymously. With just a few basic guidelines to ensure legality, safety and respect, this is an open forum for honest and unfiltered views. Got something you need to get off your chest? Send it to [email protected]. The Grumbler column is here for you: go on, say it. We dare you.

Every parish has one (I think we have at least six) – older gentlemen of the village, full of profound local knowledge who are the eyes and ears of the parish. There are experts on ditches, hedges, farming, deer … all manner of rural life. Some will happily escort me to troublesome places, pointing out the defects.
Each time I bump into them, I come away knowing much more about traditional methods of doing things, yet I still don’t know enough. In parish council work you learn something new every day.
However … even with the assistance of these wonderful residents, there are times when I really need the help of Dorset Council. It could be a tricky highway issue or a question about planning. I might need to speak to a qualified engineer about a problem with gullies.
I was intrigued, then, to see a recent local report about the savings Dorset Council is making simply by not replacing staff when they leave. Apparently, they expect to save £1.3 million over the current and next financial years this way, with up to 30 vacancies left unfilled.
We’re all aware just how tight the council’s budget is … but in the back of my mind was another question. If all these people are leaving, who exactly is doing their work?
Knowing what the same action would mean in my day job, I can just imagine some council employees having to contend with inheriting someone else’s portfolio, or at least parts of it.

Is it me?
Then I put two and two together and a few things started to add up.
For weeks I have been trying to arrange a site meeting to deal with a challenging rights-of-way and planning issue. Emails have disappeared into cyberspace and there has been no response whatsoever. Meanwhile, residents are inconvenienced and annoyed at the lack of progress. I have to go in disguise to the village shop to avoid being questioned – again.
The lack of response was what bothered me. I had begun to wonder whether it was just me, and the council had a vendetta against the village. I re-read my emails, and there was nothing abrasive about them. It just seemed as though ‘no one was in’.
And before you say it, this has nothing to do with Storm Chandra: it has been going on for months. Was it just me?
I decided to do a little market research and phoned a couple of fellow parish councillors from across the county.
One promptly said they were trying to get a town council vacancy advertised. He was tearing his hair out – all the correct forms had been submitted in a timely manner, but no one responded, the post wasn’t advertised and of course people were asking what’s happening. Finally, giving it one more go, he managed to speak to a human. The person who managed this aspect of council work had left – and, crucially, no one had set up any email forwarding, nor had the inbox been delegated to someone else.
Another friend was asking for some planning advice, having faced down some bullish developers who were trying to ride roughshod over a pending development. Help and advice was very much needed.
Instead, there was no response to her query – now she’s considering standing down as a councillor as she feels so ineffective.
We should not have to put up with that.

I expect a reply
I noticed this week that if Simon Hoare rings the council they jump to attention – as happened at Winterborne Kingston when the residents were desperately trying to get some help. To be fair, it was an urgent problem and it needed sorting fast.
But perhaps I should start mimicking Simon Hoare when I ring the council?
Or should I stage a sit in at County Hall until I get a response?
Of course I do not expect the council officers to spend all day checking emails and responding immediately. Nothing else would get done.
I know it’s also easy for an email to get buried. However … I do expect a response from a department when I have to raise an issue. I have to go back to my parishioners and explain why nothing is happening.
Why is there a system where the local MP gets a response but parish councillors are ignored? I don’t contact the council for fun or to be a nuisance. I – and every parish councillor I know – only contact them when there is a serious issue that needs an answer.
I know how the council portal works: if I’m asking, it’s because it’s a complex issue that cannot be answered through the automated service. And if I can’t get through to someone to sort out my issues, how does a vulnerable person manage to get help?
All that said, I am also rather concerned for the welfare of some of the council officers – those having to take on the additional work in order for the Cabinet to be able to crow about savings.
And ‘saving’ what exactly? Corporate memory and expertise are valuable assets. When they are not replaced, gaps begin to show. As an elected parish councillor representing a community, I’d really like to see Dorset Council being more helpful and responsive, instead of hiding behind a metaphorical brick wall. Especially to those representing their local communities.

The Dorset Insider is a no-holds-barred column pulling back the curtain on local affairs with sharp insight, unfiltered honesty and the occasional raised eyebrow. Written by a seasoned parish councillor who prefers to remain anonymous (for obvious reasons), it cuts through the noise to expose the frustrations of grassroots politics, and say what others won’t.
Rest assured, their identity is known – and trusted – by the editorial team. Expect opinion, candour and a healthy dose of exasperation …*