When the haze returned next morning, Donald Bogle could not deny it. On the fourth day, he contemplated visiting a doctor, but, with the stubbornness born of old age, deemed his own diagnosis reliable as any GP’s, and cheaper. He concluded that something was amiss with his spectacles, thick-framed and larger than strictly necessary. On the ninth day, Donald Bogle saw a halo, and modified his diagnosis to ‘mental illness’. He could not research the matter further as Elizabeth’s library had temporarily closed due to a delinquent act by a mob of vandals.

So it was that after 10 months, Donald Bogle was almost entirely blind. His eyes, mused Arnold, were twin cups of coffee after milk has been poured, at the miraculous instant when white clouds billow. Arnold personally believed that Donald Bogle’s eyesight could be returned fully if only he stirred in the milk, perhaps adding a spoonful of sugar for good measure.

As it were, Donald Bogle did not stir the coffee. He could hardly afford a spoon, let alone a cataract removal operation (he had, by this stage, concluded that he had cataracts after seeing, or rather hearing, a Fred Hollows advert on television. In a somewhat cruel twist, Fred Hollows didn’t work in South Australia). He had always been a strong environmentalist, however, and thought highly of Earth Hour, though the presence or absence of light was not something he particularly noticed. At first, this led him to live a carbon-friendly life without lights, which lessened his already miserly electricity bills. He soon discovered, unfortunately, that living in darkness gave a certain gang of youths the idea that no one was home, and thus his house was burgled on numerous occasions. After the fifth incident, Donald Bogle took to leaving his lights on even during daylight hours.  Artificial stars glowed, and Donald dreamt wistfully of their reflection mapped in the heavens above. It made him feel less important, and not so harmful to the environment.

Earth Hour came clumsily to the home of Donald Bogle and his spaniel, Arnold.  Not, as Donald had envisioned, with a dramatic flourish of switching and unplugging, but with an awkward, shuffling gait involving much toe-stubbing and swearing. Somewhere during this calamitous process, Donald lost the stick that he used for lack of a rather expensive cane, and resorted to using Arnold, loyal but slightly disobedient, as a makeshift guide-dog. Eventually, Donald had disconnected all appliances except his yellow-stained fridge companion, which he was not certain would work again once turned off, and the television, which was broadcasting a story about the very event in which he was clumsily participating. According to the nasally scratching television voice, international icons including the Eiffel Tower and the Sydney Opera House were “darkened”. Arnold concluded that this was a typically token effort considering the lights served no practical purpose. Arnold, a practical spaniel, could not comprehend why they were installed in the first place.

Donald, who had been quite partial to the odd recycleable-cardboard-old-growth-forest-chain-and-gaffer-tape demonstration in his heyday, pretended there was not eco-friendly joy tracking down his rutted cheeks. If his eyes, or Arnold, were more useful, he would not have had to pretend. For there, just outside his cracked vinyl house, lay the underprivileged suburb of Elizabeth. And Elizabeth, at Earth Hour, was a bright carbon-emitting candle on a rather marvellous birthday cake. Donald Bogle’s eyes could not see much else, but they could certainly see the irony.