Notions of harmony aren’t always obvious. When I first came across this small estate on the southcoast of England I was immediately struck by the stark juxtaposition of skeletal electricity pylons existing in the same space as rows of tidy, well-kept bungalows with their trimmed lawns and shaped shrubbery. It looked like a local community under the cosh of the giant utilities, but that’s not quite the case. The pylons were there first, the estate was built around them, sometimes brutally - steel footings taking up whole areas of front gardens and back gardens. Making a home here is about accepting the presence of the powerful neighbour, and they seem to - many of those I spoke to regarded them with an ambivalent shrug, some thought it gave the area an edge, a perverse angle that a sprawl of similar estates couldn’t match. One lady in particular was more concerned with the prospect of offshore wind farms despoiling a far-away horizon, couldn’t have been less concerned about the four hundred thousand volts fizzing above her bungalow. At the edge of the estate the pylons carry forward across farms and heathland, where a similar pragmatic relationship plays out with the rural topography.