Lights Out: Spain 2025
and My Memories of Darkness in 1973
Monday 28th April 2025 didn’t look like it was going to be anything out of the ordinary. A trip to the gym, a bit of writing, maybe a quiet evening in. That all changed rather abruptly when the power suddenly went out — not just in my house, not just in the neighbourhood, but across huge swathes of Spain.
I was twenty minutes into my workout when the music cut out. At first, I blamed Bluetooth. A faulty speaker, maybe. But then I noticed the lights had gone too. A check of the sockets and the circuit breakers confirmed it: a power cut. Common enough here in Spain, so I shrugged it off. It would be back on in half an hour, surely.
But an hour later, still nothing. My phone had no signal, and though the odd WhatsApp trickled in, I couldn’t call my wife. Eventually, a message came through from my son in the UK telling me the scale of the outage — it wasn’t just our town, it was nationwide… and beyond.
Back to 1973
Suddenly, I was thrown back in time. Back to when I was ten years old, in early 1973, living in the new town of Kirkby on the outskirts of Liverpool.
We’d been moved out of the slums of the city centre little over a year before — away from the outside toilet, the tin bath, and the coal fire — and into what felt like luxury. A proper bathroom, a garden, even hot water! But soon after, the lights began going out again, and this time it wasn’t just our street.
The UK was in crisis. Power workers were on strike. Inflation was soaring. The government was desperately rationing energy, and the Three-Day Week kicked in. Offices were closed, pubs shut early, heating was cut. Petrol was rationed, and you weren’t allowed to drive over 50mph. Worst of all (or best, as far as I was concerned), schools closed.
We sat in darkness — literally. No lights. No TV. Often no hot food, either. We’d wrap up in blankets and light candles or paraffin lamps. There was a strange thrill to it, especially for a soon to be 11-year-old. I remember playing in the street under a blanket of pitch black, torchlight flickering like we were all part of some secret spy game. My friends and I would gather in the dark, huddled in coats, laughing at our own shadows.
Our house had a gas cooker, which meant we were one of the lucky few who could boil a kettle. Neighbours would knock on the door to fill their flasks. We’d pay them back the following year when a neighbour with one of the only colour TVs let us all in to watch Princess Anne’s wedding. (I gave that a miss.)
Homework during the Three-Day Week was a bizarre ritual — once a week, we’d walk to the community centre, collect worksheets, and hand in the ones from the week before. It felt more like collecting ration cards than doing schoolwork. (a week’s homework took little more than a couple of hours to do – result!)
What strikes me now is how resilient we were — or at least how resilient the adults had to be. As a kid, it all felt like a strange, candle-lit adventure. But for the grown-ups — managing food, warmth, and work — it must have been exhausting.
Back to now
Fast forward to 2025. We’re no longer resilient, or are we? — or perhaps more accurately, we’ve become so dependent on technology and infrastructure that a few hours without power feels like a catastrophe. No phone, no internet, no news, no clue. Panic buying began, especially water. I heard of supermarkets being flooded with people. Just like the toilet roll and pasta rush of 2020. Back then, it was COVID. This time, no one quite knew what was happening — and maybe that made it scarier.
When the power finally came back at 8:30pm, our alarm system screamed like a banshee. The internet didn’t return until after midnight. So, I lit a candle, ran a hot shower (said a thank you for natural gas), and picked up a book. No Netflix. No emails. Just quiet. Almost like it was 1973 again.
As a child, I often struggled with my gender, but I knew I was different — and even then, I learned how to navigate the world by hiding parts of myself. That lesson came in handy during the blackout too. We adapt, we cope, we carry on.
Looking back, 1973 had a certain magic for me, despite the hardship. As a ten-year-old, I saw the fun and the novelty. But now I realise how much work and worry went on behind the scenes — from parents, neighbours, and communities pulling together.
Today, maybe we’ve lost a bit of that community spirit, although in the aftermath, I saw scenes on TV of locals giving food to stranded passengers. We're too used to instant answers, instant light, instant reassurance. But maybe a little darkness now and then isn’t such a bad thing. It forces us to pause. To reflect. And to remember — we’ve been here before.
And somehow, we made it through.
Thank you for reading