I’m not so sure. Most of us, if asked, would probably prefer not to have them at the end of our road. But once they’re there, how many of us really notice them?

Perhaps I’m singularly unobservant, but it seems I don’t notice them. Last year, I did an orienteering course with friends on our local hills. One particular waypoint we were looking for was near a pylon. I know where that is, I thought confidently, and off we all went.

But the waymarker wasn’t there. I checked the map for the umpteenth time: here we were, at the pylon, the only one I knew of in this part of the hills.

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Except – whoops – it turned out it wasn’t the only pylon. A few hundred metres away, we suddenly spotted another one rising above the Scots pines. For reasons that are admittedly hard to explain, I’d never noticed it on my numerous tramps through the area.

What did this show, apart from how rubbish my map reading was? Perhaps that I was so used to these massive structures on this hillside that they’d become sort of invisible.

It’s natural, if you treasure your rural view, to be dismayed, not to say outraged, by the thought of large manmade structures being plonked in your eyeline. Anyone living with unspoilt views would feel that way.

But is there the possibility that one might actually get used to pylons? Is it really worth billions being added to our collective energy bills in order to reroute pylon networks offshore or underground, as groups of English Tory MPs are demanding?

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