On the evening of May 10 and into the early hours of May 11 something special happened: the most active solar storm in two decades. It meant that the northern lights – a phenomenon I’ve only ever dreamt of seeing, having never made a trip to the far north where you can more reliably catch a glimpse – would be visible right on my doorstep, way down in the south of the UK.
The spectacle was the water-cooler chat across much of the Northern hemisphere the next day – you had either seen the aurora borealis, and spammed social media with your photos, or you had been painfully unaware of the dancing light columns in the night sky directly outside your house – some of my friends were simply watching TV or having an early night instead (there were also parts of the UK from where the light-show wasn't viewable). I was quietly in the smug camp.
