When a plane goes over my house in the village of Lingfield, near Gatwick, everything stops.

If I’m in the garden having a conversation, or on the phone, I can’t hear what’s being said. Indoors, I can’t hear the TV. I lose my train of thought. Conversely, when clusters of planes go over at night, they wake me up, they wake up my dogs, and I can’t get back to sleep.

This summer, I noticed a real impact on my mental health; my friends said I should go to the doctor but I know what I really need is a good night’s sleep.

Lingfield is about eight miles from Gatwick as the crow flies. There is a delicate balance between the needs and benefits of the airport and the roughly 3,000 residents of our tiny village.

At the moment, the traffic is nightmarish, the local trains are at capacity and the

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