If you had asked me what I thought about Nuclear energy In 2003 I would probably have muttered something about Chernobyl and wondered off to eat a double decker (the chocolate bar, not a big bus as that would be mental). I was at Primary school when the Russian disaster happened and as any youngsters would, we made light of it. For the few weeks after the disaster we ran around with our mouths open every time the skies turned grey hoping to catch some acid rain. We even created a joke for the event, “why should you always wear a belt? Because if you don’t, Chernobyl fall out”. Genius.
I was aware of the nuclear objectors though, I knew that Friends of the Green Earth had ridden fair trade organic whales into the North Sea to battle nuclear submarines and I knew that quite a few lentil eating, home educating lesbians had chained themselves to bracken on Greenham common, I just didn’t know why.
In 2004 I was working for a height safety company, and as the new boy I was asked to accompany one of my colleagues to Sellafield to give the contractors some training on working at height safely. I wasn’t concerned at all, even when we were stopped at the onsite police station and had laptops, phones and glass eyes confiscated. When we got into the reception area we were told we had to watch a video and then we would be tested, we had to get 75% of the answers right or we couldn’t get into the site.
I was mildly alarmed when I saw the safety procedure for a “Radiation leak” which was to close all windows and slowly move away from the affected area, the video voiceover man, we shall call him Dennis, was very careful to reassure viewers that this was not terribly dangerous. The next level of warning was a “criticality” and this happens when there is a serious problem with the unstable material. The advice given, and bear in mind we live and operate in a health and safety risk assessment world was, “RUN”. The video kindly demonstrated what would happen, a bearded chap realised he had f****d something up and turned on his heels and ran, another kind soul sounded the criticality alarm and everyone fled. That was the safest option they had managed to come up with. Leg it. That was the best option they could come up with, try and outrun the lethal cloud of radiation heading your way; apparently in the staff shop you can buy yourself some running spikes and a set of sweat bands.
We passed the test (at the third time of asking) and went off to do our training, I didn’t pay too much attention to the content of the next two days, instead choosing to keep my eyes firmly on the reprocessing area, while listening with the intensity of a small tawny owl for any noise that sounded like a “shit yourself” alarm. I hadn’t realised just how deeply this had affected me until I was back at home. I was intrigued and terrified about the fragility of our nuclear sites and so I thought just for good measure I should Google where they all were. I knew about notorious sites like Dungeness and Sizewell but I had no idea that there were so many places that hosted this devastating capability. I found a map courtesy of those lentil eaters from Greenpeace of all the sites in the UK that had nuclear activity and I very nearly pooed on the carpet. I further compounded my fear a couple of weeks later by watching a programme about Chernobyl and realising just how devastating this “clean” energy could be.
Months later I was finally coaching myself out of my Nuclear Fear and was enjoying a magnificent drive through Mid/North Wales on my way to Y Ffor for a meeting when I caught site of a curious looking building, it looked abandoned but as though it housed some terrible secrets, I had to pull over and have a proper look. I was feeling a bit on edge, and then I spotted the logo of UKAEA: The UK Atomic Energy Authority. I had found another f*****g nuclear power station! I jumped back in the car and drove to my meeting with ferocity and pace and I found it hard to think about the finer points of food sales with that dirty, leaking, creaking nuclear reactor in my mind. On the way back I slowed down to around 11mph just so I could glare at the place with a look of menace, thus causing the land rover behind me to take swift evasive action. Months later while contemplating a move to Bridgwater in Somerset we were having a look at some houses, I thought we had found a beauty on a nice quiet estate, new build with a view of the sea and I was warming to the idea quite nicely. I looked out of the 2nd bedroom window and caught sight of a large obtrusive looking building and asked the obnoxious wet look gel wearing estate agent what the structure was. “Oh, that’s Hinckley point power station” he replied “could be a great place for you to work if you moved down here, right on your doorstep”. Before he could lick the bedroom window again I was off, driving back to Worcestershire with gay abandon, caring little for speed limits or other motorists.
Over time my nuclear fear has lessened, but whenever I think it is abating something happens to regenerate it. I only needed to hear a news comment about the potential disaster at Fukashima on Japan and I was mentally catapulted to that video room at Sellafield and thinking about how dangerous this new world “clean energy” is. What’s wrong with filling the countryside with those handsome white wind turbines, if one of those were knocked over they wouldn’t shower the community with terribly toxic carcinogenic material that you couldn’t possibly outrun.
