The world has accumulated 38m cubic metres of solid nuclear waste. Most of this waste has low levels of radioactivity and can be treated and stored in concrete vaults at near-surface facilities. But a fraction is dangerously radioactive and will remain so for at least 100,000 years. Civilisations will rise and fall before long-lived waste will cease being harmful.
The strongest case for building a geological disposal facility (GDF) is both spatial and temporal: what is needed is as much distance and as many barriers between the waste and humans as possible, in a place that will remain undisturbed for as long as possible. Sealed in an underground vault, nuclear waste is at least shielded from risks such as climate change, natural disaster and terrorism. More eccentric ideas, such as shooting it into space, have been discounted.
Finland has already built its GDF. Construction has begun in Sweden and France. Canada has found a willing community for one. Britain's progress has been painfully slow; its stockpile is among the highest in western Europe, second only to France's. By the end of this century it will have almost enough to fill Wembley Stadium. The most hazardous waste is largely stored in ponds and containers at Sellafield, a decrepit facility in Cumbria, whose crumbling infrastructure a cross-party report concluded poses an "intolerable risk" to safety. The Treasury has declared the lifetime costs of a British GDF—£20bn–53bn—unaffordable. Nuclear Waste Services, a government body, has been inviting communities in England and Wales to host one for the past seven years, offering £1m a year in exchange. Two councils in Cumbria remain in the running.
I bought some used paint. It was in the shape of a house.