In Florida News
CCN covers one of the minor “problems” with land transfers from military to civilian use: Live bombs haunt Orlando neighborhood. What a surprise, not all of the bombs dropped on a bombing range explode, and the military doesn’t go looking for the duds.
There is a section of the barrier island south of me that people keep agitating to have opened for exploitation. It isn’t going to happen because there is a whole lot of nastiness on that stretch of sand, some of it put there by my Dad in the 1950s when things didn’t operate as planned.
They don’t talk about it, but I’m sure that the first people to go onto that stretch of beach after hurricanes are explosive ordinance disposal guys to see what turned up. There are bombs and warheads going back to World War II hidden under the sugar white sand. The government can never clean up that land to the level that it would be safe to live on.
The other story that caught my eye was the report [this on from the UK’s Telegraph] that Governor Crist is getting married. Mustang Bobby’s version is Crist’s Newest Fashion Accessory.
After the U-turn on drilling off Florida’s coast, you have to wonder how badly Charley wants to be McCain’s VP choice.
I would like to put a stop to a persistent rumor about this marriage – they did not meet at a tanning salon [to the best of my knowledge]. You wonder how these things get started.
2 comments
Needless to say UXBs aer still not too uncommon in London… Last month a large chunk of the East End was shut down after one was found, it was only a few years ago since the last one was found in my area (on the very eastern edge of London) Romford didn’t get hit as hard as other parts of the capital but they did try hard to put the Ford plant in Dagenham out of action and had a few goes at RAF Hornchurch… Needless to say not all of them hit their mark!
People would be amazed at the percentage of bombs that don’t go off after falling a couple of miles and hitting the ground. They were digging up bombs and artillery rounds every few months in and around the little German village we lived in during the late 1950s.