There was a point - standing on the helideck of the platform in the middle of the Irish Sea - dressed in a bright yellow michelin suit, my hands rapdily turning blue and my face losing all sensation as 40 knots of icy wind blasted into me - there was a point where I thought. I really need to win the lottery...or buy me a pair of warm gloves and a big hat!
Still - life stuck on a big lump of metal in the middle of the sea away from the day to day normality of the rest of the world does have it's benefits. There's no baby to change offshore. No nappies to place in vacuum-sealed radioactive bin bags. No bottle feeds at 3am in the morning (I'll gladly take a muster at 3am over a bottle feed!).
And you actually get to sleep for 4 maybe 5 hours in a row. Yep - in a row! This is brilliant. This is great news. I never thought I'd be at my desk feeling fresh and lively at 6:15 in the morning. Though - when your PC is literally ten yards from your cabin - this is probably quite achievable. If I could convince them to install a PC in my cabin - right by the bunks - then we've made it. Eutopia. I could actually work from bed. I could possibly even train myself to work in my sleep - or some sort of hybridised state between wakefulness and sleep (I think this state is generally called parenthood and is a form of zombiefication) - but it is worth a try.
I shall investigate and report back my findings.
Saturday, 30 January 2010
Saturday, 9 January 2010
The Big Freeze of Doom
5 inches. That's all it took. 5 inches. And we're brought to our knees. Elsewhere in the world - eight, ten - twelve inches and they don't even bat an eyelid. It's enough to give us a complex!
Yep - nearly a foot of snow and our country implodes under the strain. You know it's bad when a special government panel in charge of the country's road salt is wheeled out to ration distribution. And these guys existed before the Big Freeze - but they never made the 6 O'Clock news back then. Only wives and mother's of proud "salt cell" members knew the great unseen work they did. I can just imagine the minutes at those monthly meetings...
Summer 09 - "So Mister Chairman - how's our salt mountain doing these days?"
"200,000 tonnes stockpiled - enough to salt the M25 and the M1 for 3 months. Goddammit - we could grit the entire moon ten times over! Ten times I tell you - if only they'd let me...!"
"Great news Bob - great news....Now next on the agenda...will one snowplow and three gritting lorries be enough to grit the entire country for the winter?"
"Who cares Michael - think of the Moon - think strategic - think...intergalactic...."
"Okay - moving on...I'd like to table a motion to move our annual summer Salt Cell Barbeque to Aunt Winnifred's House in Cornwall. Any takers? She does a mean apple pie?..."
Anyway - five days of snow and black ice and it's begining to wear a bit thin. I've already made my pathetic excuse of a snowman in the front garden. But I've been outdone by the neighbours. They've made entire snow familes and snowmen eight feet tall (like some sort of freakish Sumo basketballers - but with carrots for noses).
On the upside - I've got to throw some absolute snow ball beauties at my defenseless three year old boy and my wife. I stopped short of pelting the baby (but the temptation was there!).
"Thwack!"
"That's for the lack of sleep...."
"Thaboom!"
"That's for crapping on the couch..."
Ahhhh but his smile melts me...how can I?
Still - if nursery persist in blaming the snow for staying shut...there will be words (that's all we have these days...just words...no more).
So...I pray for snow-melt and warmth - my younger self would be ashamed of such an act. Do I want the office to reopen for God's sake?
Right - I'm off to cake my son in a bath (yes - a bath!) of porridge oats and redibrek (we're not sure which is more effective of the two) in a futile attempt to lessen the unbearable itchiness of his bout of Chicken Pox. My wife's network of friends assures us that this will work (either that or it's the greatest practical joke of the year so far!). If it fails - I'm adding some sugar and jam and grabbing me a spoon...waste not want not in these credit crunch times!
The previous practical joke winner was the one I emailed Sarah from the middle of the Irish Sea yesterday - just as the bout kicked in. "Sarah - the chopper has an electrical fault, I doubt I will get back onshore before the weekend..." Reply...."You are Sh*tting me? You better get your arm bands on and starting swimming now..."
And somehow - somehow - I knew she actually meant it....
Yep - nearly a foot of snow and our country implodes under the strain. You know it's bad when a special government panel in charge of the country's road salt is wheeled out to ration distribution. And these guys existed before the Big Freeze - but they never made the 6 O'Clock news back then. Only wives and mother's of proud "salt cell" members knew the great unseen work they did. I can just imagine the minutes at those monthly meetings...
Summer 09 - "So Mister Chairman - how's our salt mountain doing these days?"
"200,000 tonnes stockpiled - enough to salt the M25 and the M1 for 3 months. Goddammit - we could grit the entire moon ten times over! Ten times I tell you - if only they'd let me...!"
"Great news Bob - great news....Now next on the agenda...will one snowplow and three gritting lorries be enough to grit the entire country for the winter?"
"Who cares Michael - think of the Moon - think strategic - think...intergalactic...."
"Okay - moving on...I'd like to table a motion to move our annual summer Salt Cell Barbeque to Aunt Winnifred's House in Cornwall. Any takers? She does a mean apple pie?..."
Anyway - five days of snow and black ice and it's begining to wear a bit thin. I've already made my pathetic excuse of a snowman in the front garden. But I've been outdone by the neighbours. They've made entire snow familes and snowmen eight feet tall (like some sort of freakish Sumo basketballers - but with carrots for noses).
On the upside - I've got to throw some absolute snow ball beauties at my defenseless three year old boy and my wife. I stopped short of pelting the baby (but the temptation was there!).
"Thwack!"
"That's for the lack of sleep...."
"Thaboom!"
"That's for crapping on the couch..."
Ahhhh but his smile melts me...how can I?
Still - if nursery persist in blaming the snow for staying shut...there will be words (that's all we have these days...just words...no more).
So...I pray for snow-melt and warmth - my younger self would be ashamed of such an act. Do I want the office to reopen for God's sake?
Right - I'm off to cake my son in a bath (yes - a bath!) of porridge oats and redibrek (we're not sure which is more effective of the two) in a futile attempt to lessen the unbearable itchiness of his bout of Chicken Pox. My wife's network of friends assures us that this will work (either that or it's the greatest practical joke of the year so far!). If it fails - I'm adding some sugar and jam and grabbing me a spoon...waste not want not in these credit crunch times!
The previous practical joke winner was the one I emailed Sarah from the middle of the Irish Sea yesterday - just as the bout kicked in. "Sarah - the chopper has an electrical fault, I doubt I will get back onshore before the weekend..." Reply...."You are Sh*tting me? You better get your arm bands on and starting swimming now..."
And somehow - somehow - I knew she actually meant it....
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