Stuck in Blighty

Seems I'm going to be here a while so better talk about something.

As we go to press, both airports at Bangkok are blocked with yellow shirted hoolay henlies, calling themselves "The Peoples's Alliance for Democracy" and hell-bent on bringing down said democracy. Comical really. They presumably voted in the last elections, but they don't like the resulting government because it lines the wrong pockets. All this is fine by me, if a little immature, but right now it's stopping me getting back to work, and that's not on. Nuke 'em, I say.

Perhaps the red-shirted pro-government mob will turn up and we'll have a giant bun-fight for the future of the country.

In other news, I've had a good time this week re-connecting with my homies. I've shipped more beer/wine/spirits this week than I did in the previous three months and consequently I feel like something the cat dragged in. Must get an exercise regime going. I miss my gym and pool, and mid-twenties temperatures.

In other news, I sold my UK drums. Sad but necessary, and I'll bring my good ones home when I finish in Thailand.

In other news, it's actually harder to work in the same time-zone as your friends. Emails, facebook messages, texts all get answered virtually straight away instead of waiting for the message-ee to wake up. Consequently I seem to be spending an inordinate amount of time having cyber-conversations and very little time actually working. Pete, if you're reading, that's a joke. Mostly.

Jet Lag Hell

Well now isn't this peachy. It's 7.45 on Sunday morning and already I've been up for half an hour, creeping round the house trying not to wake Lyn/Emma/Cheese/Onion, who are quite correctly having a sound sleep to catch up on the week's excesses. I was unable to keep my eyes open after ten last night, and not just because of the quality of the TV programmes. This will probably continue until I get back to "My own" time zone. I conked out in the pub on Friday as well, despite several pints of stimulant...

To finish the "snot saga", my nose stopped running minutes after I left Helsinki airport, bizarrely. No cold after all. I presume the flight from Bangkok had something in the air system to kill bugs, which affected my sensitive olfactory system. I still hated the christmas decorations though. Sniff.

Ah well, since I'm sat with a PC for company I suppose I better do some work.. Pete, if you're reading, HELP! I need stuff from the ofice! See your email inbox.

Be good.

Cold

Well no sooner had I put my bony arse on the seat of my Finnair flight from Bangkok (27 deg C) to Helsinki (-6 deg C), than my nose turned into a hose and began to stream with a sticky clear(ish) liquid, which from memory I believe is called "snot". I probably don't need to say this but I´m gutted to put it mildly. If this is what Europe´s like you can stick it.

I´m now in Helsinki and I can think of nothing to say about it, except that I´m leaving in one hour. There are Christmas decorations everywhere as well, joy of joys.

I´m off to find tissues.

Stop Press! Fire!

Don't tell anyone but I think I left the iron on in my cabin.

As I left it....



Shortly after...



Later, firebugs...

Tick Tick Tick

Bag is packed, hours early. Now I'm at a loss for something to do. What better reason to type out some drivel for my thousands of readers.

I fly at half past midnight, but it's only 730pm and it takes about 50 minutes to get to the airport. Hmm let's see, that gives me about three hours to wait. How much twaddle can I produce in that time? Lots.

Let me have a rummage around my photo folder....nah, not much there I'm afraid. There's this one:


.. of Rojo's, a cocktail bar where Lyn and I have spent many a happy, er, happy hour drinking whisky sour/pina colada/long island iced tea and watching the world go by.

Or there's this:


..of a Thai bloke in a blue hat selling tickling sticks.

Or there's these:



..which prove that some traffic cops can carry off the all-black/jack boots/surgical mask look better than others.

Or this:


..which is nothing more than my attempt at an arty photo.

And finally this:


..which is the view from my desk.

Sorry it's such a lot of crap. I need a new thread to follow, something to set the imagination alight. Watch this space. Meanwhile an hour has gone by and my trip home is just a little nearer.

Here are a nice pair of bookends:

..at the lantern procession in 2007. Ahhh, memories of New Mills (sob).

I'll be in the Beehive tomorrow (Friday) from about 7pm if anyone wants some beer.

Be good.

Millionaires Club

New one - I'm apparently £750k richer.

************************
20081114 From : Hares, Loic

Dear Lucky Winner

We wish to congratulate and inform you On the selection
today,your email has won you the sum of £750,000.00 GBP
in our online email lottery in which e-mail addresses
are picked randomly by computerized balloting, you must
contact the appointed agent Mr Mark Johnson.Fill out the
form below Ticket no: 56475600545 188 for more clearification.

***********************
And the situation as it stands:



Come on guys, are we the only lucky ones out there? Join the millionaires club, flaunt your wealth.

Cheating death in the Gulf

As Sam Gamgee said after his adventure, "Well, I'm home".

To start with, a few illicit pictures - not really allowed to use cameras on rigs - dunno if it's the flash risk or just security, and I never asked.

View from the computer room window - very exciting.



Bart plugs us in - wait for the bang...



Benchamas - my home for the weekend.



Sunset in the Thai Gulf.



Doesn't look like it, but a storm is coming.



Leaving. The yelllow circle on the boat deck is where they landed the glorified rope ladder on a crane which they refer to as a personnel carrier. Lots of fun.



More sunset. The "Tanker" at the front is an FPSO, moored to the sea bed by the large contraption at the prow. It acts as a production rig. The second tanker is there to take oil away.

On the boat, watching them, watching telly. I sat here for 7 hours.


The story of my weekend:
I was picked up from my apartment at 6am on Friday, by a monosyllabic driver in an ancient Merc, and driven the 2-hour trip to the airport in sullen silence. I nodded off - there, I told you it was exciting. On arrival at the tiny airfield I was told it was "sample day", where everyone is given a plastic tub to take to the toilet and pee into. (which brings on a digression - I once heard of a chap who had a vasectomy, and after bringing back a sperm sample, was told "oh thanks but we only wanted urine." Excruciating or what?) So anyway, there I was with my warm tub trying to look like I do this every day, when the bloke gives me two smaller bottles and asks me to split the sample between them, AT THE CHECK-IN DESK. Bizarre - why not give me the two small ones in the first place and let me disappear to the bogs for some privacy? Luckily I didn't spill a drop, which is miraculous for a man with no triangulation. Getting wine from bottle to glass is a challenge for me.

So after a safety briefing, I followed the crowd to the chopper. Ten were boarding, and when the co-pilot asked if anyone was flying for the first time, only I put my hand up. Not actually true - I was flown to the rig off the coast of Angola by chopper 5 years ago, but I have a special talent for remembering irrelevant details and forgetting important facts. So they sat me in the centre of the cabin, away from the emergency exits, presumably in case I pulled any handles out of curiosity. This ensured I was in a cramped position for the our-long flight with nothing to look at except the few instruments I could glimpse between the pilot's and co-pilot's seats, and their body language. Needless to say my lower back began to ache and I squirmed and fidgeted for the whole flight, to the annoyance of the large Scottish gorilla on my right and the emaciated Mancunian on my left.(or is that port and starboard?)

It was, at the time, good weather for flying so I was in fairly good condition when we landed at Benchamas field. I proceeded to work three days of 12-hour shifts, sharing a 4-berth cabin with three extremely quiet and polite Thai engineers. There's really very little to do on a rig, so I found myself in bed every night before 9pm, reading or watching DVD's on my laptop.

The work went well and we (me and my new mate Bart) got our system up and running, and connected it to the existing system without causing any loss of production, thereby avoiding walking the plank or being shot.

On the fourth day we were scheduled to board the 3pm chopper back to shore. However, it so happened that a tropical storm was approaching from the north west, so Chevron's much-practised emergency evacuation drill was swinging into action like a well-oiled, er, oil rig. This meant chaos, basically.

In situations like this, it always rankles that any American nationals are whisked out of danger first, leaving us lesser mortals to slum it on the slow boats.

We waited all day for our boat to arrive, while periodically listening to "our chopper" come and go, filled with fat, privileged prima donnas. I was of course calm and measured - being a representative of the Australian company I'm contracted to - but inside I was raging. I'm not used to being a second class citizen and I don't suppose I ever will be.

Our boat eventually arrived at 5.30pm, by which time we had been subjected to 7 hours in the TV room watching incomprehensible Thai TV at high volume, interspersed with the over-excited antics of the Thais around the pool table. They are good-natured people, always ready to smile and laugh, but my sense of humour had somehow flown off with the last Sikorsky.

Boarding the boat was fun - they use a circular contraption like a kids' climbing frame, hanging by a long rope from a crane, the idea being to cling to the outside of it, while it is lifted and dropped onto the boat deck. The boat deck was 30 metres below the platform deck so much potential for swinging, but luckily the winds were light at that time. Nobody fell off, anyway.

The boat trip took 7 hours, and was similar to a bus-ride I suppose, if said bus happened to take a prolonged detour through 80 miles of fields which had at some point been used as artillery practice.

Chevron had booked us into a hotel and laid on supper for us all, which Bart and I augmented with a couple of cold Heinekens, to the disgust of the Thais, who were going back to the rig as soon as the storm cleared so could not drink.

I should have mentioned that drugs, alcohol and oil rigs don't mix, hence the piss-tests. If found with anything untoward in the bloodstream, they would never work for Chevron again. We, on the other hand, were off back to BKK in the morning, so happy days, glug glug.

That's about it really. We were picked up next morning and driven home to spend a day sleeping, ready for the office tomorrow.

I'll blog again soon.

Be good.