North Sea Tales

Rig Pigs Flying Offshore

The taxi pulled up outside, slithering to a halt, and by luck or good management, managed to avoid a slow speed collision with the utilitarian hearse like, Volvo 240 Estate covered in snow, parked outside.

"Christ, how had he ended up here, with such a car, such a life?"

He had watched the potentially balletic manoeuvre from his favourite perch, three stories above from the silver and ice specced imposing granite facade of their beautiful architectured, all important posh postcode location in Forest Road in Aberdeen, the Oil City of Scotland.

From this large bay window with its clever victorian radiators beautifully engineered, out of sight but so efficiently keeping the cold from running down those large and bloody expensive bay windows, he was accompanied by their dog.

Theirs, as it was also half owned by "The better half, The Handbrake, i.e "The Princess", who of course couldn't manage to drive him this cold morning to the airport, as why would she?

She had her beauty sleep to catch up on, then early morning gym sessions, and coffee afterwards with "the Girls?" which was not subject to the "Trades Description Act" luckily for "those Girls??"

Anyway, rubbing the dog, just behind its ears, he said his goodbyes, to just "the one" bitch of course, the "other one " would of course be still sleeping in that nice warm king size bed... why on earth would she get up to see me off ??

The dog took up pole position on the sumptuous black leather armrest, to take over lookout duties, without any barking or malarky, as it was a "good wee dug". He smiled down, she looked up with those huge eyes particular to Shih Tzu. "Yes, ye wee bugger, I will be back, I promise, somebody has to look after you!"

He walked towards the door of the large lounge living room, over luxurious thick white carpet, past the lovely period mirror hung above the truly grand and beautiful fireplace.

It was a truly great place to live, they had it all, he silently entered the bedroom, not of "The Princess", of course, but of his children. The twins, one boy and one girl, were fast asleep, he dutifully kissed them on their foreheads, and left, with the effortless quietness coming from years of being on the bridge of ships at night in low light, and "stepping lightly" so as not to waken your shipmates.

Slippers off, boots on, he picked up his offshore bag, brightly coloured with reflective tape sewn in, an "Offshore Workers" badge of honour...

Bart had worked at so many offshore locations, for the varied multitude of employers that he had cupboards full of bags and offshore work gear, seemed he got a set every 2 to 3 months, such was the precarious, but at the same time, well funded career he was now following.

He walked down his "well salted" path, and "of course!" it was well salted against the ice, if Bart was anything he was always well prepared and had "a Plan".

The taxi driver made no move to get out, he just popped the "boot, that's trunk to you Americans" :-) Bart slung his heavy bag into the boot, and closed it gently but firmly. You had to be careful with these Aberdeen Airport taxi drivers, they had climbed to the top of "the Heap'' in the Aberdeen taxi clans, and they were making obscene money, with the influx of so many workers, who were temporary and so had no car, but he had places to be, and the Airport was there at the beginning and end of most trips, thus resulting in the spawning of the "Primadonna" taxi mannie, someone not to cross, or you could be blacklisted, meaning you were destined to spend forever awaiting a cab.

"Radio 3" was playing in the cab, a bit of a surprise to be honest for an "Aberdonian Taxi Mannie".

Bart was greeted as he opened the door of the large "top of the range" Mercedes with - "You dinna mind a bi oh culture div ye?"