Writing, as wot I did last time, about crayoning reminded me of the time I was sitting in the galley of a rig, way up north of the North Sea, with some other fools beside, enjoying our evening meal, when the Night Pusher came in to eat after finishing his shift hand-over with the Rig Sup. He sat down and by the look on his face we knew all was not well.
With shaking voice he told us the Rig superintendent, let’s call him Al, was in his office, screaming, bouncing of the walls, and generally going absolutely ballistic to the power of 3. For why? Someone, allegedly, had been into his cabin and taken three of his favourite books.
Now Al was a fine fellow, a bear of a man from Canada, or as I’m sure the BBC would love to call it, Canadar, who could create mayhem by the simple expedient of waking up. I’m sure that any trick cyclist who got to analyse Al would have concluded right quick, had they lived, that he was certifiably, homicidally nuts. As I said, a fine fellow. Perfectly suited for the offshore industry.
The news of the ‘missing’ books was devastating and with appetites lost, we sat in our own worlds mulling over the possible horrendous repercussions this reckless act could have on us all. Repercussions that were flashing through our minds and then being discussed round the table and ranged from the possibility of random, public executions to, horror of horrors, him cancelling the sprinkles and crushed nuts for the ice cream.
The Night Pusher, seeing we were all suitably hooked, brought us back to our comfort zones by rounding off the tale with, “Yea, three books. And he hadn’t finished colouring two of them.”
Quote, modified; ??
“I come from a remote part of Canada{r} that has the area code, EIEIO.”
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