We’re on cable burying duties on a windfarm. Foundation A08, our target, is a tantalising 120 metres away. Up until a few minutes ago we were making good progress towards it, then there was a bit of an event that brought things to a halt. T
he giant subsea, multi-million pound burying machine, the ‘Trencher’ croaked and groaned a bit and then with a great melodramatic shudder, shit itself. The trenching supervisor used the term ‘Cattle trucked’ to describe its operational state. Despite the proximity of a very fast and welcome CTV despatched just recently from Shoreham to take yours truly back to shore, I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere soon. Sigh!
At such times of duress and frustration I find the urge to write poetry. Here ye be, straight from the heart.
Lunch was lovely
Slurp, slurp, slurp