Windy farms, windy botties.

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.


Burpy bottom
Bottom burp
Lunch was lovely
Slurp, slurp, slurp

Dad RN posed

About allatsea

Sixty year old master-mariner. Absolutely gorgeous. Well wedged.....when compared to a Nairobi street urchin. Sorted, in that I haven't been in court recently. Hopelessly optimistic, terminally disappointed. Good with cats and other fluffy things. No musical talent. Generous to a fault provided it's someone else's round. Political centreist with far right and left viewpoints. A green activist from the hydrocarbon position with nuclear leanings. Averse to avarice but always happy to receive lottery wins, gifts, windfalls, legacies, prizes and wet sloppy kisses.
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