North sea fireworks

Continuing the account of our offshore training course.

You've arrived at the oil rig, the helicopter hasn't done its impression of a duck, and everything's all right with the world.

Well, not quite.

There's a lot that can go wrong with oil rigs, and there's no friendly fire engine nearby. OK, there's a supply vessel that stands by at all times, but it's not exactly fire fighting material.
And fire isn't the only problem.

Our training instructor gleefully went through the list

• blow-outs. this is where the drill hits a pocket of compressed gas.
• gas explosians
• fires
• nuclear war

OK, OK, I made the last one up. however, the first three were enough to be going on with
Oh, and drifting. Not all oil rigs are built into the sea floor. Some are anchoured, others are 'dynamic', where they use engines to keep on station (which is where our company makes a bit of money with our 'dynamic positioning kit' - a snip at half a million guv, fresh of the back of the lorry. We haven't had an oil rig equipped with one of our systems drift but we did ram the back of a cable layer with a supply vessel once.

And the Queen Mary 2 is supplied with our engines and the DP kit, so if you find it moors itself at the top of the Empire State Building you know it's our fault.

Anyways - back to the fire.

Apparently there's lots of ways to cause a fire on an oil rig, other than the obvious one of 'light match and throw in tank' (they don't allow you lighters on rigs for some reason).
Apparently one classic way is to dump a set of oily overalls in a laundry basket, stir thoroughly and leave for half and hour, after which - 'whooomp' - bells, whistles, runnning back and forth, panic and evacuation.

The worst disaster in UK drilling occurred on the Piper Alpha rig in 1988, which killed 167 peoplewas caused by a whole chain of events but mainly it was beacuse they started maintenance on a valve, didn't finish it by the end of the shift, and operators who didn't know of the maintenance started pumping gas through the pipe.

less of a woof, more of a boom.

So we are trained in work permits, safe working, and of course, what to do in the case of a fire.

Apparently, it's not 'run'

The fun thing about these courses is that your company pays about 800 squids to go on what effectively is a theme park with attitude. I've already described the helicopter training.
Fire fighting training and evacuation is almost as fun.

First - fire fighting. Haven't you ever wanted to let one of those extinguishers off? I have.
You all troop off to a large burnt out looking area. The instructor lines up the various types of extinguisher (gas, foam, dry foam, water) and lights a large pan of oil. Then he tells you to put it out.

'What happens if you use water' you ask. 'Try it' he says. So you do. And you never ever ever do it ever again.

You then try out the foam (can evaporate on big fires), CO2,(get it too close and you blow burning oil all over the place) and dry foam (poisonous, don't spray people).

Lastly, you are given a demonstration of how not to put out a chip pan fire. They heat up a pan of boiling fat. They then light it. Then they dump (using a LONG pole) a cup of water into the pan.

Sigh

A pyromaniacs dream come true.

So that's how to put out a fire. What happens if you're in the middle of one?

I said before you don't run (not if you're in the middle of one). All the heat and the poisonous fumes gather at the top of the room. To run you have to be upright. To keep alive you have to be on the floor.

And it's probably dark.

Actually, it's probably pitch black.

so you have to feel your way along the floor, crawling along to the nearest exit.

Just so you know how to do it they have a maze. They put a large amount of artificial smoke in it, a small fire, give you some breathing apparatus, kick you into the maze as a team, shut the door and tell you to find your way out without losing anyone.

Great.

So we crawl along, one hand on the heel of the person in front, feeling our way and shouting intructions and thinking

'if there's a fire i would be burnt to death by now'.

We all made it out, covered in soot, wishing we were allowed cameras.

So, if you ever have a fire in your house, give me a ring and I'll tell you how to get out.

North sea nasties

I've mentioned previously that my job may send me off to the North Sea.

This is just one of the many inhospitable places that we could get sent to - the other one being the States (if there's anyone in the Department of the Homeland reading this, that was another English joke. Please don't send me to jail).

Unlike the states, however, they train you on how to get there.

Or rather, what to do if you don't get there.

Many of the UK's oil rigs are in the North Sea. This is cold, wet (obviously) and windy. You get there by helicopter, which by all accounts is an accident waiting to happen.

In order to prepare you for this accident they send you on a training course on what to do if your helicopter crashes in the North Sea.

No, it isn't 'scream'.

And according to them, it isn't 'drown'.

The normal survival time in the North Sea is about 2 minutes - if you're lucky. So you're given thermal overalls and a dry suit, hood, boots and gloves. This is to keep you warm(er) and dry if you get dunked.

The dunked bit is because to make matters more interesting, helicopters are built with their engines at the top. The normal floating configuration (yes, they should float) for a helicopter is upside down. (This assumes a lot of things, such as the heliocopter settled like a feather onto the surface, that it isn't on fire, wrecked, exploded or any of the 101 things that can happen to helicopters).

So when the helicopter lands it turns upside down

With you in it.

Screaming.

So, you're trained how to exit from an upside down helicopter in the dark in a storm in the freezing north sea.

In order to do this they take you to a nice warm indoor pool with the lights on and put you in a plastic box with big windows that they dunk and then turn upside down.

So it's not exactly realistic but gives you an idea. (as an aside, they used to do this with no heating, lights out and high pressure hose playing onto the surface of the water, but they had a few heart attacks so had to give it up on the basis that they're not supposed to kill people before they get into the helicopter).

Now, the fun bit is that they say it takes at least one minute to escape, and that the water is so cold that everyone takes an involuntary gasp when they hit the water (provided they're not screaming). This gives you about 17 seconds of air. They therefore provide you with a rebreather bag that provides you with enough air for about 4 minutes. So, that's Ok then. They also give you a nose clip to stop water going up your nose. The clip is made of steel, it's slippy, it's well sprung and impossible to get on if you have to use your left hand.

'I'm going to drown', I thought

They also let you pull the cord on your lifejacket.

I ALWAYS wanted to do that. Hey - size 50" bust in 5 seconds. Incidentally, I now know why they say 'don't inflate it in the aircraft'

1. You're walking around with a chest like Pamela Anderson (and probably made of the same material)
2. It floats. If you go underwater in the aircraft with an inflated lifejacket you stay in the aircraft. Or at least in the ceiling (or floor, whichever way is 'up').

So, helicopter lands on sea. Hand nearest to exit or pointing at exit. If near emergency exits (all doors and windows are exits apparently) pop exit open, put hand on exit so you knows where it is. Other hand on release buckle. Take hand off buckle (no, no, not the exit hand), fasten nose clip, take deep breath, pop rebreather valve, put hand back on buckle.

Got that?

OK, you didn't get that, we'll do it again.

(this is the exercise. If you don't get it on the real thing you lose it)

Don't panic

Helicopter turns upside down. Stay calm. When helicopter finishes turning use hand on buckle to release buckle, use hand on or pointing to exit to pull you through or towards exit, don't need any light because your hand will guide you. Kick out to surface, inflate lifejacket, hooray, alls well, lets go and have a cup of tea.

Actually, the guys who've done this before say 'forget waiting for the thing to finish turning. Pop the f....g exit and get the f..k out of there'

So; gently turn over. Lah de dah de da. Isn't this fun. Normally you have to pay for this sort of entertainment. Nice warm water, nice and light, can see the exit, this is going to be easy. Ok, the helicopter (or it's plastic clone) has finished turning over, lah de dah, pull buckle and let's get out of here

Hah. I got stuck. No, not because I'm fat. The dry suit I was wearing had long cuffs, the belt had an aircraft type buckle and the fabric of the sleeve got caught in the release mechanism, jamming it.

So there I was pulling at the release thinking 'I'm sure I've seen a film about this. The guy drowned at the end of it'. All very calm like. Luckily the belt unjammed otherwise I'd have looked a right pillock being pulled from a plastic helicopter.

OK, you've left the helicopter, now get into the lifeboat. This is the second killer - figuratively speaking I hope.

They're impossible to get into on your own, especially if you're doing your pamela anderson impression. you get your chest on the rim, you pull, and your boobs get stuck. You kick your legs but they're out the water, you pull again, bloody plastic surgery, eventually you die of exhaustion

'The best thing', the trainer said, 'is to let someone else get in first'.

Umm.

As long as you get out of the helicopter and get into the lifeboat then your chances of survival is going to be high. To make life easier (so to speak) all North Sea helicopters are fitted with flotation bags so they don't turn upside down

So that's alright then

At least things are better nowdays. The rebreathers only came into force April last year. Before that you were stuck with the 17 seconds air, 1 minute to escape. I asked our instructors what they told trainees before that time. They didn't answer, but the reply of one of our employees to the end-of-course survey is significant

Q. 'What is the most important thing you learnt on the course?'
A. 'We're all going to die'

Next installment. Guy Fawke's night on an oil rig.

I've had the medical and...

So, I've had the medical, and it appears that I'm deaf, blind, overweight and susceptible to heart disease.

Other than that, I'm in good health.

The job I'm in may, perhaps, if all goes wrong, the brown stuff has hit the rotating object and the vessel is loose and drifting in the North Sea, require me to visit an offshore vessel. (and for those pedants amongst you, an onshore vessel could be regarded as one that has finished drifting)

For this I need a medical to pronounce me fit. I assume this is so I don't scramble up the netting, salute the captain and fall dead at his feet.

Actually, it's a bit more than that, since as part of the medical I need my dentist to pronounce me dentally fit. I assume that this is so i can bite the captain's ankle before dropping down dead. My dentist duely provided the required note along the lines of 'When he last visited me in November he had all his teeth, and these were of sufficient good order to bite captains'.

Well, words to that effect

(and while we're at it, can you solve the great debate in the office and explain what the difference is between affect and effect and when either of them become effective and what effect or affect they have within a sentence. Remember we're engineers. Write slowly. And loudly)

Anyway, I've been measured, weighed, jabbed, and had the doctor carefully inspect me (but not thoroughly inspect me - as he said when he asked me to remove my clothes '..but not your pants because I'm not going to do anything intimate'. I bet he says that to all the men).

I've had a hearing test that put me in a booth and fed me tones that I couldn't hear over the permanent ringing in my ears.

I had an eye test WITHOUT my glasses where the answer was 'Blob. Blob, blob. Blob-blob-blob-blob-blob. Blob a blob r (at this point I was guessing). The near sight test demonstrated that I was well on the way to varifocals but didn't have them.

The reason for this is I'm not stupid and I'm parsimonious (big word - it either means I'm partial to parsnips or I don't spend money). 2 years ago my optician said that my eyes were sliding into senility - or in other words, I was going to need long distance and a reading prescription. He also said 'The good news is that your eyes will stop changing after 5 years'. So I did the maths. 'I buy a pair of varifocals at 200 squids now. Then the next year I throw them away and get another pair and continue doing this for the next five years. Do I look that stupid? - or rich?'

So I get a pair this year (half way through senility) and then in 2.5 years time.

That is providing I don't have a heart attack first. You see, not only do they take your medical history, but that of your family...

'What did your father die of?' - 'Cancer of the bile duct but he actually had a heart attack. He also had angina'

'and your mother?' - 'Heart attack, but she was diabetic'

'anyone else in your family? - 'My uncle - heart attack. Oh, and my brother who's still here and has had several heart attacks and a triple bypass'

'I see', the doctor says. And 'you're a bit overweight', he says. 'Do you smoke? he asks. 'No', I reply; 'I just steam quietly when someone says I'm overweight'.

The trouble is, he's right. I've gone from slim and lovely - OK, slim - to porky (100kg, work it out in medieval units). My blood pressure is up, my pulse rate has gone from 60 6 years ago to 80 now and I haven't a clue what my cholesterol level is like but I noticed the doctor cancelling his order for a year's supply of butter after taking my blood for a test. I suggested that I could go on the Atkins diet and he smiled. OK, I was joking - even I'm not stupid enough to go on a diet that seems to consist of dropping everything in favour of protein and fat. Mind you, it seems to work - one of the guys at work has tried it and has gone from a 50 inch waist to a 38.
I think I'll just cut out the chocolates. And the crisps. and the cider at lunch time; and cream cakes on Saturday. and start walking into and out of town - in winter - when it's raining

Joy.