"Allatsea", on the road with Britain's most popular marine warranty surveyor.

Korea, airports and idiots in blue.

Safe and sound in Ulsan you'll be, no doubt, glad to know. Allatsea that is. Thank you Korean Air for a smooth and punctual, if a little 'dry' journey from blighty. And a further thank you, richly deserved, for the designers and operators of Incheon and Gimpo airports. A real pleasure to use, absolutely. Oh BAA, apart from being a complete shower of *#ite my Heathrow experience  en route just served to compound my very great wish for you all to feature in an accident (fatal) report form as soon as possible.

Great airy cavernous delights of user friendliness compared to miserable archaic anger centres. Cathedrals of delightful function contrasting with concentration camp styled processing centres complete with humiliation raining ghastly staff (BAA staff only do I refer to here) barking orders at the long suffering, bewildered punters. And guess which airports have got the highest landing fees and per pax handling fee. Yep, right again!!!!!! Eeeh, it makes you proud to be British .....ahem!!

Straight into the fun that is 'sailaway'. A HAZID, conducted by Frenchmen and Koreans, in English and attended by only one natural English speaker (yours truly) ended by having more open issues  than when it started. It's no wonder, I don't think any of us understood anything that anyone else said. I know I didn't. Doesn't bode well for the big day though. A wander round the beast, and I have to say here and now  that it is a MONSTER, size wise, revealed that there's more work to do than even the most optimistic peeps could hope to finish in time. Given a month they'd break the back of it. They've got a week to complete the lot. Watch this space.

Back home I see our glorious constabulary are no longer content just to murder innocent chaps on the underground or to shoot a bloke in his own front room who was upsetting the garden sparrows firing his game gun loaded with birdshot. In Manchester they've actually heightened the level of incompetence at which the 'elite' firearm squads operate, arguably they've brought it to near Zenith. They actually shot a colleague  dead in a training drill. Not only that but they achieved it with only 1 shot. A great improvement because the Brazillian lad on the tube was shot 7, yes, 7 times from less than a metre range (heroic policeman taking no chances there then) and the Barrister in London the other week required to be shot  9, yes NINE times  by the highly trained marksmen of the Met firearm squad!!!!!

The next time I'm having a round of skeet and I miss High 1, I shall demand of the match referee that I have another 6 goes at it. If after that I still have't been successful, I'll get half a dozen oiks with macho blue SWAT uniforms on (perhaps even one of those fetching chequered police baseball caps too) to hold that pesky clay down while I give it both barrels.

Sorted.

Nicer than I thought.

Apologies to the Suffolk town of Lowestoft. It's much nicer than I was led to believe, really rather sweet in a shambolic but pleasant kind of way.

The two modules I'm here to 'warrant' for weighing and  loadout, dominate the skyline over the river. Dominate may, actually, be too big a word but they certainly occupy a lot of it. Hmmm. With big (expensive) bits of kit onto  small(ish) barges in dodgy old ex herring havens with spooked, nervous clients, builders on the verge of bankruptcy and a warranty surveyor with a temper as short as a Scotsman's arms at round buying time, you've got a recipe for fun fun fun. With a bit of luck Mrs Allatsea may have slipped my copy of Diplomacy for Dummies into my briefcase, it'll come in handy. This copy, purchased in readiness for the FPSO fight due later in June, could be worth its weight in gold.

Perhaps the simple brained trucker oiks who  brought road misery to thousands of other road users in the southwest today should read it too. If I had had an  expected  1 hour trip turned into an 8 hour nightmare because of an otherwise un-employable trucker's road protest at high fuel prices then I can assure said trucker that I would hope/pray and conive with all my might and willpower, that he went bankrupt and therefore off the roads, sooner rather than later. Enough said.

Weddings, Italy and laziness

Apologies to you, the blog reader, or bleader for short. I've been a very lazy blogger and for no good reason other than I've allowed allatsea to go all, well, allatsea. Tch tch. We've not even been that busy here at Farce Towers, at least I haven't, so no excuses on that front.

The month of May is notable (for me anyway) for one main event. My cousin Neil got married.  Neil, a childhood buddy, is 50 and until two weeks ago, a confirmed bachelor. He married the lovely Karen, at Ferndown Church, Bournemouth two weeks ago. Karen, of similar age to Neil and, a confirmed bachelorette,  radiates joy and gorgeousness. I am not a gooey, emotional  person (goodness no, that was kicked out me years ago) but I confess to shedding a tear or two at the ceremony. Never have I seen two people so right for each other nor so delighted and proud of each other. Deep joy indeed.

Having dabbed the wetness from my eyes I'll continue.

The wedding neatly separated two trips to Italy, both to do things on tugs. The first at Riva Trigoso (near Genoa) was to witness a bollard pull test on the first of a series of 14 AHTs being built there. With 4 MAK diesels throwing out a total of 12 MW I thought she'd produce the best part of 200 tonnes but in the event, mangaged a paltry 335 kilogrammes over the contracted minimum of 180 tonnes. Not overly impressive but that said the owners and builders seemed happy and there was no recrimination and finger wagging going on. Not while I was there anyway. The ABS chap and I signed the relevant certificates and that was that. Happiness.

Daubed on the wall just outside the Fincantieri yard and looking remarkably fresh considering its vintage, was the following.

'Peter Green is God'

In 1967 I would have echoed that sentiment (Eric Clapton was far too pentatonic and overdriven amp orientated to deserve the famous and similar accolade, imo) but having seen the old lad play (dismally) at Chatham a few years ago, I felt the need to borrow a brush and some white paint and amend it to, 'Peter Green needs God'. And on this matter, Richard Dawkins, keep you rdistance.

The next tug job (ooh er madam) was in the small Sicilian port of Pozallo (nearest airport Catonia). Another AHT (and very similar to the Riva Trigoso one) had just arrived from her building yard in Norway and needed entering into the TVAS (approved towing vessel list). This takes a morning or so, and in this case was a breeze because all her gear and certification was in apple pie order. The stability book was a bit naff though and after the Bourbon Dolphin disaster, heeling monents when towing are a big news. So for once in my life I did the maths and found that she was well endowed in the righting lever department. All smiles there then.

In about three weeks a large FPSO is due to leave its building yard in Korea and be towed to Nigeria. Straightforward stuff. The critical bit (critical but ordinary) is getting the thing from the berth, out of the harbour and connected to the three ocean tugs. The builders and owners have decided on one set of environmental criteria for this bit, and the towage contractors (who are Dutch and therefore next to God in all things maritime) have decided on another, and much too benign a set. The yard, ruled as always in Korea, by schedule, will ignore all the critieria and do everything by timetable, regardless. It's going to be one hell of a bunfight and with flak jacket in place and clasping the latest copy of 'Diplomacy for Dummies' to my chest, allatsea will be there to mediate. Wish me luck, please??

Habits and bad breath.

We are, I think, creatures of habit. None more so than the North Kent commuter.

Despite two weeks or so out of the office sampling the delights of foreign fields I found myself this monday morning, standing in the exact same spot on Platform 3 at Margate station, climbing into the very same 2nd carriage from the front and sitting purposefully into the 3rd seat on the right. Aaah, the re-assurance of the familiar. Comforting indeed and I drifted off into the lovely half doze that is so easy to come by at six thirty in the morning.

All remained well until at Herne Bay I felt that unwelcome but oddly familiar thump in the back of my seat as something large and unwieldy crash landed in the seat behind me. Seconds later a resounding belch eminated from the same area and this was accompanied almost immediately by a fetid stench. It was nauseous and a blend of  something between chronic tooth decay and fermenting sewage. Throw in a 6 week old curry and some Belgian lager and you've got the picture.

This had happened  before. I'd initially dismissed it as random bad luck, then on the subsequent day as coincidence and then finally, on the third occasion it dawned on me that this was no unfortunate randomness but a full scale case of habit. The Herne Bay Breath Monster had arrived and nothing was going to shift his seating or halitosis routine. The two weeks of dallying in foreign climes had eradicated this from my fragile and rapidly failing memory. Drastic measures were required if I wasn't to be suffocated in my sleep. This morning I traveled up in the 3rd carriage from the front. The sense of adventure at at such an adventurous deviation from normal behaviour wasn't particularly tangible but the sweet air I breathed en route, most certainly was.

Rotterdam calls. Friday will see another visit to the Botlek yard. It's vast, bleak and soul-less. So be it.

Farewell Ulsan

After two full days of driving rain and chilly blustery Northerly winds here in Ulsan, Margate actually appeals somewhat. Unusual but true in this case and fortuitously timed because this is my last night. Check out at 0500 tomorrow morning then a short flight to Seoul, 4 hours in the business lounge at Incheon (having transferred from Gimpo) eating pretzel bits and looking for a bottle of Gordons before jumping onto the 1300 flight for Heathrow. All being well, into London at teatime and into the waiting jamjar. That's the plan so far, fingers crossed it works.

Today was the last day of the mammoth HAZID meeting. It was scheduled to close at 1230 but ran on for an additional three and a half hours, deep joy. There were some issues to resolve I'll admit but the addition to the group of a fresh faced, gushing and newly appointed HSE wallah led to some rather remote and bizarre risks being discussed at length.....yawn. We didn't quite get to 'Heh, what about if a comet strikes the FPSO?' ....'Well why don't we build a comet shield?', but we weren't far short!

AAAAAAAARGH!!!!!! Get a grip guys, get a grip!!!!!

Busy week next week, initially in London and then wandering again. There's a certain Northern European Drilling company that's not being as helpful as it should be so it's time to get the thrashing stick out and wave it in anger. Not normally the language of a lowly warranty surveyor but on this occasion I'm client's rep and the pleasure's all mine I tell you :o) Can't wait.

A long shot but any Master Mariners out there that fancy a 120 day tow, Korea to offshore Nigeria? It's as warranty not as towmaster so no pressure. Good daily rate. If so please call +44 207 812 8701 and ask for Marine Dept ASAP. If you don't want to talk to the office then call my voicemail please, +44 7887 514123 (but let me get back to the UK first).

Bye for now bloggites..............

Decent airports

Incheon airport in Seoul, is not only far removed from Heathrow by a vast geographic distance but by an order of magnitude when it comes to the, dare I say it, ‘customer experience’.

Wide skywalks, two of them to get us off the plane, acres wide corridors, all with functioning moving walkways, queue-less immigration facilities and epoch sized, airy clean and friendly baggage reclaim areas. I don’t like traveling but if all airports were like it, that opinion would change.

The flight down to Ulsan went from Gimpo, a 35 minute bus ride away (or, if you’re feeling a bit trainified, 27 minutes on the newly opened rail service) which costs 5000 Won (arond £2.50) and is very straightforward to catch. Korea seems to make traveling for foreigners straightforward and most people I approached for help or guidance spoke English well enough to sort my queries. I’ve had more trouble in making myself understood in Newcastle.

Gimpo was equally pleasant to use, if a little soul-less. Most impressive was the security arrangements. They check passengers with a vigor equal to the most fascist found at any BAA facility at the end of a VERY LONG QUEUE and they deal with as many passengers as LHR 2 or 3, yet the queuing time was less than a minute. Why? Because they have the resources to meet the demand while the appalling management at BAA don’t provide the resources. Instead they treat the paying public like permanent suckers in a comedic reality TV programme, this despite £15 ish of each pax’s ticket paying for the, ahem, cough cough, security measures.

As with all Korean domestic flights, boarding a 200 seat aircraft takes less than 15 minutes. Everyone is on seated within the quarter of an hour allotted for boarding (Brits are probably {with the Italians a close 2^nd} the most vacuous and painful at getting on to aeroplanes and sitting down) and the plane pushes back on schedule. Timetables are a statement of binding intent in Korea whereas in the UK they seem to be some kind of discussion document. Every flight I’ve taken to, from or within the place, has departed on time. Heaven indeed but I have a horrid feeling that those tub thumping words will come back to haunt me in the very near future.

I have four days, FOUR VERY LONG DAYS, to survive within the hostile environment that is the ‘Ocean towage HAZID’. Frankly I don’t think it’s humanly possible but live in hope that I may become a record breaker.

Until next time blog-mates.

On the road again

This year has been relatively quiet on the travel front. It's about to change though.

Good Friday was spent in a windswept and snowified Aberdeen. I was only there for the day, looking at a large AHT, travelled up there in the morning from Gatwick (which was bursting at the seams with ghastly holiday makers, the loud and be-childrened middle class on an easter break, a hideous experience) and returned to Heathrow in the evening. A long day but the ship was good, if only more were like it. Well looked after and a crew with interest, British too, there's hope after all.

Tomorrow I'm going to Rotterdam, a visit to a semi-sub in dock. It could be fraught, I'll keep you informed. From there, it's a train to Schipol, a late flight to Paris CDG, overnight there and then down (Why 'down' and not 'up'? Because it's South!! Conventional and simple!) to Abidjan and on one of Europe's most overated airlines, Air Chance. All being well, I shall be there until monday night and then return to the delights of New Labour Blighty (If it's 'New' Labour how come so many of the party members and supporters are anachronistic, shoulder chipped, success hating, workshy wasters? It's puzzled me for years, 11 years to be precise.) but only for a few days.

Esbjerg loadouts beckon, then to Ulsan in Korea for a HAZID. Air miles it's good for, carbon footprint it certainly isn't.

Heard on Radio 4 recently.

'The philandering string theorist, when challenged by his wife, said 'Don't worry, I can explain everything.' '

Vests

Wednesday, a gale howling out of the Northeast, brrrrr. My M and S vest isn’t doing much to reduce the chill factor. I’m not sure if that odd feeling on my nose is an icicle forming or a very cold bit of snot. Either way it’s not the best way to start the day. On such days the thought of visit to West Africa doesn’t seem quite so un-appealing and on that very matter, I’ve got to go to Abidjanto look at a big tuggy wuggy thing. Richard Dawkins, you’re wrong on that one, there is a God. Thing is it’s a God that only exists for sailors.

What’s that? You doubt my words? The following poem will quash all doubts.

Oh Lord above, send down a dove,

With wings as sharp as razors.

To cut the throats,

Of them there blokes,

What sells bad beer to sailors.

An instruction to go to Ivory Coastis one thing, to get there, quite another. It’s not availability of seats on planes (this time) that’s the problem but the ease of getting a visa. This can take between a week and a month and is of course dependent on sending in your passport complete with supporting documents, application forms, photographs, work history, proof of employment and a huge wodge of cash. None of these things is a problem except for the passport bit. I’ve only got one (my colleagues have two, one in use one in for visas) and I’ll need that for all the short Euro hops that are due over the coming days. I can see it being a bit protracted and, a fractious client if I’m not careful.

I’ll have to send them some flowers, the daffs are lovely at this time of year.

Now there's a thing

I've  attempted to upload a few new pictures to the 'When it goes wrong' album. Hopefully I was successful and you can see what happens when a large floaty thing, loaded with new  container gantry cranes, goes out of control and hits some .... gantry cranes. Poor old Felixstowe and poor old floaty thing captain.

Spent the last few days in the picturesque and frighteningly middle class town of of Hexham, just west of Newcastle upon Tyne. We (wife and mum plus my very lovely goodself) were up there for a wedding and I took the opportunity to take our family group to view the delights of Wallsend. My idea had been to aquaint them with them some of the more awful parts of the UK. This intention, was to backfire.

In the year since  I'd last visited the place some miraculous morphing seems to have gone on and it didn't look half as gloomy and apocalyptic as it had done. The people looked quite jolly and happy to be there and we found a cafe that did an all day breakfast (that was very fine indeed) for £1.99. Even the driving drizzle and northerly near gale couldn't make the place look horrid. Then, to compound the issue, a walk along Northdown Road in the  (un) delightful district of Cliftonville in my own home town, also after a one year sabbatical, was to reveal an opposite morh. It had gone from a dreary and drab but unquestionably alive business thoroughfare to a junky infested, charity shop only, end of the world is nigh, street of shame. I'm still in shock at such a rapid decline. At such times I can only do the brave thing, go back to sea for a year and hope it'll improve by the time I get back.

I live in hope but frankly, Newcastle have got more chance of staying on in the Premiership at the end of the season than Margate has of getting any more liveable. Sigh!!

Rationality

Following on from my taxi-centric trip to Jutland on monday came a trip to Stavanger to cast a cynical eye over a standard 300 foot barge in readiness for an April installation in the Danish sector. Stavanger is Norway's oil capital and arguably its most cosmopolitan city. I've no doubt that the good (but frankly, boring) folk of Oslo will dis-agree but I'll stand firm on the matter. It is un-arguably a very wet city however and on this occasion it didn't deviate from that description.

Climbing up and down cold steel ladders (I'd forgotten to take any gloves with me and the yard concerned didn't run to any spare pairs) and clambering through Malaysian sized (eg very small) manholes in the pouring rain whilst at the same time attempting to keep accurate and legible notes in my Woolworths  49p A6 special is not something I'd include in a list entitled 'What  I'd really like to do today'. Norwegian rain is somehow colder and more persistent than anywhere else on the planet and despite, oddly, contributing to the majesty of the scenery, is never enjoyable or invigorating. Thus I was glad to find that the barge was in pretty damned good nick and at 10 years old, was newish in barge time so there was no need to dig too deeply. Our little party managed to get all the info it needed (ish) soon after lunch and then it was back into the agent's car for the hour long ride back to Sola airport. On the way we discussed the the pros and cons of life in Norway.

Pros......... Stunningly beautiful, rich, highest standard of living in the world, cheap hydro electricity, fullish (ish) employment, very very low crime rates, best state provided benefits known to mankind, wonderful housing stock, global benchmark standard of healthcare and social care, quirky liking for the British, fantastic education facilities and the smallest polaristion of wealth distribution amongst the population, in the western world.

Cons ....... Wet, too dark in winter too light in summer, 2000 speed cameras for every car on the roads, beer is around £8 a pint, bizarre politically correct over legislation by central government, smotheringly soulless conservative attitudes to EVERYTHING, the world's worst telly, a population that is even more badly behaved than the Brits when drunk (but much less violent), the ludicrously high price of everthing except watches and youghurt (now there's a combination that makes the eyes water) and of course the sanctimonious, smug, sense of superiority that you feel from the locals because they are the citizens of the world's richest (per capita) country. Whoops, almost forgot, the smallest polaristion of wealth distribution amongst the population, in the western world (because I resent earning less than a half witted, lard arsed, couldn't give a toss,  minibus driving,  Stavanger dunderhead). Not that I'm bitter of course.

They do though, despite much evidence to the contrary, have a sense of humour. The agent explained that Norway (not a member of  the EU) is keen to get involved in  space exploration and to that end was building a rocket to launch satellites into orbit. Sensitive to the accusation that such a programme flew in the face of green concerns the space agency made much of the fact that the rockets would be powered by bio fuel. The bio-fuel would be made from ....whale oil.

Well it made me laugh!!

I now have a dedicated voicemail bank now, so if you fancy leaving a comment or want to ask a question then please feel free.

+44 7887 514123