i. The female influence could express itself in the most unexpected way. One day I was doing my rounds on a platform and shown, with great pride, the latest piece of machinery that was to be installed by the female Engineer and her team. It was a massive new safety valve; the sort that gladdens the heart of the Health and Safety Executive. As my guide burbled on he began to induce in me that all too familiar numbing sensation that descended whenever I was submerged by a mass of technical detail, but I was preserved from total coma by the colour of the new piece of machinery. To say it stood out is an understatement. Colour schemes in the North Sea are garish and somewhat lacking in subtlety. In the midst of all the vulgar colour it sat, coyly confident. It was painted a most delicate pink; best described as Elizabeth Arden's 'Rose' - a wonderfully subtle feminist statement.

ii. At night the senses could be further stirred. The arc lights, as for any stage, would heighten the sense of the dramatic. Deck crews moved in their well drilled routines, and the movement of materials was controlled by the deck foreman with the authority and hand signals worthy of Simon Rattle. And, all the time, there was the background music of a roaring flare, working machinery with the thump thump of the piping as the unending drilling went ahead. Not least there was the sound of the sea, which could vary from a gentle hiss to a violence that could make the platform shudder. The cast were clad in costumes - dramatic in yellow and orange and designed to repel any storm. The scene was made even more memorable by the smoothness of the team work, and the blissful lack of awareness of the participants in their skills.

iii. The seasons made their own particular contribution to the rhythm of life offshore. At 60° North, winter is marked by the wildness of the weather and the few hours of daylight. On the platform no one ventured out of doors unless it was necessary. Drillers would disappear into their wigwam-like structure that shrouded the drilling floor and gave some protection from the elements. Deck crews were fortunate if their precious space was packed with material. Crates and drilling pipes could act as some sort of wind-break. The rest of the crew would disappear into the hanger-like structures that enclosed the extraction machinery. The technocrats were yet more fortunate. They would amble off to the control room with its warmth and soft lighting. It was not unknown for someone to get through a whole trip without once emerging into the fresh air. This was in vivid contrast to the helideck crew who never lacked copious drafts of sea breeze. They would dress to look like astronauts and one would man the foam gun, always directed at the chopper, whilst the others supervised the arrivals and departures and shepherded everyone clear of the treacherous rotor blades.

iv. There were a few women who captained helicopters but apparently some passengers were unhappy about women pilots and the problem was ingeniously solved. You rarely saw the face of the pilot when embarking, you entered the side of the aircraft and made you way up to the passenger area, so only the voice would be the give away. The second pilot (male) would give out all the preliminary announcements and any en route instructions. It was left to the female's dulcet tones to deliver the fond farewell and confound the male chauvinists.

v. I was always mindful of the privilege in being allowed to go offshore, and one that could be easily withdrawn if I gave the impression of being a turbulent cleric. It was a learning process, for both parties, and through time I discovered how I could avoid compromising myself and at the same time try to ventilate issues that mattered. Maybe any worthwhile Chaplaincy is balanced on a knife edge. The art is in retaining one’s equilibrium.