It was 4am when I arrived at Aberdeen Airport. I opened the boot of the taxi, grabbed my bag and ran as quick as I could into the terminal. The wind and rain was lashing, nearly blew me off my feet as the wind caught my bag with a sudden gust. By the time I was inside I was soaked. I was removing all the water from my clothes as I made my way to the check in.

There he was, all smiles and joy, our trusty check-in flunky. These are the staff who never actually go offshore, but they are the ones who are supposed to make all travel arrangements and pay us our expenses on arrival and departure from the airport. It always amazed me just how often these flunkies could actually mess that up! They were hated by us and they knew it; we had no respect for them, probably due to their cushy life style compared to ours.

I went over to him and handed in my expense claim, he looked at it in disgust as it was all wet with rain water. He checked my name off the list and we proceeded to have the normal haggle over the expenses. We both knew that I would not even board the chopper until the money was in my hand, as we had this trouble before - and I won. Past experience had taught me this: if you don't have it in your hand then, you will never see it.

There were the usual early morning grunts and head nodding that always went with these early check-ins. I suppose it was our way of saying 'Hi' but were too tired to say it properly. Then there was always one, the one who just had to go out on the last night and drink himself into a mess and came in stinking of drink. If he was lucky he could sneak past the controller (the payout man) but you just knew he was going to be sick in the chopper. We always made sure that we never sat near him, and some poor rookie, who never knew better, would be covered in sick half way out to the rig.

It was time to put the survival suits on, always too early so by the time you took off you were soaking in your own sweat, but that was the rules. As I looked round the gang I could see a couple of rookies, you could tell they were first timers by that nervous, worried look in their eyes.

I had hoped that we would not be flying that day as the weather was really bad, storm-force winds with heavy rain. These ex-Navy pilots that Bristows employed would fly in any kind of weather, even when all the rest were grounded. So it was no surprise to find myself struggling out to the chopper battling against the wind and throwing my bag into the load space before boarding. I had made sure that I was one of the first out in order to gain a good seat, knowing it was going to be a bad flight. So I was really surprised to be put in the co-pilot's seat when I boarded. The pilot was trying to explain, but I couldn't hear him for the noise from the chopper and the storm, and just did as he suggested with signals.

He gave the engines so much throttle that the whole chopper was violently vibrating as we took off, then it was nose down and away. It would be two and a half hours before we reached the rig, so I settled down to read the paper. The pilot gave me a tap on the shoulder and suggested I put on the head gear, so I did and we could then talk. He then explained to me that I was in the front as we were full up and that there was a pilot waiting on the rig to return with him later. We found out after a while that we were both ex-Navy and he was chatting away while battling with the chopper against the storm. I knew these ex-Navy pilots were good, but he made flying that chopper in those conditions look like a Sunday drive! Then after what seemed like eternity I could see the rig in the distance, and the pilot started talking on the radio to the landing party on the rig.

They were trying to tell him that it was too dangerous to try a landing, and his reply was short and blunt. He had no choice but to land, not enough fuel to make return flight. Then he calmly turned round and told all the lads to buckle up, as if there was no problem. We made our first attempt and it was scary, we were being pushed from side to side by the strong winds, so he gave up and went round again. On the second attempt we had almost made it when the wind pushed us forward with such force I could see the rivets on the flair stack! Then with one savage move he cleared at the last second! By now my nerves were shot, and I started zipping up my suit and checking my life jacket, as he came round again. We missed and dropped, I could see the rotor blades skimming around two feet from the flight deck that we had just missed. Then I felt the whole chopper shaking and the noise was deafening as he gave it full power to gain lift. None of the lads in the back could see this, so I never turned round to look at them in case my expression feared them. One more go he said calmly, this time and then its breakfast for me! I just could not believe what I was hearing, but it must have been correct as I had the head set on. This time he came in high and basically dumped it down on the flight deck, then shouted on his radio for the deck crew to come out and tie us down.

I could see them scurry out, crawling down in order to clear the blades and I could feel the suspension depress when they applied the anchor cables. We were told to leave our bags behind and wait for the order to go, as the deck crew formed a human chain from the chopper to the steps down. We were bascily pushed and kicked along this chain, while battling against the strong winds to reach them and climb down. I was one of the last out and the blokes in the chain were tiring, so I used the ropes on the deck grabbing on to them and crawled to the steps. The collar of my suit was not zipped up to the top which caused it to lash against my face, the zip fastener cutting me above the right eye, making my progress harder.

When I eventually got down through the airlock doors and into the arrival room, I was shattered, bleeding and shaking. I tried to roll a cigerette but my hands were too wet and shaky. Then as I cleared the blood away from my face I could see a hand offering me a smoke; it was a dark blue survival suit I noticed, not orange like ours. I took the smoke from the packet and went to light it, again this hand appeared with a Zippo lighter flame, but it was shaking so much I had to steady it before I could light up.

As I did I looked up, and there was our pilot giving me a light. 'It's a bit gusty out there today,' he said.

I agreed, and he said that he would be taking us all back in two weeks. Now he asked the deck crew officer, 'Where do I go for my breakfast?'

Our day was now just starting, as we had a twelve hour shift to do, the first of fourteen.

I personally knew and worked along side nineteen men who were killed while working in the oil industry. Some of them were killed in aeroplane or chopper crashes, others by crane accidents and the Piper Alpha explosion. Their memory was on my mind as soon as I started to write this.