And then the real excitement began. First, we reached a coring point, as we hit a sandstone which might have oil in it, and we cut a core to retrieve a sample of the rock.
And then the well took a kick, which means that fluids started flowing into the hole under high pressure. That could have been water, gas, or oil, and it had to be contained to prevent a blow-out.
In the movies, and in Dallas for that matter €“ they always show the roustabouts dancing deliriously on the drill floor in a shower of black rain as the oil flows uncontrolled to the surface.
A real blow-out could be through a massive explosion or fire, leading to the extrusion at sonic velocities of 5 km of steel drill pipe, blasting a lethal metal spaghetti hundreds of metres into the air above your head.
It could destroy your tiny steel island, forcing you to jump into icy waters where you could only survive for ten minutes at most, even in a survival suit. So it was a relief when eventually that kick was brought under control, and I could relax again to wait for the helicopter home.
Leaving was another thrill in itself. I hadn€™t noticedit on arrival, but the choppers touch down for barely a minute, so that they can return safely to dry land as quickly as they can.
But in that brief time they refuel, people run off, and then people run back on again.
That morning, almost before I knew it, I was being pushed into the last seat, the one furthest from the exits. Then we bobbed just an inch or two into the air, hanging and rocking crazily above the netting on the heli-deck.
The last thing the pilot does is to hover for a few seconds as he tests all the controls and each of the movement planes, checking that the darned thing really will fly in more or less the direction he wants.
Then a quick dash forwards over the edge of the heli-deck, a frighteningly steep and gut-wrenching swoop and bank towards the water, much scarier than Maverick€™s barrel roll on his celebratory tower run in Top Gun, and you€™re back over the icy sea.
Sixty eternally-long minutes later, I was delighted to catch sight of land. Ten minutes more and we crossed the Scottish coast, the sighs of relief now audible even with the ear defenders tightly on.
The cold, grey and dank city of Aberdeen had never looked as welcoming to me as it did that morning. Then a ride from the heli-base to the airline terminal, some airport shopping, and a pleasant flight and short drive home. Within three hours I was safely back home in a different existence, in my own little world.
Life would always look a little different now.
And after a week offshore, I knew that I could never complain about a miserable morning in the office in quite the same way again.
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