THE NARRATIVE ARC
‘Somewhere, on the North Fuggin Sea’
Loving an oilman wasn’t easy but I learned an important lesson
We met one Saturday lunchtime in The Moorings, a pub down by Aberdeen harbor. Ted was an oilman. An adventurer seeking gold, black gold, deep off the coast of North East Scotland. He was an ex-schoolteacher turned surveyor, scouring the wild North Sea for signs of the liquid riches destined to make Britain self-sufficient and Aberdeen the Houston of the North.
I was home for the weekend from college in Edinburgh. Two pals and I were out for a drink. He sat in the next booth with his two pals. We eyed each other. Then began talking.
He laughed a lot. Eyes crinkling, shoulders heaving. It was infectious. Soon, I was laughing, too. Always a plus. His features were delicate. His hair was long and curly. The effect was rock star rebellious, quirky, and appealing. I fell for him instantly.
Since oil was discovered off the coast of Scotland in the late ‘60s, the city had pulsed to the—two-weeks-on, three-weeks-off—rhythm of oil industry life. Our city’s ancient cobble-stoned streets had been invaded by a cliché of Americans kitted out in Frye boots, sheepskin jackets, and ten-gallon hats, keen to give the inexperienced Scots the benefit of their hard-won…
