Sleeping Sunlight
Climate, CoVid and Sleeping Beauties
It was cold and it was dark and even though the Caucasus Mountain Range stood between Baku and the bitter Russian winds to the North, the coast of the Caspian Sea still saw some snow at this time of year. Which aligned with his mood. Work had lasted through the summer but with shutdowns and outages, only just. It had started with the Putin/MBS spat, followed by lockdowns, global supply chain problems, and a faltering V-shaped recovery. Now it was over. This would be his last job on the oil patch. Near 45 years in the business, the memory of his first chopper out to the Forties on a clear, summer morning from Dyce still fresh. The best years of his life. It was still late autumn, but winter was coming.
Before going through security, at Heydar Aliyev, his phone rang. It was his daughter Rosa.
“Daddy! Daddy! It’s your turn.” pleaded Rosa.
It was a game she liked to play. They’d give each other quotes from Sleeping Beauty.
He couldn’t remember.
“Oh come on Daddy. I’ll give you a clue. ‘Sweet Princess…if…through…’ Come on Daddy you must remember!”
And then it came to him.
“Sweet Princess, if through this wicked witch’s trick, a spindle should your finger prick. A ray of hope there still may be in this, the gift I give to thee.”
Rosa cheered and he felt himself well up and told her, in a hurried goodbye, he’d see her and her Mum tomorrow.
The flight back from Azerbaijan would remind him of all the other flights. Norway, Brazil, Dubai, Nigeria but this one was different. This would be his last. He remembered Mike’s email.
“Absolutely nothing. I’ve got 200 guys on the books, all looking and there’s nothing out there. It’s just dried up. I’ve sent your CV out to every contact I’ve got. They’re not even replying. Even if the oil price breaks $50 — I don’t think it’ll ever be the same again. Which may be a good thing as everyone hates us now anyway :-)”
Bad joke, but he got it.
Once in the air he tried to sleep, but couldn’t, so he ordered a whisky and looked out the window. He saw a city — Tblisi? — and then an expanse of land, villages as little networked pin-pricks of light, and it reminded him of why he was once so proud working in the oil industry. He was a bringer of light. He had helped banish darkness and all its dominions forever. For thousands of years we had risen and lain down with the sun, but now the day was extended and life’s possibilities expanded.
But it wasn’t only light, it was heat. In those little vibrant hubs of light and life down below there were also warm homes and businesses. Warm is good, society and civilisation advance in lockstep with heat — look at the Minoans and Romans — and recede with cold. History was clear on that. Cold is the killer and anyone who thinks different has never left their front door. But now it was changing. He had helped bring heat and light into the world by untrapping sunlight — for what is oil but Trapped Sunlight, a form of ancient solar energy, millions of years old bound in chemical bonds by photosynthesis? — only to watch it being plunged back into unsustainable cold and darkness.
He had a three-hour stopover at Frankfurt so went outside for a smoke and then headed to the bar.
“Sandy!” The voice was booming and recognisable. He had first met Gogs on the Brent Charlie and their paths had crossed many times since. He’d obviously had a few.
“Fit like min!” He shouted in broad Doric. “Hae a seat and I’ll get the drinks in!”
Twenty minutes later and they were on treble Tamdhu’s and geopolitics.
“This is going to end in tears — we’re so screwed it's hilarious!” said Gogs roaring with laughter. “Luckily ah’m getting oot” he continued, “but it’s the bairns I feel for. Thrown under a bus to just to keep a few coffin-dodgers like you and me alive. Of course, the Central Banks will print till they can’t and then when there’s blood on the streets our dear leaders will look abroad for somebody to blame. The Beastie isnae just slouching towards Bethlehem this time round, he’s on steroids and slavering and swaying and tooled up wi’ nukes and drones and…”
Gogs was interrupted by kids screaming and scattering and cops shouting at the bottom of the escalator.
“Extinction Rebellion” he said looking on. “Well they’ll love it — look at this pish!” pointing to a headline in a Guardian, left on the table.
“Will The Coronavirus Kill The Oil Industry And Help Save The Planet?”
Just then two young kids, a boy and a girl, both dressed as Goths ran breathlessly up to their table and asked if they could sit at the table. He had long hair, she had pigtails and they both wore black lipstick. But they seemed harmless.
“Sheltrin’ fae the storm? On you go” said Gogs generously and then the smiling barb — “So saving the planet nae worth getting a baton over the heid for?”
Silence.
“Anyway, I’m Gogs and this is Sandy”
“Pleased to meet you. We are Rudi and Heidi.” Rudi replied politely. “So where are you going?”
“Both gan back to Aiberdeen. I’ve come fae Dubai and Sandy fae Azerbaijan. We both work in oil”
Which was a great conversation stopper, but Gogs wasn’t being aggressive just cheeky and prodding and to the point. He’d always been like that.
“So do you agree with this?” pointing to the Guardian article.
“Yes and I’m sorry I think it is unfortunate for people like you.”
“People like me? If it wisnae for people like me there wouldnae be people like you!”
“Sorry I do not understand.”
“Well, there’s a clear correlation between the growth of the oil industry and population.”
“Ah yes that is a problem”
“So save the planet kill humans?”
“No, we achieve through contraception and population control.”
“Population control — so who is not allowed to be born — my great-grandchildren or yours?”
“Hopefully if we act now we can prevent that — but you do not deny Climate Change is happening?” continued Rudi.
“Hey min, climate IS change! That’s fit it does — changes a’ the time! And ah dinnae deny it — ah welcome it! Far am fae there wis two miles of ice above us. Nae that long ago. That’s utter annihilation — at a cellular level! Nithin survives that!! So what’s the worst that can happen with a bit more CO2 ? Mair plants and mair water. Folk would survive — fair enough they might have to hack their way with machetes, through huge ferns up to the high ground, snacking on toucans as they go — but there would still be folk!”
“I think you are not taking into account catastrophic global flooding.’ replied Rudi. “The models say…”
“The models!” replied Gogs “I used to be a fairmer and ah worked on the boats for years — oor lives depended on forecasts — and abiddy kens forecasters canna even see more than 48 hours ahead — let alone a hunner years! It’s a’ feals and geeks sittin aboot readin digital tea leaves !”
Rudi and Heidi looked on in silent bewilderment — it wasn’t only that they couldn’t understand much of what he was saying but that he kept finding the idea of the end of the world so funny.
“If you’d proof ah’d accept it.” he continued, “But there’s nithin — nae proof. If somebody proved CO2 was killin’ the planet and nae fillin’ it wi’ life, they would be a household name, a Noble Prize winner, a Saviour, a New Messiah but look” he played his fingers on an imaginary keyboard and pointed to an imaginary screen and said, “Sorry…your search returned no results.”
“How dare you!” interjected Heidi forcefully “WE DONT NEED PROOF!” her pigtails swinging and swaying and vibrating with indignation and anger, “You are KILLING the planet! Have you ever heard of the Precautionary Principle? ”
“Wouldn’t using the Precautionary Principle also suggest you dinna throw the baby oot wi’ the bathwater? That you dinna crash the economy, you dinna throw millions out of work and you dinna collapse the West, just because of something that ‘might’ go wrong? Even then, what do you think the rest of the world is going to do? The Great Reset ?– dinna make me laugh! Bye-bye Western Civilization — Fit Like China!”
Silence.
“Anyway, nice meeting you but ah’ve a flight to catch. .” replied Gogs, being unexpectedly conciliatory.
“And ah’m nae going to argue wi’ you because the argument has been won. By you. You’ve won it. Han’s doon. Old guys like us? It's a’ ooer for us.. You’ve the media and the politicians on your side and the banks will be more than happy to punt your Green Bonds — at a price. It’s the end of the world as WE know it and the beginning for you, I suppose — but please a little thanks and gratitude for any good we have bequeathed in the form of heat, light, life, prosperity, reduction of child mortality, medicine and just about the entire modern fucking world. Including lipstick. Dinnae squander it.”
With that, Gogs turned and said his goodbyes, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed for the Departure Gate.
Aberdeen, the oil capital of Europe, had been badly hit. Recession-proof and one of the richest cities in the UK, when they had it, they had enjoyed it. To the max. They were called North Sea Tigers and Bears and they drank from one end of Union St to the next — wanted all along.
Coming out through Arrivals at ABZ, Rosa ran excitedly towards him. They both hugged.
Her mother, as usual, looked less than delighted.
In the car after the small talk, she tried to start a conversation.
“So now that…”
He knew where she wanted to go with this. The mortgage, the cars, the school fees.
“Not now Laura. Later” he replied cutting her off.
The rest of the journey was silent, Rosa happily playing a game on her phone in the back, something a bit icy in the front. When they arrived home, Laura gave Rosa the keys and asked her to run ahead. Once Rosa had left the car Laura turned to him.
“Is it ok if you take her for a month? John and I are thinking of going on holiday.”
‘Thinking’ he thought to himself. Why not just say ‘booked and going’?
He left the car and shut the door behind him.
After he had showered and eaten he went to Rosa’s room to tuck her in.
“Mum was saying the sunlight is trapped and staying under the ground. And you can’t set it free anymore”
“Yes, it looks that way. For me anyway”
“Don’t be sad Daddy. Anyway, it’s my turn now.” opening her copy of Sleeping Beauty and slowly reading a passage.
“And from this slumber,
You shall wake,
When true love’s kiss,
The spell shall break.”
He laughed and smiled and loved and hugged.
He kissed her goodnight and went out into the garden for a smoke. It was even colder here than it was in Baku, the first flecks of winter drifting in from the North Sea. He didn’t want to think about the future just now, so he sat on the steps watching the clouds roll in.
Then he looked up at Rosa’s room and saw the light go off. Just then his phone lit up. She had just messaged him.
“Daddy, I don’t think you should call it Trapped Sunlight anymore. I think you should call it Sleeping Sunlight.”
