The window was open when the bomb went off. Though you might not think it, this was a blessing. The air pressure inside and outside equalised easily, which meant that, unlike all the other apartments in the block, none of my windows broke.

Inside on the other hand it was a different story. Ornaments were knocked off tables, and, my ears, well they are still ringing.

It took me a moment or two to realise what was happening. You never think you are actually going to experience that sort of thing yourself – at least you didn’t in those days, such carnage as there was always happened to other people in countries far away. Them, not us.

Anyway, as soon as he heard about it, Jake came round to see if I was OK. Jake is that sort of guy. Always ready to step in in an emergency. If I am honest he can be quite a pain, getting in the way with his helps.

Well as it happened, the police would not let him through to cordon around the place.

“Thank goodness for mobile phones” he said, panting down the line. “The police won’t let me through. Is there anything you need? I can go down to the shops for you.”

“No Jake it’s fine” I replied.

I tell you all this so that you will understand what a strange start it was to our adventure. Despite my assurances, Jake toddled down to Tesco’s and got a whole load of provisions. I think I could have lived through a Krakatoa, or even a Toba eruption with the stuff he brought back.

That was what started it actually. Imagine a shopping trolley piled high with two trolley’s worth of goods.

It broke his heart that he’d got all this stuff, and then the police confiscated it. As far as they were concerned it was evidence, and he was probably wheeling around another bomb, disguised, very well as it happens, as a month’s shopping.

So when I finally met up with him, sitting on the low wall across from the back of the apartment block he was totally dejected.

I was not sure what to do to make him feel better. If he felt they had taken away stuff I needed, he would feel bad. If I told him it didn’t matter because I didn’t need the stuff anyway, he would probably feel worse.

Instead, I asked “Shall we go to the beach? It’s a lovely afternoon, and I think the sunset is going to be spectacular. We can sort out all the other stuff later. I just want to get away from this mess.”

Thankfully, he took to the suggestion easily and off we went.

Sitting on the beach, with a beer and looking out to sea, watching all the shipping pass by, is always relaxing for me. But this time there was a very strange object on the horizon. It wasn’t a ship, or a boat of any kind. Sometimes the RORO ferries that plied these routes looked nothing like a traditional ship, but this was something I had never seen before. “Jake, look out to the horizon. Can you see that strange vessel I have no idea what it is – do you?”

Jake peered. His eyesight was not the best, but after a minute of frowning, a look of recognition visited his face. “Yes, he said. It’s an oil rig”

I found it hard to believe. I’d seen oil rigs. “It can’t be” I said.

“No” he said, “it’s supine. Or maybe prone. Hard to tell really. No prone, definitely prone.”

“Prone to what,” I asked.

“laying on its side” he said, “laying on its side.”

“Look, its turning, its coming towards the shore”

Out on the tow ship, there was panic. One of the lines had snapped and the tow was out of control. The currents were strong out there.

“There’ll be hell to pay for this.” the captain said.

“I’m sorry captain,” the engineer answered, “I got it to work last time.”

“That’s not the point. It’s not working THIS time, is it?”

“No sir” said the dejected engineer. “I’ve got the whole team working on it. we’ll find a solution”

In the meantime the whole thing was drifting shore-ward.

The crew were scurrying every which way, when a very calm and respectable looking young man arrived with a tray and said “Captain, perhaps a cup of tea would help.”

“No it certainly will not” he snapped, even more sharply than had the line to the tug. “Put it down and get out!”

The young orderly put down the tray, almost dropping it in the face of such anger, turned on his heel and left.

The captain, thinking hard about what to do, absent mindedly picked up the cup and started to drink. The taste of the peppermint tea reminded him of the time when he’d been a hobby sailor in these waters many years before.

That was the time he used to go sailing for relaxation. It was also the time when he had run aground.

He looked at his watch. It was June. Good he thought, and ordered his crew to beach the thing on the shoal just ahead. The tide was pulling the thing toward the shoal anyway, so little had to be done. With a jolt and a shudder the whole thing stopped moving.

“Quick,” the captain called, “get the dinghies down there and secure some lines!”

Everyone of the crew was trying to do the same thing and before long there was a veritable spiders web of cables between the tug and the rig.

Back on the beach, Jake and Jenny were watching the commotion with interest. Jake got out his camera. He always carried it wherever he went even though it always made him look like a tourist.

He pointed it toward the scene out at sea, zoomed in as far as he could and steadying the camera on the back of a deck chair. Took his shot.

He was still huddled over the camera a couple of minutes later when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Excuse me sir, may I have your camera please.”

Jake was shocked. Jenny looked on not at all sure what to do.

Jake refused. After all it was expensive and it was perhaps the most important part of his otherwise rather sad life.

Most of his shots were of birds – mainly warblers, so this was perhaps the most excitement, albeit scary excitement, he had ever experienced.

“Who are you” he demanded.

“Just give me the camera sir”.

“Not unless you explain who you are why you want it and what you plan to do with it.”

“I am security, the shot you have taken is subject to the secrecy act, and I wish to delete it. Then you can have your camera back.”

Jake smiled. “OK, go ahead.” he said with mock resignation.

The man took the camera and stared at it for a moment. “Where is the delete button” he asked.

“Oh for heavens sake, let me have it” said Jake. “There is the picture, OK? Now see the dustbin at the bottom. Click that. Now, see the picture has gone. Happy now?”

The stranger looked at the image now on the screen. It was Jenny’s beer on the beach table. He turned the camera over, and found the battery compartment and took out the batteries.

“OK, thank you for your co-operation. None of this happened OK!”

As the stranger walked away, Jake turned to Jenny. “We have a scoop here” he said, “or rather you do, after all you are the journalist”

It was a bitter reminder. She had just walked away from a bomb blast. She should have been covering that. “What do you mean? We have no picture, and we do not know anything about what’s going on out there.”

“That’s where you are wrong,” said Jake, proudly waving the camera. “This camera is linked to the cloud. The picture is already uploaded. His deleting it had no effect at all. And I zoomed in real tight. And I have the name of the tug as well as the markings on that contraption. Given the secrecy, perhaps I was wrong. I am not usually prone to mistakes, but perhaps it is something more than just an oil rig.

“Anyway we have a clear picture of it. Actually, not so much a picture as a video. I managed to get about two minutes before that idiot stopped me, so hopefully we can get something from it.

“Come, let’s go before they twig”

“But what about the sunset” said Jenny.

“No point, No batteries” replied Jake

As they walked off the beach the sun sunk slowly into the horizon and the rig, if that is what it was, turned into a black silhouette against the wine red of the sea.