from my perch by the window I can see the southern headland of the Isle of Flotta rising from the sea. A black shape across the deep anchorage afforded by Scapa Flow. There is a tall chimney, just out of sight, we call "the flame of Flotta" , that burns off all the unwanted gasses from the oil refinery. That industrial landscape is also out of my line of sight. I would have to travel to the north of our island to be able to spy it nestling there across the sound. Flotta is our nearest neighbour. I have never been there. But some of our ferries call at the harbour to pick up passengers going to and from the Main Isle. This is as close as I have been. The flame burns bright orange through the night like a great angry dragon. The massive ships awaiting their cargo of oil lay sedentary at anchor. When winter comes they will have to sail through some of the most dangerous waters in the World. Death out there is an ever present danger. Someone dies every year.