Cold Turkey

It’s Christmas Eve on the mine site. Daisy, Nigel and Bernard, three dedicated security officers, are on mobile patrol.  Santa Claus is delivering presents to all the good boys and girls.  Miners certainly like their toys.  The entire state is lit up like a Christmas tree, with an extensive network of mining complexes, which makes his job a lot easier.  He reaches the Pilbara coast, illuminated by the spectacular flare tower at the recently-commissioned gas plant.  Is this Perth, capital of Western Australia, he wonders?  Canberra?  Surely it’s not London?  He double-checks his GPS.  No, this is Karratha.  Close.  Santa activates the beacon light installed on his mine-equipped sleigh,  expertly fitted-out by his FIFO elves.  Safety first, he remembers, as he prepares to descend….. 

Daisy:  Hey, I think I just saw Santa and his reindeer flying over the port. Or maybe it was a helicopter from the oil rigs.

Nigel: I saw him too, and he wasn’t wearing PPE. He was speeding, as well. What are we going to do?

Bernard: Safety Interactions.  Shoot Rudolf to slow him down. No name, no blame.

Nigel: Mmm…..venison. Who’s cooking Christmas dinner? Is there plum pudding?

Bernard: ‘Big Dirt’ is cooking for everyone, guys. And yes, there is plum pudding, with custard and brandy butter. By the way, how many turkeys can you fit on an iron ore train?

Daisy: Look at that!

Bernard: What?

Daisy: It’s Santa. He’s doing a U-turn. He’s coming back to review his Take Five.  Santa  says that there are enough turkeys here already, without wishing for any more.

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