The clock is just rolling over 3am here, and I am sitting in a dark air traffic control tower, listening to a radio frequency which is mainly static, with occasional strange music (maybe) and screeches mixed in. I'm waiting for some to start screaming "Mayday! Mayday!", from one of the other remote stations in British Antarctica.
I don't mind saying I'm a bit freaked out here.
I signed on for a night shift at Rothera, which means I'm the only one awake should something go wrong. This could be anything from the sewage system overflowing, to a fire at the docks, to a medical emergency at Sky-Blu, a station 800 km to the south. Thankfully, none of this has happened yet. And, except for the times that I'm sitting in the tower (or patrolling the hangar), it's quite comfortable.
But right now, this radio monitoring is very eerie. There's just enough structure to the static in the radio to be unsettling. It's a bit like Stephen King's The Langoliers.
Another five minutes, and I can go back to the bar, where I have set up camp for the night. But first, I must go to another building and check that our freezers are still working.
Man, I'm tired. About four more hours to go.