the sound of silence

I've been searching for a bit of silence. Do you ever wonder where it all went? It doesn't seem too much to ask, but actually, silence has virtually vanished in the modern world - well, in Britain anyway. I'm alone in my house, but let me tell you what I can hear:

Blackberry (naturally) scuffling in her E-collar (she's just been speyed)

Crumble sighing because Blackberry's being a pest

Audrey and Douglas Orme-Herrick (budgies) gossiping

the washing machine complaining

a man outside slamming his car doors

a car alarm

an alarmed bird (possibly two)

my laptop clicking and occasionally whirring

two blonde ladies chatting (I can't see them, but they're having a blonde conversation)

the electricity meter ticking (why have I never noticed that before? It can't have just started)

This is silence of a sort, I suppose, and I'm not really complaining. I wonder if there was more silence in the medieval times about which I write? Let me see. In those days, my list might have read:

my little lapdogs yapping

the larks in my aviary trilling (perhaps anticipating being eaten)

the laundresses singing (and cackling at the older one's lewd jokes)

iron shod carriage wheels grinding and setting my teeth on edge

church bells sounding, sounding, sounding

my scribe scratching his head and other more unmentionable bits of his anatomy with his quill

my ladies giggling behind their embroidery

a pig complaining loudly

the cook complaining loudly

the cockerel complaining loudly

my husband stamping up the stairs, rattling his sword

the priest muttering away at his prayers

water dripping from the hole in the roof

the wind whistling through the windows because, curses, we can't afford glazing

the daughter practising the recorder, an instrument that should be banned under the Geneva Convention regarding torture


Good Lord! I find I'm much better off, silence-wise, now.

Onwards and upwards,
Katie