The Sound of Silence
There are sounds that I like. Petrol engined lawnmowers on early spring mornings*. International football commentary from the 70s and 80s, tinny tones sent down international phone lines. The roar of the engines of an Avro Vulcan passing overhead. The Thames TV ident. And then there is this wonderful noise, which to my ear is the definitive ‘sound of America’.
There are sounds I don’t like. All the usual ones, such as babies screaming on an aeroplane, nails on a chalkboard, the pin flying free from the holy grenade of Antioch. But more than any of them, my most hated sound, the noise that boils my blood, is a personal speaker being used in a public place.
I don’t care who it is, where or when, or why it is a despicable intrusion on my ear canal. And it is happening everywhere. Blokes screaming about Jesus on the high street. Young people blaring horrific, shite modern music in the town’s gardens. The local drunk who has affixed speakers to his mobility scooter. And buskers. I don’t mind a good busker. But not from 100 metres away through a 500 watt speaker. Protesters too. What do I want?For you to shut the f**k up. When do I want it? Now…
Do I have a solution to put an end to this plague of noise? Yes, of course. But I’m told that inserting holy grenades of Antioch where the sun doesn’t shine is frowned upon these days. So I have a Plan B. Noise Rangers. Uniformed patrols through every town and village, seizing every amp and speaker they find in a public place. Will this work? Of course not. They’ll have strict instructions to not physically engage with anyone without police being present. The police will never be present. Before you know it, to justify their continued existence, they’ll be armed with a tool to record decibels and will be fining pensioners £100 a pop for making too much noise with their walking frames and gnashing their dentures too loudly.
By the time 2027 comes round, the only people left on our high streets will be traffic wardens, noise rangers, store security, environmental enforcement officers, vigilante groups and the people who cause 99% of the offences that all these people are there for, but who are too poor to be fined or too aggressive to confront unless the police are present. Which they won’t be. Because having blown the budget on traffic wardens, enforcement officers et al, there’ll be no money left for actual police officers.
What’s the moral of this story? It’s either a lament at the continued decline of social order in our towns. Or that I have entered the ‘Grumpy Old Man’ stage of life. There is evidence to support the latter - my list of likes are all from times gone by. I remain convinced that it is the former. But you are free to take your pick. Either way, I have a final back up plan. My AirPod Pro 2 earbuds. With active noise cancellation. Without doubt the greatest invention of the 21st century so far.
* obviously, the smell of the freshly cut grass is even better.
I am in the grumpy old man stage. I live in the sticks and still get agitated about the motor heads zooming up the hill in front of the house. All the gun fire on Sunday mornings from our local militia playing at war. Much of what you describe is what I read about in the paper, I live in the sticks...
ReplyDeleteI do see extended families strolling down the road with prams full of babies, a major reason the speeding motor heads sit in my craw. The farm machinery rattling down the road makes an unholy racket but that is where the food comes from.
As to vagrants: a few in 33 years on the hill, hundred-pound mutts keep them at bay. We had a yahoo riding up and down the road on a bike in the early hours of the morning, looked like he was looking to burglar a bit. The next-door neighbor, a biker chick, stuck a pistol in his ear until the sheriff came around. It turned out the hapless lad was working as a private investigator, looking into unemployment fraud by another neighbor. The policeman advised all to calm down and told the lad that his method was fine in town but might be fatal in the sticks.
Social order is a loaded issue: I appreciate you're taking it on in essay form, it is a known prerogative of being a grumpy old man. Welcome to the club young man.
There are too many folk on this planet. When I was born, there were about three and a half billion folk. That was more than enough. The four or five billion added since then serve only to cause increased grumpiness. In the UK, Grumpy Old Men meet in pubs to have a good moan. I’m often tempted to leave Mrs P and go sit with them….
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