Noises off

I dare say we all have a neurotic bee in our bonnet – and with me it’s noise. I will play music – any (other than Mrs Ritchie’s which I never listen to on principle) –  at ear drum shattering levels yet, most of the time, particularly whilst I am writing or doing my research, I avoid sound like the plague. 

One of the cats has recently taken up day time residence in an empty whicker basket stashed away at the bottom of one of my bookshelves in the study. This beautiful neutered tom, black with five white chest hairs, is far too big for the basket; so, in order to make himself comfortable, he keeps moving, rearranging his bulk – thus making the dry whicker creak incessantly.

It irritates the hell out of me; not enough to shout at Bouncer, turf him out, relocate whicker basket or buy him a sound proof larger one (you know what cats are like: As soon as you purchase anything purpose made they’ll turn up their nose and ignore your offering). Just enough for this low level irritation to keep me sufficiently wired for anything else coming my way to cause a minor explosion; not that you would know it if you got me on the phone. But it chips away at my – as we say in my mother tongue – costume of nerves; so my outfit is basically in tatters. Off now to do some mending; to the sounds of a great Spanish band – loud enough to blend out a thunderstorm (and the whicker basket). 

U

NB Bouncer has – just now – taken revenge for my above comment by plonking himself on my most prized pile of papers instead (right next to the sound system); I could kill him; luckily, in the end, even paper is unimportant, amounts to so little when faced with the living, breathing.

So, who is coming for Saturday lunch to diffuse?