Blonde's Eye View: When you crave the noise of Canary Wharf
COMMENTby Angela Clarke
I remember reading an article by a property journalist who wondered how much a flat had to cost before it warranted a silent bathroom extractor fan.
Upon visiting one of the million-pound-plus Wharf apartments - which literally look down on us all - he switched on the en suite light and got his answer.
Bear with me, I promise this isn't a plug for our illustrious property section. No, the point is that hush is expensive. Silence really is golden.
Noise surrounds us. Screeching DLRs battle with the collective chatter of Wharfers moaning into their mobiles. Outside drinkers grow louder as the day progresses. Inside our restaurants the constant drone of business deals and gossip bounce off the walls. The smooth towers of E14 amplify everything.
Then there are those who use headphones. Flashy sound equipment often fails at its base function: to play music solely to the listener.
I relish hard-nosed banker types listening to S Club Juniors on the Jubilee line. An aural schadenfreude: the unfortunate lover of cringe-inducing tunes becomes the carriage's joke. But it's why I never listen to music in public.
I long for quiet. I seek peaceful solace in therapy - beauty therapy. Their birdsong music tracks let me escape the world.
But a broken iPod and a massage freaked me out. The tranquility enveloped my therapist and I like a suffocating plastic bag. I babbled, to fill the sound void, as if I were in a terrible job interview.
I yearned for an extractor fan, anything. I only relaxed when the door was opened, and once more I could hear the reassuring clamour of E14. Noise is underrated.
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