Some talk just to hear the sound of their own voice. Uncomfortable in silence they fill the gaps with stuff and nonsense. Execrable chit chat that makes ones ears burn and brain harden. Language is a unique and powerful tool that has been used by humanity in its greatest and darkest moments, so to have inane banter imposed on my early morning half functioning cortex is truly an awful thing.
I say this because at the moment I am having my humble abode decorated. A job that was supposedly going to take “a week, two at the most” is now stretching into its fifth week, and the ever cheery paint-smith feels obligated to bombard me with his early morning elocution.
Just to set the scene; I don’t want to talk to anyone in the morning. I want to amble down the stairs, pour myself a cup of coffee (I have a coffee maker on a timer which is perfect, requiring little first thing effort). I want to sit. Quietly. Drinking coffee. Maybe read. Maybe listen to the radio. Or music. Or silence. What I don’t want to do is talk. To anyone. About anything. Ever.
Witty repartee can naff off. Clever clogs chatter can go forth and multiply. It’s not too much to ask for a leisurely morning regime; it’s my start of the day, in my world, in my house.
Don’t get me wrong, the decorator is a nice fellow, no spite or malice in him. He just talks and talks and talks some more. For him I guess it’s as normal as the mug of tea he has and the lunchtime flick through the daily Star that he brings with him. Part of his own ritual. That’s fine, but I wish he would allow me my own insular morning ritual.
As the completion day grows near I dream of the return to normality, the peace and tranquillity, when all that is imposed on my ear drums is the tweeting of birds in the garden the soft gurgle of the coffee maker, the ticking of the clock. Ah what bliss.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dp2mH9nrz60
Enjoy the silence