Sunday, April 30, 2006
Any kind of noise attracts them. The slamming of a door emits such joyous ecstasy that it positively sends them into fits of crying, that is until the next slam and thud that is. They alter their activities from attempting to carry sections of a car, bonnet, wheels, front axel etc. down the stone staircase one by one at odd intervals, purely for the slamming of the door each time, to the activity of chipping away at the holding walls, trying to create more open space and increasing the reverb of their repertoire of sounds that regularly shudder through the concrete supports of the building. They spend time testing the sound of a bouncing ball, first against the wall and then against the bare floorboards. The acoustics of ball play is amazing, awesome.
If for a moment they stop and there is quiet, and aware that no noise is being made they promptly make up for it by turning their very badly balanced CD player up to airplane engine noise levels. Inter-cutting all this is the son experimenting with music on the Computer; the repetitive droning interrupted only by sudden robotic drum themes, changed by milliseconds each time, repeated throughout the day, left on even though they are taking no notice of it.
At no time do they ever pause for silence. They wear the super heavy heals on their oversized orthopaedic shoes that make a devilish clang on the stone floors in the hallway while they try to stamp out an outbreak of rodents under foot or something like that.