Iona Winter

Today I was reminded of sounds. LOUD sounds and cringe-worthy musical taste. Sound travels here.

There’s been a workman next door lately. I’ve been polite and said hello, but I don’t like the music he plays. It reminds me of the PAST, and not in a good way. Today it was VERY loud AND he was singing (shouting) the lyrics. My only option was to laugh (discreetly of course). But not at his expense, I hasten to add.

Nothing wrong at all with a good bit of singing. I do it myself, regularly. Today however, I knew the lyrics (better than he did). Lyrics to hideous popular songs from the P.A.S.T. and ones that I never even liked in the first place! How on earth do I remember such things? One thing is certain, I now know how far sound carries in the country. 

Then I thought about all the conversations I’ve had outside in the garden. I wonder who might have overheard them? Bring on the cringe.

I doubt the workman was aware that I could hear him, he was in his happy-zone (oblivious as one is when singing unwatched). Despite this, I moved ninja-like towards the back of the section, heading for the chook-house. I kept my head low, my steps soft and my breathing shallow. I didn’t want him to see or hear me. Primarily because I was unsure how I would respond if he saw me. Especially as laughter had been bubbling over my lips in a rather rude fashion already (best keep that locked away).

I don’t know why I bothered with my stealthy moves, the chooks gave me away! Well, just the one – Mrs Poohs (yes that’s her name okay). She has been bok-bokking rather excessively of late. Mrs Poohs had a peck at my leg yesterday, presumably thinking my freckles were food. It goes without saying that I was not impressed. I don’t understand why she’s exercising her vocal chords incessantly. Maybe I should google it.

I digress. Hearing ongoing bokking and not responding, is almost as difficult as not responding to a crying baby. I want to know what is wrong. ‘Why all the bokking Mrs Poohs?’ I asked. Then himself-next-door started bok-bokking along with her, and in time to his music. I cannot lie to you. I laughed. LOUDLY. Shame on me. Mrs Poohs ran away at that.

I am pondering this evening, what the neighbours’ perceptions of me might be. Not in any worrisome way, because I’m not too bothered what people think of me these days. But I wonder if my talking to the chooks alarms them (crazy old chook-lady)? Or do my deep and meaningful conversations in my garden make them prick up their ears and listen? I am certain they’ll be forming an opinion of me. Do they snigger into their handkerchiefs at some of the sounds from this side of the fence?

My best guess is that probably they do exactly what I did today. Have a (well-meaning) laugh, sing along or shake their heads and say, ‘That’s just the crazy old chook lady next door’. Oh and by the way, she doesn’t like bad music either.