One night recently I was a house (oh ok bed) guest in Angel and found myself completely perturbed at how, as my tired body awaited slumber there was absolutely no noise. I could have been out in the countryside it was so deafening a dull silence. My ears went into over drive pricking up to identify any kind of noise whatsoever. I was mentally alert and disturbed and knew I wasn't going to get any sleep if it stayed this quiet so I got out of bed to open a window for some trickle of noise to reassure me to sleep. I muttered something about needing some fresh air to my bedfellow who sat up and watched me bemused, because I was about to learn that the window was already open. I grunted and went back to bed sheepishly to admit yet another weird thing about me to this new man I'm starting to like.
"Why is it so quiet here? We're less than 600 metres from the tube and Upper Street yet I can't here anything! Don't your neighbours argue or throw things at each other? Why are there no sirens blasting down the street - are North Londoners too good for crime? I can't hear anything - not even a sparrow farting! What's wrong with this place?!!??" I paused, inhaled, exhaled. "I'm just not used to it being so quiet. I can't sleep." I finished quietly.
"Yes. I know, I'm weird. Again."
The new man smiled in his special way, which is a way that's beginning to make me understand why smiles can be called devastating. "Well I've been lying here trying not to roll over on to my back as I'm a terrible snorer when I sleep like that and I didn't want to keep you awake, but at the same time I really wanted to fall asleep like this," and he pulled me down on to his chest as he lay contently stretched out on his back. "But now I get what I want and once I start snoring like a trooper so will you,"
And I did. Of course it didn't come close to the comforting din of Shepherd's Bush at night, but it was an enjoyable close second...