One of my biggest gripes about London is the noise. I remember when I first moved here from the sleepy countryside, I’d hide in bookshops to make phone calls for a bit of respite. I just couldn’t believe how relentless it was, a cacophony of traffic and people and construction and air traffic and sirens. It was a bit like moving into a furnace and complaining about the heat.
Eventually the insane noise became simply background noise, as London assimilation took over. But actually, even for Londoners, there’s noise and then there’s noise. You can swallow the odd party or seven from your Gen-Z neighbours but start on the karaoke at 3am and you lot are in for a showdown. You can put up with the builders across the street sticking another extension on an extension to show off another pay rise, but start doing work on a Sunday and you a-holes are going down. You can accept a festival feel in the parks but bring out a boom box and the police are getting a call.
Basically, we’re all living in a wailing hellscape but don’t take the p*ss. Which is where this week’s cover feature on London’s Noise Wars comes in. Some people relish the sound — to a point. Many others are driven to anguish by certain recurring disruptions. And vulnerable people sensitive to sound can have their lives ruined. Of course if you’re the ultra-rich, in a world of silent escalators and triple-glazed windows, you’ll have no clue about such matters. Is noise a class issue?
Is it? Sorry, what…? I said… is it a CLASS ISSUE? Oh, forget it…
