Last Monday some throbbing sound began to beat somewhere in the block, and it beat incessantly until Sunday. It was the strongest in my bedroom. Whatever it actually was, it sounded as if there was a strong air compressor fixed on the other side of the wall or on the floor above. It was impossible to sleep there; it reminded one of torturing interrogated suspects by a dripping tap. I had to use my living room sofa bed.
So when on Thursday the gales arrived, unlike the rest of the nation I found them convenient. The noise they made drowned out the other noise. With cotton wool in my ears not only could I sleep; I could sleep in the bedroom.