I'm not used to this quiet.
Working from home, the television is always mumbling away near me. I'm not watching it, but it provides some ambient noise, a bit of company. The cat is mostly silent, his claws gently tapping on the floorboards as he slinks between the bedroom, the couch and the kitchen. The're the hum of the air conditioner, a constant presence at the moment as my flat tends to be an oven once it gets over 30 for a few days, Of course, there are the occasional sirens from down the end of the road where the Fire Station resides. And the car alarms. The ding of the tram bells telling recalcitrant drivers to get out of the way - or not to pass when the tram doors are open. Being inner city, there's the odd nutter, the odd screaming fight, the occasional screaming orgasm (whether faked or real and not made of vodka, amaretto, Baileys, coffee liqueur and milk.) Children complain, babies cry, trucks peep as they reverse their backsides into the Fish Factory's driveway. I hear all of this from my seat at the window in my lounge room office.
Today - I'm in the office in the city. I've come in to train a team member. We'll be the only two on the floor.
I came into this at eight 'o' clock this morning after a 15 minute dream run in the car to the town. (I'm not risking public transport at the moment).
The coffee shop guy was there. I bought my coffee before going upstairs, where I am the only one here at the moment. My colleague is having his wife drop him off shortly. We're having a training day - far more effective if we're sitting next to each other, albeit masked.
It's oh, so quiet out there at the moment. Quieter than when we had the lockdowns. It's a strange feeling. I'm not sure if it's that of inevitability that we will get a dose of this sodding disease or the weeks of uncertainty as we wait for the worst of the wave to pass. Sure things are open, but staff shortages and close contact restrictions are biting. We are allowed out, it's just nobody is game to do that with any enthusiasm. They're very different things. And there's not really a time on this.
So I'm sitting here listening to the quiet. The rattle of the lifts which are near my desk. The occasional clatter of the printer which goes through it's random cycles. The hum of the fridge in the kitchen behind me. My keyboard, as my fingers clatter over the keys.
Once my colleague arrives, it won't be as quiet, but until he gets here, I'll revel in this strange peace.
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