Our office has three windows. One of them is looking out onto a nearby building site, from where I can hear a variety of species of drilling going on. Another looks out onto the car park, from where the heat is setting off car alarms every ten to fifteen minutes. From the the third, facing toward Battersea Park station, I can hear the occaisional train announcment – a weird electronic warble of a voice.
This isn’t an office – it’s an experimental dance track. Shortly, I fully expect the people at the nearby gas storage drum to start testing the massive “The gasworks is about to explode” alarm that can be heard for miles around, just for the full-on stadium rave effect.