Listening

          The internal redecoration of Wonderman Towers is well under way and, with vast expanses of wall and ceiling now double-coated, there remains only the east wing to tackle. Progress has been satisfactory in more ways than one, because I’ve been using the time spent labouring to listen to stuff – switching between playlists and podcasts, as the mood takes me – and it feels like I’ve covered ground mentally as well as physically. It’s a very satisfactory form of multi-tasking, though it comes with one proviso: take care not to become so carried away with what you’re listening to that you end up painting yourself into a literal corner.

          One of the podcasts I like is The Writer’s Voice, which is put out by The New Yorker. It comprises short stories, previously published in the magazine, read aloud by their respective authors. Of course, being a good writer possessed of what is called an authentic “voice” does not necessarily mean you can read aloud, convincingly, the fruits of your authorial labour. There are professionals who take on this work: they are called actors.

          Nevertheless, the half-dozen authors I’ve sampled so far do make a pretty good fist of it. I suppose they are all accustomed to reading out loud to audiences on their promotional tours. There is one writer, however, whose voice I found so grating that, no matter the quality of what she had to say or the subtlety and emotion with which she imbued it, I could not endure her nasal, whining tone beyond about three minutes (the app has a helpful timer on it). I felt guilty about curtailing her effort, but I might salve my conscience by reading her piece – once the job is finished, of course.

          Coincidentally, I came across another source of the amusing and sometimes edifying effects of the spoken word. During my evening down-times, I’ve been delving into the BBC iPlayer archive of documentaries made in the early 60s. The black and white footage makes everything look dreary – even scenes shot in colourful Carnaby Street – so it’s as well that my memories of the time are in vivid, Sergeant Pepper-style colour.

          What is harder to call to mind, however, is the way people spoke. And when I say people, I mean those of us who were there. Did we really sound like that? There seemed to be a lot of stilted formality about it. Surely, the way we speak nowadays is more relaxed? Well, maybe. We would need a big AI programme to analyse the data on that. Perhaps we have just become more comfortable with the technology of recording. Thanks to phone-enabled video production, it is no longer unusual to hear our own voices and see our own actions, hence we don’t feel so inhibited when confronted with cameras and microphones.

          But, while listening to recorded material has its benefits, there are times when you want to chip in. This is where the University of the Third Age philosophy discussion group comes into its own. At yesterday’s meeting, we considered the main tenets of Kant and Bentham and, notwithstanding the aphorism, “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing”, we sought similarities in their respective principles of the ‘categorical imperative’ and ‘utilitarianism’.

          Briefly put, we considered whether the proposed ban on smoking in beer gardens would accord with the great philosophers’ ideas. One of our number blurted out immediately her abhorrence of the “nanny state”, a pejorative and emotive phrase that deftly by-passed any philosophical consideration of the example. But we carried on regardless to conclude that Bentham would vote in favour of the ban on the grounds that it would benefit the majority. Kant was harder to call but, since he advocates a universal moral law that applies to all beings, it seemed likely he would also be in favour. By the way, albeit Kant is a towering figure in Western philosophy, contemporary reports inform us that he had a weak and tremulous voice, quite unsuitable for podcasting, I imagine.