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Wednesday, 2 March 2016
Today is a day of scudding clouds; of brilliant sunshine and pelting rain. The most constant feature seems to be the intermittant wind that 'whistles' round the exposed end of my house. But this is not the ordinary sound of 'whistling' wind, which sounds about as musical as the din you hear when standing on a motorway bridge. My house whistles more like an orchestra. Previous owners seem to have fitted struts that operate like mouthorgan reeds, and television cables that throb like harp-strings. But the triumph, which lifts this house above its peers, are the holes drilled through the brickwork to feed cables from security cameras, vent cisterns and the like. These, when the wind hits precisely the right angle, emit a sound that stops conversation, and brings a startled look to the faces of visitors; sometimes a wail, sometimes a hoot, sometimes high-pitched and sometimes low depending on the bore.
Even I, who have lived here for nigh-on a year, am amazed when one of these tubes catches a good blast of wind.