The Turning of the Earth

I am sorry for my absence but I have had a very difficult time of it lately. 'Time' . . . aye, there's the rub. I am afraid I spiralled into one of my obsessions and this one very nearly killed me. About a year ago I bought a pocket watch from Camden market. It was not expensive or a collector's item by any means, but it was lovely to me. It wasn't working when I picked it out, but the lady who owned the stall said that was because it was cold. She warmed it in her hands and, to be fair, it did tick.

Still, I wasn't completely confident that it would keep going so when I got it home I checked it periodically, comparing it to the clocks I have around the place, just to see if it was keeping time. It was. That night I went to bed and, before turning the light off, wound the watch and placed it beside on the table beside me. There was a time when I would have found the ticking of a watch next to me as I tried to sleep irritating. But on this occasion it comforted me. I didn't have to keep checking it to see if it was working, you see: I could hear it. And that's how I drifted off to sleep, with my watch ticking perfectly in my ear.

I woke the next morning and the first thing I listened for was the ticking. It was there and I can't tell you how that satisfied me. I bought a chain for the watch (more expensive than the watch itself) and kept it on my person. But during the day, with the noise clutter we all have to suffer, I couldn't hear it ticking. That bothered me. I tried mentally tuning out the hum of the heating system, next door's TV, car doors slamming outside and so on, and although it was exhausting I was able to do it. It did mean I couldn't really go out much, but what's to go out for, except work?

After a few weeks of this my oven failed and I had to buy a new one. I went to a shop that sells them and was disturbed to see that almost all the ones on sale had digital clocks. The few that had the classic dials with hands for the minutes and hours were run from electric motors. I don't know for how long I was standing there staring but it must have been a while. Anyway, an assistant appeared at my shoulder and asked if I needed any help. I asked him how I could know the clock was working if I couldn't hear it. He wasn't sure of how to answer and just went on and on about the oven's other features which he clearly thought were more important but then he would, wouldn't he? I just walked out. I should have realised there was something wrong with me at that point but is it not always the way that when you are gripped with madness you think you're perfectly sane and everyone else is nuts?

Over the following months I bought more watches and clocks. And I became very distrustful of anything that didn't have a mechanism I could hear. And my God I had an acute ear! I took my car to be mended before the problem manifested itself. I could hear it was about to go wrong and I knew which part needed replacing. The mechanic thought I was mad but what did he care? He was getting paid an extortionate amount. But when he removed the part he found that it probably had only a few hundred miles left in it. He asked me how I knew. I told him but he didn't believe me. At work, if someone had a problem with their computer, assuming it was a hardware problem, I could tell them what it was. I saved my boss thousands by warning him the air conditioning system was about to pack up because the drone it made had changed pitch in a way I didn't like.

But then it got unhealthy. I could always be found pressing my ear to walls, light switches, water coolers . . . anything. And my hearing got to the point that I could only hear the various mechanisms around me. I tuned everything else out. I never heard if someone spoke to me even and this became a problem. In the end I stopped going to work. After a couple of weeks of not turning up or answering my phone one of my colleagues came round to see if I was all right. I let him in and you should have seen the look on his face. Looking back now I can see why he would have thought it strange. My house was jam packed with clocks and watches of all kinds. Hundreds of them! The noise must have been incredible but to me it was a beautiful symphony. It didn't matter how many I had, I could hear every single one of them individually. When my colleague spoke I shushed him. I stood there motionless for a few moments then zoned in on one particular clock. I picked it up, shook it, wound it and replaced it. By the time I was done he had gone. I suppose he felt uncomfortable.

But then I got this idea into my head. Essentially, I thought that if the world turned then it ought to tick, too. I wound all my clocks and watches up and set off in my car to look for a quiet place where I could hear the earth ticking. I must have placed my ear to dozens of fields up and down the country but in Britain you're never far from a road, a flight path or even the low hum of power lines. I became very frustrated. But I wasn't to be thwarted. I was on a mission. I did some research and decided to fly to Namibia in southern Africa. I hired a car when I got there and drove and drove and drove. It's a beautiful country, by the way. I mean, really beautiful. And it's almost empty. I went for three days eventually without seeing another car let alone a human. I found a dry river bed next to a giant, red sand dune and got out. I dug a hole about six feet deep and buried my watch. I could still hear it after that but it was feint enough to not be too distracting. And then I sat.The dune behind me sang. Did you know they do that? The wind passing over them creates the most haunting noise and the dune itself was advancing. I could hear that, too, but I was able to tune out to that also. But I couldn't hear the turning of the earth and that's what I was there for.

Days I was there. I ran out of food and, more vitally, water. The wind had blown the sand up against me I was there that long. My lips split, my head felt as if it were about to burst and I think I might have even started hallucinating. But then it happened. I heard it! I heard the earth turning. It wasn't a tick, of course, but . . . how do I describe it? Have you ever wet a fingertip and run it around the rim of a crystal wine glass? It was that sort of noise but the fingertip would have had to belonged to an angel. It wasn't a steady sound, either. Everything we do on the planet affects the sound the earth makes when it turns. Every explosion and crash . . . every slammed door, it all makes a difference. And for a few glorious moments I could hear it all. I had my finger on the pulse of the planet and, well, I don't mind telling you that if I were not dehydrated I'd have wept tears. I don't know for how long I was there after that. I remember vaguely being lifted into the back of a car and someone pouring water into my mouth. I chocked on it. The next thing I am aware of is waking in a hospital with a drip in my arm. There was the beeping of a heart monitor beside me, the general hustle and bustle you'd expect in a hospital but you know what? I could STILL hear the turning of the earth and I still can even now as I type this. And I can hear every clapped hand, every stamped foot and every bounced ball every beating heart. I can hear you coming from a mile off, literally. Even think something and I know it. I know it because the earth knows it and I can hear it now. You'd think it would drive me insane but not at all. So long as I don't fight it or search among it I am fine. All I have to do is let it flow through me unfettered.

Can't you hear it too?