Sleep Cycle

I know some hotels make a big song and dance about how quiet their rooms are. One website I was on recently mentioned ‘whisper-quiet cocoons’ which, for some reason, made me imagine a parasite alien might burst out of my chest in the middle of the night. I wanted to write to Trip Advisor and say that at ‘Hotel XYZ, no one can hear you scream’. 

            Me, I like a bit of light noise in my room. A distant traffic hum from, say, the CTE is ideal. I have tinnitus, which, for those of you who aren’t hypochondriacs, refers to the ringing in your ears. In Singapore, I don’t notice it much, but when I’m in the English countryside, I can’t sleep at all. It’s so quiet the volume on the ringing is maxed up. 

            “Seriously, it’s no wonder all the Brits just packed up and moved to India!” I told Saffy the other day at breakfast. 

            She cocked her head and gave the matter some thought. “This tinnitus thing,” she said, her bosom trembling gently like a perfectly made tau foo fa. “You say it’s a ringing noise. But what does it sound like?”

            “What do you mean what does it sound like? It sounds like a constant ringing! You know those old-fashioned phone ring tones that go ring-ring? With tinnitus, it’s just riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing. It never ends. It’s awful!”

Saffy pursed her lips and nodded sagely. “Interesting.”

            It turns out I’m not alone. Later that day at lunch, Sharyn announced that for the first fifteen years of her life, her family moved five times and every single home had been next to a construction site. “Wah, day and night, hor, they got piling and jackhammer andtang-tang-tang!”

            Amanda turned to Saffy with a raised eyebrow.

            “Piling machine,” said Saffy, justly famed Sharyn Whisperer. 

            “So, now hor,” Sharyn went on, “if got no noise, I cannot sleep. Dat’s why when my new neighbour play karaoke all night, wah, so shiok!”

            All of which explains the slight frisson of excitement that swept through certain members of the Sleepless in Singapore Club when news hit via various social media channels that easyHotel had just launched a new lullaby service for its guests.

            I WhatsApped the screenshot to Sharyn. “Did you see this?” 

            Apparently, the world is full of people like me and Sharyn for whom total silence equals a bad night’s sleep. So, the thoughtful folk at easyHotel have pulled together a playlist that includes the sound of a washing machine in the next room, someone vacuuming, a clothes dryer in full spin. My favourite, of course, is the sound of traffic.

            Sharyn pinged back: “How cum got no construction site?”

            “You should write in and suggest!”

            Leave it to Amanda to read the fine print. “First of all, I’m never ever staying anywhere that’s called easyHotel! I don’t have anything in my wardrobe that will go with that. And secondly, it says here the service is only available in Glasgow, Newcastle and Croydon! Do I know where Croydon is?”

            “Isn’t that where they had those riots in 2011?” Saffy piped up, surprising even herself by her steady grasp of historical events. 

            “Oh God, yes, that’s right,” Amanda sighed, grateful that she now had two valid reasons to never try out this new-fangled promotion that the easyHotel is calling a ‘nodcast’. 

            “It’s just genius though,” Saffy went on. “Just think about it, the permutations are endless! When I was growing up, I fell asleep listening to my parents yell at each other. It was my lullaby. I think it’s why I always fall asleep during a horror movie! Like ‘Saw’! Theoretically, I’ve watched all seven. Or is it eight? Anyway, the truth is, I’ve no idea what happened in any of them! I’ve fallen asleep right after the first death! In every single one of them. It’s really tragic!”

            “You and Sharyn should write in to easyHotel,” I urged. “This is good customer feedback.”

            Apparently, Amanda doesn’t think so. “Can you imagine,” she told her friend Margaret, “if you check into the easyHotel and one side, there’s the sound of a construction site, and on the other, it’s someone screaming as they’re been sawed in half?”

            “Wait, they made seven movies about people being sawed in half?” Margaret asked.

            “I have no idea. For all I know, the movies are about orphans who get adopted by Oprah!” Amanda told her. 

            “I would sleep so well if I were adopted by Oprah,” Margaret observed.