As beautiful as Sydney Harbour is, it's not quiet.

First, there's the party boats: barges that slowly circle the harbour every night, packed to the brim with middle-aged businessmen trying to rediscover the joy of 80's music. Luckily, I'm a bit too far back from the water to be bothered much, but back when I was cat-sitting for my mother in Balmain, they would regularly float by the window, blasting out such classics as Love Shack and Don't You Forget About Me at top volume. (But sadly, not Ça Plan Pour Moi)

The helicopters are more annoying. Party boats are a late-night thing, and it's almost jolly to hear them bopping past. The helicopters, on the other hand, tend to hover (very loudly) outside my window any time they want, most noticeably early in the morning on weekends, whenever there's something interesting happening on the bridge or its surrounds.

A few hundred cars and the occasional train give the bridge its own ambient noise, too. This is easier to ignore because it just becomes part of the general background hum of existence. When Ang first stayed over she asked me if the noise bothered me, and I had to say "What noise?" because it hadn't even registered itself on my conscious mind for six months.

And then, there was this morning (about 8am on a Sunday) when I was dragged out of my bed by what sounded like a jet engine. A really fucking loud jet engine. After the usual few post-waking moments of remembering what planet I'm on and what my name is, I thought: "Hey, I recognise that sound. It sounds just a Formula 1 car."

And it turns out it was:

If I wasn't looking forward to the race so much, I'd be pissed off.