When I was young, I used to lay in bed listening to the sounds of the night. Back then the area of Slough I live in was still semi-rural and I would listen to the distant shunting of steam trains, the hourly chime of the church bells, the occasional hoot of an owl or screech of a vixen in search of it's prey. They were, somehow, comforting and reassuring as I gently drifted off to a sound sleep.
As I write this, sipping a late night cup of tea, the night is full of sound once more. Overhead, the police helicopter hovers with beating rotor blades - it's bright lights flicking across the sky in it's search for it's prey. As it moves away the sound of shouting and screaming drunks echo momentarily before the beat of the rotors returns, stronger, louder. Screeching sirens pierce the moonlit night followed by the thundering roar of another late night flight out of Heathrow.