Balconies (pt.1)

We're constantly surrounded by buzz, by hum, by electric undercurrents of sound. There's no silence in a city night, no dark either, just a dirtier light. I hear my radiator ticking, my fridge humming, my computer whirring, cars outside keening, a faint hiss from the light bulb in the extractor hood above the cooker. That's all I can hear, if I turned them off I could hear more, I expect.
Outside, in the light well, the pigeons groom, bustle, hustle, push and sidle. On the cranes as you walk past, sometimes you hear squawking from above you - twittery squawking, harsh as gossip, a whole collection of it - and you look up and the crane, the swing arm that salutes the sky, is dotted with black spots that are birds. They must think them the tallest barest trees in the city. Sometimes you look up and it;s the parakeets. YOu have to squint against the light of the sky - white, grey, marble - to see them, but then you see the flash of green and there it is, the parakeets.
I want to tell you about the balconies, how there are so many of them. Brussels has the same weather as London, more or less, but it behaves as if it has a Medterranean climate. That's why I like it. London says 'We have rain all the time, let us not build balconies as we shall never sit on them.' Brussels says 'We have rain all the time. Let's build lots of balconies - elegant balconies, balconies with screen doors, balconies for Italian grannies to lean upon and fan themselves on, for mothers to hang out washing strung across the street on little pulleys, for children to play on tricycles on, for cats to peer over, for flags to be hung from when football games are on (or the country is in crisis), for strings of garlic and onion to be hung up to dry. Let us allow our facades to crack and crumbles in that nice interesting way they have, let us string electric wire haphazardly on the outside of buildings, let us put up a neon sign upon a neo-classical facade to advertise a Wok Shop.' Same premise, different conclusion. These balconies are the opposite of a raindance, they're a sundance. And so Brussels acquires a little Mediterranean laissez-faire, while London bites its nails and tries to get to work on time.
You can be happy in an art nouveau house, even if it's not very tasteful.