It was at the top-right-corner of the Brit Club bar in Bahrain shortly after the end of Gulf War 1. Our usual crew of British Advisors to Bahrain Government ministries and senior Banking and Insurance market people was well installed in ‘our’ corner.
The conversation migrated to the best sound in the world. The scream of Italian exotica was pitched against the low rumble of Yank V8 muscle. Fighter aircraft like F16 pitched against Concord. All very macho, it was an all-male group, and the game got quite competitive.
It came to my turn to pitch in – and I offered up a swerve ball.
My second son, who arrived with indecent haste after his brother, was still a baby.
‘Gentlemen, we are missing something here’ I said. ‘It’s not about volume – My best sound in the world is the rhythmic deep breathing of my 2 baby boys when they are in a contented deep sleep together.’
I’d like to say that I bought that motley crew to their senses – but I didn’t. All I got for my efforts was a bar-tab forfeit.
I can still hear my boys breathing deeply as 12 and 18 month old babies – and yes, it is still the best sound in the world to me.
Happy Mother’s day to all mums and dads.