Never has, although ever since an ill-advised trip to an air show, a little over 12 months ago, his ears have taken on super-sensitive qualities.
It was unfortunate that our arrival at said event coincided with that of the loudest plane ever built - a jet designed, in the main, to emit the most horrendous noise imaginable.
Ever since, the merest of sounds has been enough to make The B jump out of his skin. Hands clamped tight over ears is a regular pose.
The hand-dryers in public toilets are a familiar foe, but there are countless other noises guaranteed to make him squeal. The Hoover is one, power tools another.
The B doesn't have a great deal in common with our cats, it must be said, but this, this is shared ground.
There's one noise that always makes The B (and the cats) run for cover.
It's called The G.
You see, from morning until night, The G just doesn't shut up.
Chattering, shouting, laughing, bellowing, much of it at full volume, the barrage of noise that she is able to produce is incessant.
The G at her absolute loudest could be heard above the noise of the aforementioned jet plane. For someone so small, her impact on the household is enormous.
Me? I love to hear it, her singing in particular, for it is, in the main, a joyful sound, happy, excited and enthusiastic, confirmation of her contentment.
Throughout the day, The G gives a running commentary, a non-stop soliloquy, spelling out all that she does and sees, testing out new words and phrases, practising and developing her speech in the process, sharing her wonder with the world.
The B doesn't appreciate it quite the same, it must be said, the occasions on which The G's excitement gets the better of her causing him particular problems.
"I wish she'd turn it down a little bit," he said on one such occasion, earlier this week.
I don't agree.
I could listen to it all day, indeed, I do.
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