There are one or two things I have to confess about hen nights
What follows is meant not so much to defend my responses as to question them. Nor would I detain you with this were it not true that most of us men respond similarly. I think the problem is probably our problem — and wonder whether readers, especially women readers, agree. Still, those responses are undeniable and strong. They arise when we encounter ... oh dear, I’m just going to have to spit this out ... when we encounter noisy hen nights in restaurants.
At the very phrase I can sense some of you begin to bridle. I hear the murmurs of ‘grumpy old man’. So let me at once concede what friends will otherwise be quick to remind me. First, I myself have quite a carrying voice, I know. It is not especially loud — it has some of the qualities of a stage whisper — but it is distracting: a sort of sepulchral ‘here I am, darlings’. I cannot help it. It embarrasses me.
Second, far more evenings in public places are spoiled for others by lads’ nights out than by noisy hen parties. This is not only because groups of loud and boisterous men are more common than the female equivalent, but because groups of men are inherently more likely to be drunk, aggressive or to overstep the social limit, than allwomen groups are. It’s to do with the rituals of male socialising, with male confidence, and (perhaps) with testosterone.
Third, all-women tables at restaurants are completely unthreatening. There is never the least desire to upset or intrude. They are just girls having a good time and would be mortified if anyone lodged a complaint with the management, which I never have and never shall. Boys having a good time are different. Quite often we actually want to make an exhibition of ourselves. We may get a kick from ruffling feathers, stopping conversations or being a nuisance. This is quite rare in the opposite sex.
So why is it that, in common with many men, my hackles rise when, dining in a restaurant, I find the meal interrupted by repeated shrieks of laughter (particularly laughter) from a group of women dining nearby? One peal of laughter is, of course, no nuisance at all, but a mood of hilarity can come over a table of women, with the result that anything anyone says is greeted by another ear-splitting shriek. Here begins the self-interrogation. Do I react with the same irritation when a tableful of men start bellowing? The answer is that this is undeniably irritating but I do not feel the same sort — or level — of anger.
Why not? There are two reasons, neither very edifying. The first is that I — in common with most of my sex — am always just a little bit afraid of big, confident groups of other men. The reason I would not approach a table of noisy women who have perhaps drunk too much, and ask them to pipe down, is that I would not wish to hurt their feelings. The reason I would not do this with a group of noisy men is that I should be nervous they might hit me.
It’s an unpleasant truth that there is something of the bully in most people, even bullied people. We get angry more easily with those we do not fear than with those we do. The anger seems to surface spontaneously, but not before some subterranean self-defence mechanism has examined it, considered the possible consequences, and let it through. I don’t find myself feeling as angry, as fast, with loud groups of noisy lads as I do with the equivalent ladettes, and I’m sure the reason has something to do with unconscious cowardice.
And there’s a second reason (I suspect) — equally unedifying — for men’s lower tolerance threshold when it comes to disorderly women. Though we may claim ourselves to be free of male chauvinism, many men, perhaps most, secretly think there’s something especially inappropriate about disorderly women in a public place. I’m afraid we think it’s the kind of thing boys (of all ages) do — boys will be boys — but women shouldn’t. Let’s be blunt: men (though few would put it like this) feel that women should deport themselves with more restraint in public than men do.
So there we are. I’ve admitted to a clutch of wholly indefensible reasons for being irritated by noisy hen nights on tables close to mine. And I’m not using the word ‘indefensible’ as the late Alan (‘I should be horse-whipped’) Clark used to do. I mean they ought to change, and I really am trying to change them.
Accepting that confession, will you indulge me one tentative question which I raise with trepidation? Is it possible that loud noises in a high pitch are intrinsically more irritating to other human beings than lower-pitched loud noises?
This could solve a mystery which, on the Conservative Transport Committee on which I once sat in Parliament, we never could explain. Why did EU noise directives seem to bear down on many noises which were not very bothersome, while permitting other noises which drove the public mad? Big, powerful, throbbing motor-bikes tended to fall foul of the law, but not those high-pitched, ear-splitting, infuriating mosquito-like 50cc jobs; yet the latter are far more annoying.
EU noise directives were reckoned in decibels. A decibel is the measure of the power in a noise; but the power does not seem to be the only determinant of its nuisance-value: pitch and timbre are, too. A scream probably emits fewer decibels than a roar, but more reliably sets one’s teeth on edge.
Look at some of the words we have in English for noises, asking yourself in each case whether the connotation is broadly negative, neutral, or positive. Shriek, scream, squawk; thunder, boom, roar; screech, squeak, twitter; rumble, purr, hoot; piercing, shrill, sharp; husky, breathy, bass ....
Of course prejudice against women could be the cause, rather than the effect, of our preference for lower tones in the human voice; but is it? Perhaps the best people to help answer this are women themselves. Do other women find noisy hen parties more irritating than noisy tables of lads? Perhaps not; and — if not — I am well rebuked.
Matthew Parris is a political columnist of the Times.
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