First: The ring tone (a revved up version of The Chainsaws' 2005 anthem Din Ain't Sin.) Then: Hi, Sweetie! Yes, it's me! No, not Dolores, it's me, ME! Then: I'm on the plane - NO! Not the train, the PLANE!

Yes, that last redoubt of calm and insulation from all the noisy travails of modern life, that ultimate oasis of tranquillity and good behaviour, the Ryanair flight cabin, is no longer to be immune from the curse of mobile phone calls.

Ryanair announced this exciting "new passenger service initiative" yesterday. Passengers will be charged a "roaming fee" for the facility. Ryanair shares climbed on the prospect of the extra revenue.

Actually, this news does not depress me overmuch. I was more alarmed about last week's announcement that mobile phone use will no longer be banned in public libraries, but will now be tolerated - perhaps even encouraged? - along with fast-food consumption and anger management therapy. No, I made that last little bit up. But what next in our public libraries: Keep fit classes? Jam sessions?

I was alarmed, genuinely. Where to go for peace and quiet? Churches, graveyards, Pittodrie Stadium? Talking about alarms - they go off, and on, and on, and on. And boom boxes. And service announcements only too audible on the train; and platform announcements, noisy yet all too inaudible, in the station.

It's easy enough to rant about all this noise intrusion. I think the underlying problem is over-communication. In the innocent days before groups like the Chainsaws and the Garden Strimmers, Uncle Cliff had a hit with "It's so funny, how we don't talk any more." Sometimes it seems as if the whole world is talking, and talking, and it ain't funny at all. Would we all be just a little bit gentler and more relaxed if we talked just a little less?

Like so many folk of my age, I don't like noise pollution. It hurts the soul as well as the ears. But that's just irritation. What I detest is this obsessive need to "communicate", as if existence can only be validated by the constant exchange of banalities. I can see - or hear - no virtue in this, though there can be plenty of virtue in noise, or at least sounds. It's the nature of the noise, and the context, that matters. Much of Beethoven's music is devoid of repose and ease. It's full of storm, tension and disjunction. Play it loud, in the wrong context, and it can be deeply disruptive and offensive.

There is an understandable polarity - noise equals life; silence equals . . . the grave. As you get older you tend to prefer, if not silence, at least quietness, as if anticipating the ultimate quietness. Yet who knows? Maybe Heaven is full of noise, and Hell is endlessly quiet. We have been told that when we cross to the other side, trumpets may sound. So there may well be noise in Heaven.

Many people's favourite Christmas hymn or carol is Silent Night. But how can the night be silent if the Salvation Army band is playing down the road? Sounds are often better than silence, though we should not be scared of silence, as I think many people are.

I quite like musak, if it's a tune I fancy. Someone once mused that at least half the lifts in the world must have Guantanamera playing in the background. Well, no matter how often I hear it, I like the tune, though the words are a bit slushy. But I'd rather get into an elevator and hear Guntanamera than the self-important chatter of executives gabbling into their phones.

The noises of nature are mixed. Birdsong can be beautiful; barking dogs can be infuriating. I've never been to Africa, but my wife is frequently in remote Sub-Saharan Africa and she says the nights can be cacophonous with natural sounds. The Algerian thinker, Jacques Attali, told us to remember that nothing essential happens in the absence of noise. Well, I thought, what about sleep? But then so much sleep is accompanied by what must be the most irritating noise of all, snoring. Anyone who snores should never, ever dare to complain about noise.

If I were asked what I'd like to hear right now, off the top of my head, what songs I'd like, I'd say first Jim Reid singing Violet Jacob's The Wild Geese. And secondly Bob Dylan singing, in all his "raging glory", Idiot Wind. I suspect many would agree with the first but not the second, which people find harsh, angry and upsetting. Personally, I think it's sublime.

And let's not forget. If you are waiting for important news, that irritating ring tone can send a shot of hopeful adrenalin like nothing else.