Reclaiming the Beauty of the Human Voice | Sinead Sharkey-Steenson

I walked into the living room and I heard the most awful sound. It was a voice I just couldn't make sense of. Slow, stupid. It was like nails down a blackboard. Imagine the horror when I realized that voice was mine. I was eight or nine years old and I was visiting some male cousins in Dunigal and they loved two things more than anything. The latest gadget and making fun of their English cousin. So, they'd hidden a recorder and they'd captured my voice and now they were playing it back. They thought it was ...