Some voices are enough to make you salivate, others make you cringe. I had a friend years ago whose voice crisped and crimped me up inside as if I were a piece of overdone bacon leaping about in agony in the frying-pan, a voice that was too loud and that had the harshest sounds in its tone. But people come and go in our lives; I no longer hear this particular voice.
Among voices I find sheer luxurious pleasure to listen to are those of Tom Conteh, Eddie Mair.
And the late Seamus Heaney.
So much has already been said about him, his generosity of spirit, his modest manner, his great poetic genius. The only thing I can add to it is that I shall miss his voice. To hear him read, at a live performance, was an enormous joy. A recording is not quite the same, but thank goodness there are some.