Curtains. We has them.

For the last week we've been sleeping without curtains, which less than a month past midsummer is an interesting experience. I had never twigged the full implications of being on the second floor and facing west, until we looked straight out at the roseate fingers of sunset finally loosing their grasp on a darkening sky, with Venus (I think, or maybe Jupiter) staring straight back like an unwinking eye. Over the silhouetted antennae of the police station. Oh, poetry, thy name is Ben.

It's meant either getting changed by streetlight, or coyly squeezing into a corner out of glimpsing range of the main road. It has also meant wearing airline masks to block out the light, which mean you sleep so deeply you wake up feeling much more groggy than usual, and with a sweaty face.

But now the decorator has done his work and we have fully functioning windows, painted, where the glass stays in, and curtains hanging in front of them once again. We have normality.

So, is the endless saga of the windows, which goes back I think to March 2006, finally over?

Well, we still have to clean them ...