My good friend Angie - who is a dab hand with her ukulele - doubtless knows the words and music to George Formby's mischievous song When I'm Cleaning Windows. You have to imagine Formby's rendition - or Angie's - in the background as you read!
One of the very handy things about living in a bungalow is that every window is on the ground floor, and therefore within reach without having to get up on unsteady steps, or risk serious injury high up on a ladder. That's a key point for me - I am fearful of falling from any high place, or going anywhere, or doing anything, where my poor balancing skills could lead to an accident. I haven't forgotten the awful thump I got slipping backwards on wet rocks at Duckpool, north of Bude, early in 2016. That shook me up a lot, and has made me permanently cautious on any kind of hard surface. I make no bones about it: that fall, which could have had very bad consequences, has left me forever afraid of losing my footing, and completely lacking in confidence wherever good balance might matter. So never ask me to climb anything, nor walk on ice, nor ride a bike, nor mount a horse!
But window-cleaning with my feet firmly rooted to solid ground is fine. And with the right equipment, the job's done in a jiffy.
Well, that's the theory! In practice, cleaning my windows is something I rarely do. It isn't difficult, it isn't messy or strenuous, it doesn't take long, and the results look good. But somehow I always find myself reluctant to get on with it. Another thing is that I don't live in a dirty locality: my windows only very gradually lose their freshly-cleaned look. It takes months for a thin film of grime to become noticeable.
But I steeled myself the other day, and four bucketfuls later, the job was finished, and I stood back to admire the sparkling panes. That's me in the shot above, with long-handled washing broom in hand, full of accomplishment. What I'd just done would probably now last until next spring.
But two of the panes, one small, one large, were not a success. Despite being spanking clean again, the view through these panes remained compromised. All my windows are double-glazed, and these particular panes had a misty look to them. That was bad news. The pane that most mattered was the big one in my lounge window.
It was worst in the top half - something that looked like fine condensation on the inside surfaces.
I think this means that there's no longer a good seal around the edge of these double-glazed panes. They will have to be replaced. Not the frame - just the pane. So at some point it'll have to be 'hello' to Cloudy2Clear, or a similar firm, to get new panes fitted. Just these two - but presumably even that will cost me hundreds. So here's another job that will have to wait until the second half of 2019, when I will at last have the money for it, my car-transmission loans by then being repaid and out of the way.
In the meantime, this mistiness will have to be put up with. Its severity seems to depend on the weather, on the temperature difference between outside and inside. It's perhaps fortunate that the year has started to wind down, and reasons to contemplate the back garden are growing fewer. Nor will I be around much - I still have several weeks of caravan holidays coming up between now and mid-November: by then, the days will be getting short and it won't matter having a suboptimal view of my back garden.
