Tim Dowling's Window Gazing Interrupted by Curtain Crisis
As a dedicated observer of the world just beyond his front window, Tim Dowling has never needed convincing about the cognitive benefits of simply looking outside. He would happily spend all day at this post, if only he weren't concerned about being seen by passersby. Currently, his focus is fixed on a large puddle that has formed along the road's edge outside his house.
Normally, such puddles appear after heavy rain and vanish within a day or two. However, through his diligent monitoring, Dowling can attest that this particular puddle has remained for three uninterrupted months. It measures a foot deep at its centre and is too wide to jump across, resembling more of a moat than a mere puddle. He has begun to suspect that rain is not the cause; instead, an underground source might be feeding it.
Today's events seemed to validate his theory. As he watched, a man in a hi-vis vest arrived and started placing cones around the puddle's perimeter. "This is a big day for you, isn't it?" his wife remarked, having quietly approached from behind. "It's a big day for all of us," Dowling replied without turning around. "Something is actually happening outside your window," she noted. "I knew if I was patient, this moment would come," he said.
The Curtain Conundrum
Suddenly, the conversation shifted. "We need to do something about these curtains," his wife declared. Dowling knew exactly what she meant: the heavy curtains had developed large horizontal tears on their lining side, which looked unsightly but only when viewed from outside with the curtains drawn. He did not consider this a priority.
However, a sinking feeling told him that her suggestion might be immediate. As he tried to formulate a vague response, he turned to see her holding a ladder. "Oh no!" he exclaimed. "It's not like you're doing anything else," she retorted. "You're literally staring out the window." Defensively, he argued, "It has cognitive benefits!"
Recognising his tendency to panic over unexpected chores, his wife adopted a soothing tone. "I think if you can just take them down, I might be able to unpick the lining," she suggested. Reluctantly, Dowling agreed, hoping the unpicking would stretch into next week, delaying reinstallation.
A History with Curtains
Once atop the ladder, memories flooded back. He recalled a time when the right curtain would frequently roll off its track and collapse to the floor until he devised a makeshift fix that still held. It took him fifteen minutes to unhook both curtains, but by then, the men outside had vanished. Whatever event had unfolded was over, and he had missed it entirely.
"So yeah, you get unpicking," he said, planning to retreat to the kitchen. But his wife interjected, "I don't think it's going to work. Look, the lining is all sewn up into the pleats." "Oh dear," he replied. She pondered, "Maybe I could just cut it across the top. But will that look even worse?" "You have a think," he urged. "Take your time."
Dowling made a coffee and retreated to his office, intending to stay there for the rest of the day. After half an hour, his wife found him. "I've had an idea," she announced. With a sense of foreboding, he followed her back to the living room.
The Great Curtain Swap
She pointed to the curtains hanging over the side door, which faced a brick wall. "Let's put these over there," she proposed. "Really?" Dowling questioned. "Are they the same size?" "Let's measure," she said. They discovered the curtains were not the same size; swapping them would require transferring six curtain sliders—three per side.
"Even so," Dowling noted, "one set of curtains will never fully close. And the other will never fully open." "It's still better," his wife insisted. The switch took over an hour, only expedited when she decided the side door looked fine without curtains. "Really?" he asked. "Won't it be cold?" "We can try it for a couple of weeks and see," she replied. "I like the sound of that," Dowling said, folding up the ladder.
Aftermath and a New Discovery
The afternoon stretched ahead, but a lack of milk prompted a trip to the shops. Upon returning, Dowling noticed a sign had been erected in front of the house. It announced remedial work on the puddle by the water company, scheduled to begin in a week. He made a mental note to mark the date in his diary, a small consolation for the chaotic curtain episode that had disrupted his peaceful observation.
