I’ve never been a big fan of curtains.

Maybe it’s because of my mom’s exaggerated idea of what constitutes window coverings. Layer upon layer, complete with lace curtains and blinds; eventually, you couldn’t see out of the window, no matter how glorious the view…

A while ago I was busy with my favourite obsession: searching for second-hand bargains online. Having just sold the blinds covering the French doors in my bedroom on Facebook (the darn rope kept on getting tangled!), I found myself in an awkward situation. My bedroom faces the street and let’s just say there was a slight mishap with the towel around my waist at the precise moment when my neighbour from across the road came out of her front gate.

The time had come for curtains. I found some lovely ones online. Brand-new, declared the advert, imported Belgian linen curtains, 3.8m long. Perfect, I thought, because my ceiling is 3.5m high. I could put in a hem.

I collected the curtains and they were even better than I thought. Definitely not new, but a real bargain. Neatly wrapped in plastic, which gave me the impression that they’d just come back from the dry-cleaners.

Back home, I pondered which curtain rod to use. I wasn’t keen on a pelmet but then what? The ugly old rail visible every time the curtains were opened?

Eventually, I decided on a simple white rail right up against the ceiling. The curtains were long enough and the luxurious floor-to-ceiling feel they would create was just what I was after.

I ordered the rail (a small fortune) and the following Saturday morning had the tools and ladder at the ready. The dog knew what was coming because he quickly took cover under the bed. But I was determined that those curtains would be hung before the day was out...

Let me just say that a 4m-long rail that needs to be installed on the ceiling, at a height of 3.8m, requires acrobatic flexibility, especially if you’re working alone. Eventually, I tapped nails into the ceiling and attached loops of string to them, resting the rail in the loops while I turned in the screws, one by one. Up the ladder, down the ladder. Move. Up the ladder – %*#^, dropped the screws – back down the ladder. Hours later, I’d run out of patience but all my limbs were still intact and the rail was up. I started hanging the curtains, draping them over my shoulder like a royal robe. Systematically, smugly, I clipped the hooks into their runners. I loved the curtains even more. And put up with my own two hands! Well. You know that feeling you get when you put your hand in your pocket to take out your cellphone or wallet and it isn’t there? Now multiply that knot-in-the-stomach moment by 10 and you’ll understand the feeling I had when I climbed down that ladder, closed the curtains with a flick of my wrist... only to discover that they were at least 50cm too short, instead of 30cm too long!

Mmm, definitely not new – and the dry-cleaning had shrunk that expensive Belgian linen to just above my knee.

They’re still like that, those curtains. “Nice try,” snorted my mom. But at least the worst my neighbour can see is my bare calves.

I’ll make a plan eventually. In the meantime, I’ve seen a brilliant solution in our window treatments story on page 62...

Enjoy!

editor@homemag.co.za