Sticky-Backed Plastic

Much like horses’ teeth and the rings of tree trunks, you can estimate the age of Brits by the Blue Peter presenters they have known and loved. I wanted to be like Caron Keating when I grew up. God knows why. I just found this comical video of her interviewing Margaret Thatcher. I think I admired her use of hairspray (Caron's, not the iron lady's...)



Anyway, Blue Peter informed much of my childhood and rarely a day goes by when I don’t make a ‘Here’s one I made earlier’ reference to myself, or daydream about how some sticky-backed plastic could really solve all my problems. Because of Blue Peter’s permeation of every part of my life, I often try and explain its wonders to the Americans I know and work with, but I’m never sure where to begin. It’s a bit like Mr Wizard’s World, Sesame Street, Mr Rogers’ Neighborhood and an arts and craft show, all rolled into one, and with more catch phrases than 20 years of The Simpsons. Americans simply ought to love Blue Peter. It should be right up their street, having been, for generations, presented by genetically-modified Brits with levels of enthusiasm that would surely qualify them for honorary U.S. citizenship. Even the animals – there was always a requisite dog, cat and tortoise – were exemplar and full of energy (except maybe the tortoise, which I only remembered the two times a year when the presenters were either demonstrating how to put it into hibernation, or how to take it out.)

Anyhow, all this preamble is to tell you that I’ve discovered sticky-backed plastic really is all that BP cracked it up to be. For real.

The first winter in my little studio flat, I was faced with a window in my bathroom that would not close. Worse than not closing, it would actually slip open several inches, letting in gusts of freezing New York winter air. Not particularly pleasant while you’re trying to shower but fortunately I have a very stiff British upper lip and kept myself going, remembering that my ancestors definitely did live through worse during the Blitz. Fool that I was, I also believed that at any moment, surely, the superintendent of the building and his crew of crack Polish builders would finally understand what I was banging on at him about every day and come and fix the window.

This winter, however, my hopes of last year were more or less forgotten. I realized I would have to either grin and bear it for another long winter (and as the mercury dropped, the appeal of playing Laura Ingalls Wilder in Uptown Manhattan was wearing rapidly thin) or fix it myself. And here, my friends, is where Blue Peter and some sticky backed plastic saved my life. Or at least, ensured I could have a shower without impaling myself on icicles.

How To: Fix A Slipping Window, Blue Peter-Style.

You Will Need:

1. Sticky-backed plastic. (I found this particular variety at my local hardware store - but ask your parents, kids, and they may have something similar lying around at home.)



















2. A subscription to a magazine that you never read. (You will need use this to stuff the gap between the upper and lower window panes. Rip up the pages and fold them carefully, or roll or scrunch them up if you prefer. Hell, you could even let loose and papier mache them into the window frame, or why not throw caution totally to the wind and dig out the old flour paste?)
















Here’s One I Made Earlier: