THERE is something about a sash window, isn’t there? The gentle squeak and heave as you lift it up, the rush of air that greets you. ‘For some reason, houses with them feel like a proper home,’ says a friend, a keen sash-window enthusiast. And it’s true—until the bleak midwinter arrives and you’re drawing the curtains at 3 pm, cursing silently every time you look at the windows, which, let’s be honest, probably sold you the house in the first place. This is the curse of the sash. It’s beautiful, but damned—both a reason to buy and not to buy a house. Was ever a window so divisive?
The author Philip Womack bought an east London flat in an old school with five enormous sashes in 2008. ‘It was such a cool flat—it felt like a country house.’ But then winter came, and so did the draughts. ‘There were times when I was working from home with a dressing gown over my clothes—it was like being outside.’ None of the heating solutions Mr. Womack tried made any difference, so he had the sashes refitted, to some avail. Looking into double-glazing, he was quoted £14,000. ‘Now, it would be £20,000, and I would probably have to remortgage to do it.’ Why stick with them? ‘They are such a beautiful sight. If you can manage a month or two of discomfort in the winter, then they probably are worth it. But if you’re the sort of person who doesn’t mind what their surroundings are like, then I would not recommend them.’
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