When my partner, his twin sister and their older brother left home for the first time, as they walked out of the door, their mother gave each of them a copy of Delia Smith’s How to Cook.
Now, with both in our 50s, that book, worn and faded though it may be, still takes pride of place on the shelf in the kitchen (next to my Nigella collection). It is referenced regularly and continues to be our go-to book if we want to get it right.
Cooking up a tasty Roman Blind
The recipe for a great roman blind is simple but needs the touch of a star chef.
Fabric appropriate for the task, make sure it’s the correct weight (too light, and it will bag between your dowels, vicar!)
Use 9-millimetre diameter wooden dowels (you could use 4-millimetre fibreglass rods, but why spoil the ship for a Ha’p’orth of tar)
When considering your linings, don’t forget what your objective is. For example, if it is for a bedroom, do we want it dark if so, add blackout lining to the mix
Do we want more body in our blind, so it appears fuller? If so, add interlining, but be careful with your measurements with this ingredient because there are many different weights to consider
Measure twice, cut once. Make it the wrong size, and it may taste sour.
Garnish with the appropriate (and) legally required child safety features
Should I glaze with braids or bobbles, fringes or beads? Consider this very carefully (a little icing is one thing but, a pound of marzipan is not everybody’s cup of tea.
Yes! There’s a lot to think about.
Roman Blinds are at home in any kind of property
Whether it’s a modern block of flats on Brighton seafront or an 18th century period property inspired by Thomas Kemp, a roman blind is a timeless and perfect way to dress a window. And I’m here to help with my trusted recipe book and ingredients.
Don’t feel awkward asking for my help.
I’ve swooped in at the eleventh hour through a regency bay window with nothing but a spatula, a mixing bowl and still managed to turn many a burnt offering into a souffle.
I’m Roger Butler at Brighton Blinds, take a seat and lick the bowl. Trust me, I know what I’m doing (and I look damn good in an apron!).