Double glazing with completely purposeless glazing bars, than which there are few things more bogus or unnecessary. Yet what is one to do? Vast unbroken sheets of Pilkington make the house’s face look dead; small windows make the house dark; and bogus diamond panes are even phonier than glazing bars. Compounding the problem, nobody now makes a window as the Georgians could, and the clumsy rectangles don’t divide into Georgian-proportioned panes either.
What’s more, they arouse conflicting yet not mutually exclusive sensations: imprisonment, protection, and an unexpected but ineluctable homesickness for real glazing bars, still vivid in memory, blobby with the paint of years, holding glittering, rippling, dimpled, irregular, old, old, old glass up to the world outside.
Never mind; the new ones open and close like anything.