Published in Chiangmai City Life Magazine – October 2003

Windowsills

CHIANG MAI, Thailand – 1 May 2002 - “Windowsills”, said the bearded one with much emphasis and reminiscent tones into the open top of his Carlsberg bottle, which had paused midway between table and mouth.  The action, being an event of much significance amongst our small band of imbibers, riveted our attention.  An event of such significance was so rarely seen that we also had to consider the utterance.

“Windowsills” we all mused.  “What could he be considering?”

“Windowsills”, he repeated, “are wonderful things and you don’t see them in this country.”  Then the green bottle completed it’s journey.

We considered the observation until the almost bald one admitted, “He’s finally flipped, the beer that refreshes parts that others don’t, has done the opposite to him.”

“Windowsills are wonderful things because they’re so useful.”  The bearded one intoned sagely, “Think of all the things you used to do with windowsills back home.  How many of the things in your life used to live on a windowsill?”

“Consider the kitchen windowsill,” he challenged, “what marvels of modern science began on a kitchen windowsill?”  His rheumy eyes glared defiantly at each of us for several seconds, “Why, it was on a windowsill that Louis Pasteur discovered penicillin …”

“Erm, I’m not so sure about that,” murmured the bespectacled teacher.

“I think it was Marie Curie who discovered penicillin” corrected the tall American.

“No, I thought it was Florence Nightingale” countered the Greek Cypriot.

“Stop interrupting,” growled the bearded one, “anyway, Marie Curie invented cancer.  I wonder who it was who invented spring onions and sweet garlic on their kitchen windowsill?”

“I used to grow water cress on mine” said the almost bald one, “it was the only thing I could get to grow.”

“Explains the viagra you buy,” quipped the tall American.

Light hearted chuckles followed until the bespectacled teacher observed that even in the UK, the ants loved his kitchen windowsill, “that’s where my ex-wife used to leave the cakes and stuff she took out of the oven.  She did it to annoy me when I was working in the garden.  She knew I wouldn’t steal any when my hands were elbow deep in mud and soil.”

“Evil things, women” imparted the bearded one with all the gravity and wisdom of Solomon pronouncing judgement, “we’re better staying away from them.  What did they ever give us that a beer couldn’t?”

“Children?” queried the Greek Cypriot.

“Sex” stated the tall American.

“Kitchen windowsills?” asked the bespectacled teacher.

“Headaches?” considered the bearded one, rhetorically answering his own question.

“There you have it,” put in the previously silent Australian, “windowsills were invented by women to make men’s life hell.  Maybe that’s why Thai houses don’t have them, it’s a man’s world here.”

“Here, hear” echoed around the table, followed by a chorus of, “Nong, more beers.”

Refreshments replenished, serious discussions about windowsills and their properties continued.

“What is the purpose of a windowsill?” the Greek Cypriot wanted to know, “I mean all that they seem to be used for is storing junk you don’t know where to keep somewhere else, but don’t want to forget about.”

“Mine were drip trays for condensation from the windows in the winter,” moaned the bespectacled teacher, “every winter it was the same, all my T shirts were used as mops by the missus to keep the water from running down her brocade wallpaper.”

“Brocade wallpaper?  Yuch,” chorused the others.

“Her idea not mine,” he defended, “all I ever did was pay for stuff, she chose it all.”

“Evil things, women” the bearded one intoned again, “never let them know how much you’re earning.”

“You were married a few times though, so they can’t be all that bad,” interjected the tall American.

“Had over twenty wives in my time,” said the bearded one, “and still married to eight or nine of them now, they’re all in the same house up the mountain in the village.”  A twinkle came to his eyes, “Getting another one next month when she turns sixteen, she’s not fat enough for the local lads and her mum wants her married off before she’s too old.”  He paused, “Her father’s a carpenter, wonder if he’ll put windowsills in the house as a wedding present?”