Harvey and the Great Curtain Caper

Harvey is one of the first people I became friends with when I returned to Czech Republic. He’s a smart and worldly guy; works in the film industry, and seems pretty competent at adapting to his surroundings unlike many expats I know in Prague. However, if he were to have a handicap; it might be his Briticisms, well no, on second thought, it is not so much Briticisms- they’re just "Harveyisms". He hasn’t adapted his diet much, so despite not having a kitchen, he has figured out how to make fried chicken in a small frying pan on a hot plate. Being the suffering artist that he is, he has lowered himself to drinking store bought tea, rather than growing and drying his own tea leaves; something which he considers a normal practice. Another interesting thing about Harvey is he has method to everything he does. I guess this is not surprising coming from someone who has a story board facing his bed. Just watching him make a cup of tea in quite engrossing, because he does it the exact same way every time. I know what you're thinking; most people do things in their own kitchen the same way most of the time, but not with the mindless sameness in which Harvey carries on. Step 1: decide to make tea, take out milk from the refrigerator, and do something else for a few minutes. Step 2: grab (a) cup(s) and place it on top of the refrigerator handles facing to the right for one cup to the right and to the left if there are two cups, pour milk into cup (while asking if his guest wants milk*) and add tea bag, again carefully positioning the tag to lie against the handle. Step 3: start boiling water, go sit on sofa and watch a clip or two on YouTube or similar. Step 3: Turn off boiling kettle, wait a bit little longer, then pour into cup, and stand there casually timing the steep. Step 4: Remove tea bag and is enjoy. Perhaps this is your standard tea operating procedure too, but with Harvey, it is always this exact process, no phone call or ring of the door bell will disrupt his precision.
During the summer, Harvey and I would regularly meet Monday afternoons and have a few beers in one of the millions of beer gardens in Prague, we’d talk about this and that, mostly about things that Czechs do that piss us off, or Harvey would have long contemplations about how it is possible that some of this students had gall to ask him such stupid questions, and not be completely embarrassed for themselves. (Whoever said there is no such this as a stupid question is probably someone Harvey would think was an idiot). As the summer wore on, autumn arrived and Harvey happened to mention a conversation he had had with his land-lady, who incidentally he has a tremendous crush on, despite her being married, and being about 55+ years old. (Don't let Harvey's old-man-name confuse you, he is a spritely young 32 year old, who would definitely be carded in the US). Perhaps because Harvey has this boyish crush on his land-lady, he doesn’t really manage to be very assertive nor effective when it comes to getting things fixed in the flat. He told me that all summer he has been going crazy with the early morning sunlight. His flat has great big windows, a voyeurs dream, since they seemly lacked any sort of window coverings, but terrible for getting a full night sleep. This was a point on contention for Harvey, so whenever he passed his land-lady he would tell her he needed curtains! She would reply there are curtains. There were these lacey sheaths that cover the length of the window, but they provided no respite from light or anything really. He continued pleading with this woman and her husband every time he saw them to no avail.
It was now mid-Autumn, the days were much shorter, and colder, and the issue was no longer sunlight, but heat; the windows of this 100+ year old building were drafty and a nice thick curtain would have provided some insulation. To prove how drafty it was Harvey had me stand next to the window. After a few minutes of commiserating about the draftiness, I noticed a string that was in my way, I moved it a few time out of my eye line, before asking him: “What is this?” He replied that he didn’t know, but it had always been there and he wished it weren’t. Then we looked at each other with mutual understanding and back at the string. “Pull it!” he said with a look that can only be described as sheer unabashed glee. Suddenly, a thick, dark woven curtain fell between the two panes of glass. I wonder if Harvey had had one of his students over, if they would have passed the curtain IQ test. It was a glorious day, and it still makes me laugh whenever I cross the street in the direction of Harvey’s building and see light in his windows, but nothing else, as the curtain have been permanently draw ever since.

**If you have read any of my other blogs, you probably don't require this footnote, as an illusion to my dislike of milk pops up in every post it seems. I shall say it again to be clear,I do not drink milk under any circumstances, and no not like it (Sam I am)