Not Obscured by Trees

So, after a trip to B&Q for supplies it was back to work on the attic with my craftsman's tools, aka the staple gun. And after that, a start on the much trickier bathroom accessories. So onward, via Shandon and the disconnection of a washing machine to the ERI to see my old mate, MrT and hear his sorry tale.
Like most folks, I don't care much for hospitals. I'd rather not dwell on that stuff until I absolutely have to. It's a good place to be treated, the ERI - individual rooms, plenty attentive staff, but there are all the men of a certain age who just previously were enjoying life to the full. Until this event hit them, this incision in their lives. A couple came towards me: she was a smartly dressed and well presented 60-something. And on her arm, a man in his dressing gown and pyjamas shuffling along, with a gaunt look, as if he'd seen a ghost. The sight made me shiver.
And there was MrT with his pile of reading material - his Private Eye, and Prospect Magazine. And Mojo. And we chatted a long while; why me, he cursed. Will he return to full fitness? What's the shadow on his brain that the scan showed up? I miss him hugely already and I guess it'll be a while before he strolls into the diggers in that carefree manner. Bugger.
Meanwhile, 'er indoors was off to ikea to get curtains. Two windows upstairs at the front of the house. Exam question- how many curtains do you need? Hint: the answer isn't two.