Charlotte Bray discovers the mind of a fundraiser is ready to find solutions in all sorts of dilemmas

Someone suggested as a New Year’s resolution I should be less positive in my blogs. Goodbye tea and cake, hello wine and misery.

I’m kidding. There’s enough misery in the world and not nearly enough cake.

Fans of this blog might remember last year’s migration to the seaside. This is a story about a problem that possibly only affects people who live in a turret.

My flat has unrivalled views, spanning from the sea to Arthur’s Seat. One downfall of an uninterrupted view is there’s nothing to interrupt the gale force winds that make Scottish winters so interesting.

At 1am I was awakened by the noise double glazing makes when strong winds hit it. It sounds like penguins hooting (I used to work at Edinburgh Zoo, so am qualified to make this reference). I did what any sensible person would do. I put in ear plugs and turned over.

Then came a breeze; Not surprising if you’re sleeping in a tent, more unexpected indoors. I pulled the covers over my head – if you can’t see or hear a problem, it goes away, right?

Eventually the breeze became too much for earplugs and covers to disguise. With some grumbling, I got up.

First action: locate the problem. In fundraising this might be: ‘my cause is tricky to raise money for’. For me it was: ‘where is that draft coming from?’

I checked the seals on the windows (that isn’t another zoo reference). All secure.

Next I entered the lounge. At least, I tried to. Pushing the door was like a scene from Titanic. Shouldering my way in, I discovered the problem. The window had blown open, letting the elements wreck havoc. Having checked the Doctor Who memorabilia for damage (priority one), I dried off the TV, picked up the pot plants and pushed the window closed. Not an easy task when the wind is bigger than you.

Back to bed.

*BANG*

The window blew open again. Back to the Titanic, back onto the window sill. This time I gathered rugs and towels and padded the window.

Having checked the Doctor Who memorabilia for damage (priority one), I dried off the TV, picked up the pot plants and pushed the window closed

Second action: research. In fundraising, perhaps: ‘where will I find prospects for my difficult cause?’ In my case: ‘why the heck does my window keep blowing open?’ Thanks to the invention of the smartphone and the Met office I was able to see we were being treated to 80 mph winds. That’s like a car driving full-speed at my window.

Third action: call someone who can help. In fundraising, maybe: ‘who can design a lovely leaflet, build a funky website, or offer an attractive venue to make my ask more appealing?’ In my case: ‘who is around at 3am?

Sometimes I text my neighbour. Hello, do you have a hamster? No? Then I have a mouse. Hello, is your water doing that spluttering thing? Yes? We have a leak. 3am is pushing it, though, even for him. I found a 24-hour window specialist and bless him he answered and said he’d send people in the morning. Well, later in the morning. He was friendly. I might call him next time I have insomnia.

*BANG* again.

Fourth action: make do until experts arrive. I’m not sure what the fundraising equivalent is, but some of you might remember an early blog where a friend and I attempted to mend a punctured tyre with chewing gum. My solution to the window issue shows how my engineering expertise has matured.

I frowned a bit, as one might when facing a lion or particularly tough Sudoku. After some frowning, I got a load of green twine and wound it across the front of the window; from sofa to trunk to curtain hook to pole. The result was like a giant spider had set up camp. The aim was to stop the window blowing wide open and slamming the wall. It could also pull the contents of my lounge out the window.

I stuffed the gap between string and window with every soft item in my flat, including a bean bag. Thus padded, I wedged a towel under the handle to prevent shuggling.

Back to bed.

At 9am the window men arrived. They surveyed my work with admiration and I offered my services for future engineering work.

Recently it was suggested to me that trust fundraisers are very creative. Perhaps the structured nature of trust work gives rise to innovative problem solving. A massive spider’s web and bean bag might not rival, say, the actual new lock the window engineers fitted, but it did stop the window banging. And it was cheaper.

The moral? Sometimes that crazy idea that seems sensible at 3am is worth a shot!