Blinds and awnings specified for Erinvale's salt and south-easter — the mountain view stays, the afternoon glare doesn't.

The fabric's whole job is to referee the light without benching the view.

Blockout for the bedrooms, sunscreen for the glass that looks over the course. On west-facing fairway lounges we lean on weaves in the 3–5% openness range: the glare and the UV go, and the Helderberg stays exactly where you left it.

Sheer bands for the morning light, solid bands for the neighbours.

Two fabrics on one tube — roll until the sheers line up, roll again for privacy. Right for studies and living rooms that swing between reading light and screen glare over the course of a single afternoon.

A slat tilted eight degrees does what a curtain never could.

Aluminium where there's steam and splashing; timber where the room wants warmth. The tilt sends the low winter sun onto the ceiling instead of the television, and closes flat when you want the room to yourself.

Four metres of patio glass, and not one seam line across the view.

Panels stack almost flat when open and glide across when the western sun leans in. Built for the wide sliders Erinvale's architects are so fond of — and for anyone tired of wrestling a curtain the size of a sail.

The cheapest insulation you can hang from a bracket.

Each cell traps a pocket of still air across the pane. Through a damp Cape winter that keeps south-facing rooms noticeably warmer — and in February the same trick runs in reverse, holding the heat at the glass.

The best blind in the house is the one nobody can find.

A slot in the ceiling swallows the cassette; the fabric appears when the mountain sun does and vanishes again after. Cleanest when it's planned at building or renovation stage — so if there's an architect in the picture, bring us in early.

Gables, rakes and light wells — the windows everyone else politely declines.

Angled glass needs shaped frames and tensioned fabric, not a standard blind hung at a hopeful angle. We template the odd shapes properly at the measure and quote them like any other window.

The top of what we fit — stop the heat at the glass and the lounge never has to fight it.

Slats mounted outside intercept the sun before it ever becomes indoor heat — on a west elevation the difference is not subtle. Ours come powder-coated for the salt that drifts up from False Bay, with concealed guides that hold them steady in a blow.

Shade for lunch, open sky for the sunset over the eighteenth.

Metres of cantilevered canvas over the braai area, folding flat against the wall the moment the day cools. Every awning we fit on this side of the mountain carries a wind sensor — the fabric brings itself in before the south-easter arrives, whether you're home or not.

The patio stays a room, even when the mountain exhales.

Mesh locked into side channels, so a gust can't lift it or slap it about. It takes the bite out of the wind and the late glare at the same time, and the course stays softly visible through the weave.

Total darkness on demand — and honesty about what they're not.

Motorised aluminium curtains on the outside of the glass: full blackout for shift-workers and late sleepers, serious heat rejection in summer, and a shield when a hail front rolls over the basin.

Shading first. These are sun, heat and glare shutters, not certified security barriers. If a security rating is what you're after, say so — that's a different product, and we'll quote it separately.

The stairwell glass is six metres up. Your phone doesn't care.

Motors in the tubes, schedules in an app: bedroom blinds that open with the sun, awnings that mind the weather while you're at work, and the only sensible answer for high glass no pole will ever reach.