Leaning Out Of Heaven with A Telescope

Today's post is dedicated to Amy and Alexa who wondered (after Sunday) how I kept an eye on the oven from high in the sky. An excellent question. I have to say that, in truth, the only way to do this is to delegate. I have to hang over the bannisters and shout "I need a volunteer to keep an eye on the oven." It's been known to work. Every time I look down I'm reminded of a wonderful phrase from this book

in which Captain Kewley imagines his great-grandfather "leaning out of heaven with a telescope." I love the notion of that. It's a retirement activity tailor-made for my late, great Father-In-Law, The Dean, I always think.

I thought you might like to see what I see when I lean out of my heaven. So, if I call and The Tall One, say, decides to listen, he comes out of the kitchen, down the hall:

and up the first flight. On the landing he might very well pass a pile of boxes:

because when The Accountant isn't rocking a calculator he likes to build flat packs. Up the next set of stairs and The Tall One might stop off in his room to pick up his ipod; and the view on the way back out looks like this:

I keep meaning to buy a "Keep Calm And Carry On" poster for this point. It would be perfect. Up the final flight and as he reaches the top he stops for breath beside my old poster which I liberated from the wall of the Students Union many, many years ago:

Through the door and here we are. High In the Sky. The cropped-to-hide-the-mess version. The Lloyd Cole poster used to hang in exactly the same place above my desk in the Student Halls of residence when I was 19. It's the first present The Accountant ever bought me; and when we moved here he had it framed as a surprise. What do you think?  I'm sure Lloyd is always worth the climb. But I think I'm the only one.