On Saturday I went up on the roof of my house for the first time. Not for anything in particular, but just to see if I could, and to admire the view.
The kids stood by, Isaac in particular making worried noises about the steadiness of the ladder, and the strength of the polycarbonate verandah roof I had to get across to get onto the roof proper. Peter had assured me although it might bend, it would be strong enough to hold my weight. All the same I decided to only step where there was a wooden support underneath. It did bend, which I must say didn’t do wonders for my confidence.
Once up, the view of suburbia isn’t too bad. The lower rear part of the roof isn’t very steep, though it gets steeper as you go further up (or at least it feels that way). Not that I was feeling nervous you understand, but I elected on that occasion not to climb all the way to the top.
Okay, so I must admit that when it all comes down to it, I’m not outstandingly good with heights.
Instead of climbing to the peak, I cleaned some of the gunk off the kitchen skylight, though in retrospect it’s made little difference.
And despite portents of doom from the kids (who assured me they were ready to call Emergency) I made it down okay.