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Letter: The direct route to easyHeaven.

Byline: Dawan colllinson

IF YOU believe there's a heaven, then it would be nice to think it was how little people imagine it to be.

As far as I can gather, that makes it a celestial Champneys, only with less macrobiotic meals and more over-indulgence.

The dearly departed sit directly above the clouds, keeping a watchful eye on those they've left behind and generally whooping it up without earthly restriction.

Apparently they have some angelic floating mechanism which enables them to do this without rudely thudding to earth at inopportune moments, although given their location they're no doubt cursing the expansion of budget airlines.

If this vision is accurate, then Hallelujah. And without in any way wishing to tempt fate, I think I might quite look forward to going.

I'll be booking in for a contour body wrap and binge drinking before the organist has struck the last chord of Abide With Me (although I am toying with Relight My Fire instead, by way of lightening the mood).

I was given a heavenly reminder on Sunday, when it was time for distribution of the Mother's Day cards.

Matthew intended to make three. One for me, and one each for his grandmas.

Unfortunately, there's a crucial difference between the grandmas: While one spends her afternoons with St Michael, the other is with St Peter.

No matter. My mum would simply have hers delivered via a more unconventional method.

"It's kind of you to make grandma a card, and I'm sure she'll love it," I said, "but how do you intend to get it to her?"

"I'll take it outside and throw it up to her," he replied, without the slightest hint that this was in any way unlikely to happen.

"She'll be watching me, like you say she does, and she'll lean down and grab it."

Unless there's an easyJet to Alicante in her way, presumably.

I said I was worried that an untimely gust might carry it off, so perhaps we should just do the two instead and other grandma would know we were thinking of her and appreciate it anyway.

But it just goes to show how simple heaven is when you're five.

On his first day at school I found Matthew standing in the garden in his new uniform. When I asked what he was doing, he replied very matter-of-factly that he was showing Uncle Ian, his godfather and my best friend, how smart he looked.

When he accidentally lets go of balloons, he's not remotely sad. He just shrugs off the disappointment and explains, "Uncle Ian will catch it."

For that reason, I think he misses him and his lost grandparents less.

They're not really gone, they've just moved in to a heavenly penthouse and they are perfectly accessible at all times.

On Sunday, probably more than any other day, I wanted him to be right.
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Title Annotation:Letters
Publication:Liverpool Echo (Liverpool, England)
Date:Mar 28, 2006
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