"Honey, I lived through the Great Smog of 1952. That air," he points to the outside with a flick of his wrist, "looks positively bucolic."

Which is all for the best, because it means that when he steps outside he can properly see the New York skyline.

"Gosh," he whispers, gaping at it. "Look at the size. Puts Big Ben and St. Paul's to shame."