I was traversing a field of corn, on hands and knees at 10 pm on Tuesday 22ndJuly 2008 head down, engaged in a slow crawl and without the benefit of antihistamine.

​

Let’s start at the very beginning, or near the beginning. It was a balmy summer’s evening, with bright sunlight, little breeze and no haze. We were at 3,000 feet looking in silence at the Black Mountains rotating like a camera-obscura image round the Severn estuary. We stood on firm ground in the wicker basket of a hot air balloon and the silence was as stunning as the glorious view. Then there was the instantly recognisable 'pop' as the captain-turned-steward served Champagne.

​

We looked over the edge in an effort to spot the two Land Rovers that we’d left in the field a moment before, and they were still right beneath us, like red ladybirds in a green pasture. We tried to pick out Abergavenny, or was it Raglan? One passenger thought he could see the brewery at Junction 23a of the M4, but I am sure it was the chemical works at Newport. We could see both the Severn Bridges and the general skyline of the city of Cardiff – all this with the Black Mountains in the opposite direction. The view really was spectacular in the evening sunlight, and beneath us houses were smaller than dolls’ houses and the cars like scurrying ants.

​

Every now and again the silence would be breached by the roar of the burners reheating our buoyancy envelope, for such was the name of the balloon above us. It had all started as a flat fabric on the ground. A Land Rover had tipped the first couple of metres of balloon out onto the grass, and then driven fast forward for 60 yards as the remainder was dragged from the container and laid flat. They then asked for help. 

​

In fact they paired the men and gave us all jobs. Two held the mouth of the balloon open while my co-fanblower and I started up high-powered cold air fans. These are 1 metre diameter multi-blade fans powered by a lawn mower petrol engine. They burst into noisy existence, vibrating madly and caused the huge balloon fabric to quiver. Two others then stepped into the mouth of the balloon to hold the aperture edge high above their heads. We huffed and we puffed and we blew the air in, for about 10 minutes. The mass of fabric began to lift a little off the field as it took in the air. When there was partial inflation the Captain started the huge burners to heat the air. This took another five minutes before he sharply pulled his hand across his neck to tell us, above the noise of fans and burners, to 'cut'. Our fan engines burbled into silence and he shot into the half inflated balloon with a bearded assistant. They both waded 40 yards inside the envelope to inspect – and returned to say the top hatch was open. All our fresh air had been going out the top through the hole, flap, canopy or whatever you call the top of a hot air balloon. A small patch put that right and we began again.

​

The two heavies took the position in the mouth and we started our air generators. It was magical to see the balloon, the size of a spherical double decker bus, inflate on the ground. Adding a shot or two of very hot air made the balloon stand up and in no time I’d decommissioned my fan and dragged it away like a fuel bowser leaving an aircraft on the tarmac. Now I was a passenger alongside Bron and we were sitting down for safety. As it prepared for launch it was tethered to a Land Rover. We had a couple of false starts when a gust took us up and placed us neatly on the Land Rover roof, then heaved us up a second time, complete with the Land Rover's nose dangling from our tail. Soon the Captain flicked open a dog lead clasp and dropped the rope (and the Land Rover). We were seated looking out from the wicker basket. One moment we saw the roof rack of the Land Rover, and at the next glance we were looking at dolls houses as we ascended rapidly to 3,000 feet. There was no sensation at all of the lift. There was, at this stage, considerable roar from the burners but it was steadier than a lift in a building; no jerks, no sensation of your stomach being still on the ground floor so it was quite a surprise when he said

'You can stand up now and have a look over the edge'. We found we were very high indeed.

​

In flight there is no feeling of progress, movement, speed and no rough bumps. All that was saved for the landing. He put us down neatly in a close cropped field of corn and his balloon laid itself neatly across 50 yards of field. All we had to do was wrap it up. This was effected by walking the outer edges into the middle, then all 16 passengers crawling up the colourful carpet on hands and knees to squash the air out, which is where this story started. 

We then had to pick up the long nylon bundle. Sixteen people grasped the first umpteen yards on their shoulders and walked it into a huge canvas bag, then returning to the back of the queue to pick up the next few yards. It must have looked like Chinese New Year as our crocodile of colourful fabric moved towards the Land Rover.

​

When all was packed away we drove for about 25 minutes in the Land Rovers which proves we really were travelling while in the air. We were told we had landed at 19 knots and the farmer has skid marks across his patch to prove it.

​

This was a sensational way to celebrate the sale of BalloonsByMail, a business that had occupied Bron for a decade. If I was to retire, it was time for that business to be sold. Andrew and Helen gave us this spectacular balloon trip to mark the occasion.