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A Lot Of Hot Air
by Stephen Philip Druce

To all tourists and romantic sightseers -

Take a trip on a hot air balloon if you get the chance - I've done it.

The pre-flight fiasco was encouraging. An unexpected wind blew the balloon bag over like an elephant had overdosed on class A drugs. Consequently the balloon basket tipped over and slid across the field with the pilot inside it screaming expletives in the presence of children. An auspicious beginning to a once in a lifetime adventure no doubt.

The pilot fired a fierce lengthy flame from the burner into the balloon bag - the heat source that helped us become airbourne. A naked flame in such close proximity to a balloon bag made of flammable nylon fabric, reasurred me that safety procedures had been adhered to. So it's best to dress up like Evil Knievel before you climb aboard, instead of the sandles, shorts and t-shirt I showed up in for shits sake!.

Ballooning is a classy way to travel. Keep your luxury cruises, Ferraris or private planes. It's far better to drift aimlessly - standing up inside a gloryfied waste paper basket - a household accesory that traditionally stores items like cigarette butts, old chewing gum and used condoms. That's what I call dream voyage upgrade.

Yes the hot air balloon is a sophisticated piece of engineering - no steering device or brakes.

During the ride I discovered that the wind directs hot air balloons - shrewd appointment. I was obliged to respect the random breeze, even if that meant dumping me on to a prison rooftop of serial killers holding a rooftop protest.

Essentially the hot air balloon is a useless, overgrown bubble full of people that have lost their minds. I just wished I'd have known that before I climbed on the stupid piece of shit!.

The views had an impressive repetoire - houses, fields, roads, fields, roads, houses, roads, houses and roads roads.

The pilot told me he had no idea as to where we might land. That filled me with confidence like a piss fills the grand canyon. "Still, with all your years of piloting experience your landing skills must be very precise - I bet you could land this thing on the head of a pin" I said.

"No, but i did accidentally land on the head of a farmer's penis once" he said.

Then we hit a power line which consequently ignited the balloon bag into a huge fireball, as we dangled in the air plastered in bird shit, finally plummeting into a cow pat field - nice.

When you tell your friends about your balloon trip horror story, and they say - "you chicken, you coward, where's your courage?, where are your balls?", tell them your balls are still missing from when the landowner showed up at the landing area with his gun and blew them off - you may receive some sympathy. Have a night flight.