As I was in the recreation grounds of Chatteris on Saturday, Bob, my workmate directed my attention to a hot air balloon floating over the hamlet. It was moving at speed. Though I could not feel too much of a breeze at ground level. Perhaps the buildings broke the breeze in the parkland where I stood looking up.
Every now and then, a flame ignited from the hanging basket. The orange tongue of flame seemed to flicker just below the hole at the bottom of the balloon. I suppose this was to keep the air inside the balloon warmer than the outside air. Hot air rises and so would the balloon and persons inside the basket.
I wondered what it was like for the passengers of the hanging basket looking down or out across the retro British panoramic views of the Fenlands. The old fens that never seem to change. Part of me would like to do such a thing, but there is also another part of me that would not like the height up there in the open.