When I first moved to Bristol, several people mentioned how fortunate it was I had arrived in time for the annual Balloon Fiesta.
Turns out this collection of 150 balloons from all over the world is one of the city's key attractions. Yeah, I know.
Once, a long time ago, I went up in a hot air balloon for an interview. I would imagine the Balloon Fiesta, which takes place this weekend, is very much like hot air ballooning itself: lots of pleasant views, relaxing in a meditative sort of way but, ultimately, arse-wrenchingly boring except when it goes terribly wrong.
While getting ready for work yesterday, we spotted a few balloons flying quite close together (obviously limbering up for the Fiesta). I casually mentioned the possibility of a mid-air collision and what a great story it would make. I am, afterall, a journo and we like nothing better than tales of things gone wrong. The Animator got all huffy and suggested a visit to the Fiesta might help adjust my attitude. But then this is a chap who gets excited about Wellington's Guy Fawkes fireworks.
Turns out the god of rain isn't overly fussed by a bunch of oversized balloons, either - it's been peeing down all day, grounding them.
According to today's Guardian, the RAF's Red Arrows are supposed to be making a guest appearance at tomorrow's finale. Shame Sunday is my night to stay in and wash my hair.