Caroline Crick – She Flies Like a Bird

Read more from Caroline here.

I've always wanted to be the yellow trouser suited girl who flew fearlessly through the air in the 1970s classic nimble ad. She was thin, blonde, smiley and wore a fetching yellow trouser suit suspended in a harness, floating under what looks like a parachute eating a slice of 'real bread but lighter'.  If only they knew then what we know now about carbs. But still, its a nice song. Uplifting in fact. And I got uplifted myself last week, as I went on a long promised balloon flight with friend and balloon pilot Neil, plus co-passengers Claire and Terry. Neil lives near Reading in Berkshire so we assembled in the field next to his home while an attentive crew of small neighbours helped with the process of inflating the balloon, which unfolded out of a remarkably small bag  to cover half the paddock. Neil managed to look calm and collected despite the plethora of keen 9-year-old helpers who I suspect were planning on stowing away.

So one minute we had a pile of crumpled fabric and an over-sized picnic basket on its side, the next it was upright, the balloon was billowing and we were scrambling inside. And then "up up and away in my beautiful balloon" we went. Cool.

Having just flown on a crowded jumbo jet from New Zealand to the UK, I really appreciated the new perspective on flying, being up in the air above the crowds and the true meaning of a bird's eye view. England in summer never ceases to amaze me – it is so easy to forget the soft greens of the countryside, the neat and ordered fields, and the gentle but ancient landscape that I was bought up in. New Zealand is beautiful too, but in a much less refined way. It's more raw, less predictable, less accommodating. There was something incredibly safe and heartwarming about floating above the River Thames, watching rowers beat their way upstream, people walking their dogs, families picnicking by the river. And they came out of their houses to watch, wave, and whoop. So we had to be careful not to say things like "what an ugly house" or "gosh that's a messy back garden" because apparently they could hear what we said. Balloonists don't like getting shot at.

The wind blew us along the Thames towards Henley, we tried to water-splash into a lake but didn't quite make it, landed bumpily but safely in a field of thistles (note to future balloonists – wear long trousers and closed in shoes). After we'd somehow packed a balloon the size of a small house into a bag the size of a car boot we then had to escape from the gated industrial estate we'd landed in through someone's back garden. The balloon was retrieved without incident next day.

So what did I learn from all this? Balloon Pilots have control over the ups and downs but are completely at the mercy of the prevailing winds. Landings can be unexpected and bumpy. And England is still as beautiful and welcoming as ever.