I was sitting quietly at my desk yesterday morning when there was a roaring from outside. I reasoned that it was either a dragon hovering over Westbury Park and breathing gouts of fire down on the carefully-tended back gardens (easily outclassing the rather expensive barbecue of our Very Aspirational Neighbour), or a balloon flying over.
It was the latter, of course. I scurried up onto the roof and waved as they went by, then pursued them on the bicycle, cutting easily through the morning gridlock that always happens at the end of my road.
They came down next to the White Tree roundabout.
I like the word gonflage. It sounds like it should have something to do with the Montgolfiers.