Rising 4 - Eleven fun-filled days of balloons

They are still here.

They have watched 11 days of televison, from dour news channels to Dr Who to music television. They shared the wonder of the Eurovision. And construction programmes. And all the shite we watched in between. A couple of them had close squeaks. I stood on one and it shrieked, but didn't burst. Herself apologised to one this evening when it became entangled in the legs of her work trousers and started to grumble.

On Sunday, I arose at 8.30am to find the whole herd asleep in front of the television, the curtains pulled. Later, a piece of corned beef went West and the cat retrieved it by wearing a green balloon briefly on his head.

Only the unmoving shrunken blue one still bears testament to the fate of all balloons.

My work-mates think my single stripe of promotion has unhinged me. I show them video of the balloons moving in time to the music on television, and they put on that "Humour him" look. Sometimes, instead, they change the subject.

But each evening I come home I thread a path through them all and plug in the television, feed the cats, and watch the balloons come alive.

You won't know unless you go.

Do it.

Go out and buy a dozen or so balloons and let them loose in a room.

You may be surprised.