We had tried almost every mode of transport in Australia &mdash trains, planes, bus, car, copter, submarine. Been in the water, under it, over it. We had gone jouncing across the bush in four-wheel drives, learnt to navigate an all-terrain vehicle, picnicked on a &lsquocastaway&rsquo island, frolicked in river cascades. But there was still a little more adventure to be wrung from the trip, one I had been looking forward to for ages, in fact most of my life hot-air ballooning. This was going to be a giant tick on that life-list. &ldquoOnly cameras, please&rdquo they said, &ldquoNo bags.&rdquo So I took my camera out of the bag it lives in, hauled myself into the balloon basket &mdashand discovered, as we drifted gently off the ground, that my memory card was full. The back-up card was in the camera bag, of course, and if I wanted my first-ever balloon ride captured (and I did What would Facebook think), I was going to have to delete. Casting a desperate roving glance at the beautiful morning, turning my back on the absurdly silent and judderless ascent, the hiss of the gas and the lick of the flame as it blew into the balloon, the idyllic fields floating beneath us...turning my back on all this, I bent to the screen, sorting and deleting my pictures. I could hear the gods chuckle.