I am being stalked by a balloon called Thomas. My grand-daughter Jeannie acquired it at the Huddersfield Festival of Light two weeks ago. She played with it non-stop at first and I thought it was bound to deflate. But, no, it remains robustly afloat on a string attached to a handle just heavy enough to keep it from head butting the ceiling.
The problem is, she carries the balloon around the house, becomes bored and leaves it in unlikely places. I walk into a room and apologise and it takes a moment to realise that the smiley face I’m talking to is not a guest but Thomas the Tank Engine.
This may seem trivial and a bit daft but, a couple of nights a week, I stay up late on my own. My daughter and her husband have retired to bed, Jeannie is asleep and my wife Maria has fallen into slumber while reading in bed.
The reason I stay up until midnight or beyond is to watch Netflix on television, where my choice of viewing can be more gratuitous than cerebral. A high octane thriller, a sci-fi shocker or hard edged Nordic noir are usually my cup of tea, which is why Maria abandons me to view them alone.
When the film has finished and I switch off the TV, my routine is to go round the house checking the doors and turning off the lights. It is at these times, when I am still full of nervous chain-saw tension, that Thomas has given me the fright of my life. I’m walking from the back door through the kitchen and the draft of my passing makes him move on his string in the darkened dining room.
One of these nights I fear I will still be in Jason Statham mode and administer a karate kick into fresh air, hit nothing at all and put my back out when I fall over.
Worse is when I think I’m alone in the house, which is a rare occasion these days with Sian’s family in residence. Ah freedom, I think, and wander from the bathroom naked, see movement in my peripheral vision down the corridor and leap backwards for shelter and a towel before I recognise Thomas, grinning inanely. Never has anyone, I suspect, had so much fun from simply being tethered to a string.
There was a time in the Swinging 60s when nudity was accepted but my body should remain covered in front of us except for medical examination.
I’m surprised Thomas hasn’t taken a turn for the wore at the sight.
Thomas has almost become a member of the family so sabotage is out of the question and I shall just have to put up with his silent presence and learn to control my karate instincts.
I mean, I can’t stick a pin in him, can I? Can I?
