"Maybe it's still up there," said Malty, hands on hips and looking into the glorious blue sky.
Ad and I couldn't answer, we were in hysterics.
"Or it could have gone out to sea."
I can only describe the object of his consternation as a 30ft-long bin bag - like a huge, black, inflatable sausage.
It came from one of the boys' toys websites and the idea was to unravel it, shake it a bit so it filled with air and then leave it in the sun.
When the air inside warmed up, it'd expand and gently lift the sausage skywards.
One of the lads had bought it to attach to our convoy of cars as a phallic beacon guiding us back to our tents on the Three Cliffs Bay camp site on Wales' Gower Peninsula.
After our bacon sandwiches that morning we'd followed the instructions, seen the thing expand a little and tethered it to Ad's Audi. At the time it was flopping lightly onto the ground.
Then we'd gone for a walk for a few hours, setting off inland and eventually finding a nice old pub to sit outside for lunch as by 1.30pm it was baking hot.
For the return leg we dropped back down onto the beaches and picked our way round the land's craggy outcrops back to the bay.
If you've ever bought a tourist's guidebook to the Gower, Three Cliffs Bay is the picture that will have been on the front of it.
It gets its name from three limestone sea cliffs that jut into the bay, from which Pennard Pill, a large stream, flows into the sea. It's picture perfect and the views of it from the camp site on the hill above are worth the pitch fees on their own.
It's one of the UK's real gems, this stretch of coastline.
Drive along the south coast of Wales and you'll pass through Newport and Cardiff as you head west.
We then detoured off the M4 to stop off at Llest Farm and pick up some Gwynt Y DDraig Farmhouse Pyder.
Ad had sampled this mix of perry and cider at a beer festival the previous year and committed it to memory.
It's lovely stuff - perfect for camping in the summer - and we loaded our boot with it.
Then it was on to Swansea, which is a bit grim until you rumble over a cattle grid and the city gives way to gentle countryside.
Finally, the Gower. It's a landscape similar to Cornwall's and the surf community is here too but without any of the stag and hen parties that blight places like Newquay.
Three Cliffs Bay is popular without being crazy busy, as there are cheaper options elsewhere which also have guidebook-ready views. Just not the cover shot.
It's a steep climb back up to the tents from the sand though and by the time we got to the top we were out of breath, pouring with sweat and had forgotten all about our DIY homing beacon.
Only after we'd rested our feet for a while did Malty spring our of his deckchair.
"Where's the sausage?" he shouted, springing to his feet. It had gone.
We searched the field, screaming with laughter, but it was nowhere to be found.
"Sabotage!" I suggested, "Someone must have cut the bugger free."
So we checked the car. We'd secured the thing by shutting the passenger door on the end of it. If it had been ripped or cut away, there would still be some plastic inside the car.
But there was no sign of foul play. The sun must have heated the thing up so much the force of the upward thrust had pulled it free from the car.
We asked our canvas-dwelling neighbours but nobody had seen the giant sausage take flight.
Perhaps it is still up there.