Bounce for your youth!

There was a jumping castle.

Words fail.

I can only say that I have chosen some stellar friends here in London town. Super fantastic people. The kind of people, in fact, who hire a jumping castle for a party exclusively for the use of adults. I love them.

I have always loved jumping castles but have been hindered by society's frowning upon adult women heaving themselves onto the bloody things while 4 year olds play about on them. So when we were invited to a house party with a a jumping castle we - ah ho ho ho - jumped at the chance.

Oh ho ho.

The whole event had a rather surreal air to it. You'd be sitting outside chatting and then out would walk two people. All in all, generally trendy-looking people. They would walk out, look up at the castle, place their drink on the grass, remove their shoes and then run at the castle.

At first everyone is a bit awkward on it, just jumping up and down like Coke bottles bobbing in the ocean. But eventually someone goes for a back flip and then it's all on.

Anyway, it seems jumping on a jumping castle is significantly more difficult than the abovementioned 4 year olds would have you believe. Seriously. It's hard work. After 30 seconds on the castle apparently healthy 20-somethings rolled themselves off it, panting and shaking their heads. The put their shoes back on, picked up their drink and returned to muck about with the playlist.

This led me to worry: this could be the last time I both have the opportunity and ability to jump on a jumping castle. I mean, if it's this hard when I'm 26 how hard's it going to be when I'm 36? And given that it's been 10 years since I last got a chance to go on one, this could very well be my last opportunity to jump. I mean to really jump.

As this dawned on me I turned wide eyed and looked at my fellow jumpers (incidentally, they were Laurie, Geoff and Claire - you don't know them). It felt wrong. This couldn't be the last time we all got to fully enjoy a jumping castle. It was too soon.

And yet, too late.

"Bounce!" I cried. "Bounce for your youth! Bounce for your youth!"

And so we bounced. Dear lord, how we bounced. We bounced until the bouncy castle man (for in England it is a 'bouncy castle') came and stood to watch myself and Claire continuously run at opposite walls like frenzied ferrets.

But I think he understood; we were bouncing for our youth.

It seems, however, that I over-estimated my youth. For I was sore and unable to move my left shoulder properly until Wednesday.

Next party we're pushing for a ball pit.