There are many things you can pay for by the hour that bring you great pleasure. If your my employer, one of those things is me. If your me it turns out, one of those things is trampoline-er-ing.
Yes trampoline-er-ing, Invented by bouncing Jolene in her homeless years as we all know, has become a fantastic way to cause yourself serious back injuries by learning trampoline from school PE teachers who don’t know the first thing about trampolines and mysteriously double as geography teachers.
You may have heard about trampoline centres opening up. They’re essentially just warehouses, but instead of floors they have trampolines and foam pits. And yes, it exactly as amazing as you would expect.
Now I know what you’re all thinking. All of these blogs revolve around me and like three friends, and one of them has a broken foot. How could he possibly go trampoline-er-ing? Well a group of people who undertake outdoor pursuits as often as we do find ways to take their broken friends along on sporting endeavours. You see there’s this balcony where you can stand and watch everyone else have fun and that doesn’t involve any jumping.
All we had to do was bounce around like kids on blue Smarties and occasionally look up at Steve with a mild look of grimace to assure him we weren’t actually having any fun at all.
It was a fool proof plan to involve everyone in an activity only most of us could do. That was until we got on the first trampoline, jumped, did some sort of flips and face planted a large foam pit. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to escape a large foam pit, but imagine a wet cat trying to get out of a bath whilst wearing clogs that are two sizes two big and you’re about there.
I still don’t understand why clogs are mandatory at trampoline centres.
After a solid while of flipping into foam pits, we decided to try something we had seen the professionals do. This was the neat trick of bouncing on your back and then seemingly running sideways up a wall. Cool in theory, kind of just looked like some fish that had been dropped into the bottom of a boat in practice.
There are only so many ways I can say something is brilliant, even when your just flapping about on a trampoline like a slinky that’s just finished rolling sideways down your stairs.
Now it might just be me, but I think a side effect to jumping around that much is that farts just kind of find there way out of you. If you’re as clever as me you’ll let out a corker right before you get on the trampoline leaving Rhys and Sam to explain to everyone why trampolines emit such a nauseating stench.
Sufficiently knackered we re-grouped with Steve to start the traditional pilgrimage to a super market to buy food destined to replace all the energies we had just spent up. By this I mean I brought some orange juice and hot cross buns, and then questioned whether I have the right friends when they brought some green liquid in a bottle. Apparently it’s anti oxidising or something. None of them look that rusty to me.
After the second tradition of getting in the car and no one deciding where to go we drove to Steve’s house to bang on instruments, being safe to call it ‘jamming’ so everyone in the room knew how cool we were.
It’s not the greatest story every told, but hey, sometimes you just gotta flip the fuck out.
Until the next time I judge my friends for drinking green liquid,