I had to laugh today, I went to the playground with the kids and saw the typical Irish cross dressing going on. Now I don’t mean boys were dressing up as girls or anything like that. No, what I saw looked like all four seasons of the year had crossed each other right there in the playground. Not weather wise, but clothes wise.

There were kids dressed up for the beach with little shorts and t-shirts on, their flip flops off, building castles in the sand pit. Their parents lounging nearby sun bathing, a picnic spread out and drinks close to hand in case of any dehydration problems. Then there were kids with jumpers and tracksuits keeping the wind that was around today at bay. But the kids that  definitely took the biscuits were the poor little feckers with the hoodies and puffa-jackets on, wearing big thick socks and hiking boots on their feet. The mother, wearing her warm winter woolies too hoping to ward off any summer colds that might be doing the rounds. Fuck, I know today wasn’t as warm as other days but for God sake what was going on? The poor kids looked like they were cooking in their clothes. Maybe it was some sick kind of punishment, if you’re bold I’ll sew you into your coat until you boil.(Okay maybe not).

What were my kids wearing? They were the ones in their swimming shorts splashing in the water fountain, fuck it, make hay while the sun shines!

Oh, cardboard boxes!

I wrote a blog a while ago about how beds were better than trampolines. Well now I’ve found the best toy of all ‘The Cardboard Box’. O yes I know what my kids will be getting next Christmas; lots of cardboard boxes. All shapes, all sizes, it’ll be the best Christmas ever!

What brings me to this decision is seeing my two boys spend most of today playing with the packaging of our latest big purchase. They coloured in and decorated their new found rocket ships, they pushed each other up and the hall in crazy space battles before deciding to change the purpose altogether and put the rockets over their heads and run manically around the house! I’m also on orders to buy yellow paint tomorrow as one box will be transformed into Spongebob’s head (so we can be set for Halloween).

It’s a good thing they like cardboard boxes though because if this months mortgage isn’t paid they’re going to be seeing a lot more of them!! Hmmm what can I buy that would come in a box big enough to live in?

My son’s birthday is coming up soon and he’s hinted to me that he’s looking for a trampoline. Fair enough you might say, get him a trampoline. I had no problem with this suggestion until yesterday evening, when I saw him bouncing madly on our bed whilst listening to Queen’s Greatest Hits…  in the dark… with a disco ball throwing coloured dots all over the room. A thought occurred to me, why should I spend a fortune on a trampoline when jumping on the bed is obviously more fun?

So to help me make a decision, I came up with a list of reasons why a bed beats a trampoline:

No 1: The bed is (usually) situated inside the house, so straight away it has an advantage over the trampoline since it tends to piss rain here most of the year. I’ve seen so many sad, water logged and rusty trampolines sitting in back gardens all over the place its just mean.  While all the kids on the street are bouncing into wet puddles on their trampolines my kid will be nice and warm whilst bouncing, indoors.

No 2: I won’t feel guilty about not forking out for a net to stop him from falling off. A few pillows on the floor should do the trick, but if he does fall off and misses the pillows he won’t be falling very far so, hopefully, he’ll be fine.

No 3:  If the weather, for some freaky reason, happens to be good I always have the option of bringing the bed outside. Well, the mattress at least.

No 4: A disco ball doesn’t have quite the same effect outside.

Having our bed as a trampoline brings it’s own share of problems though. The neighbours have started giving us strange looks as our bed is creaking at all times of the day and night (wink wink),  one of the legs has gone a bit wonky and the springs are sticking into my arse.

So I’ve decided that the next time he asks for a trampoline, I’ll tell him, “No. I’m getting you a goldfish, you may keep bouncing on the bed”.

After all, if it wasn’t for bouncing on that bed, he wouldn’t even be here!