The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Bouncer

I’ve never seen that Albert Finney film, but was reminded of it anyway as I took to my mini-trampoline this afternoon in the lonely confines of the garage.

The trampoline used to live in the Famous Writing Room, ie where the cats sleep, guests sleep and where English conversation lessons take place. A room already well-stuffed. So after falling over it several times and because I never actually used it, George eventually banished it to the garage.

This morning it took some finding in the dark pit that is George’s tools-and-gadgets store, and a lot of beating with a big stick to remove the many creatures who’d grown attached to it.

But I was determined, because today was the start of a new Healthy Regime. I’ve started to notice a disturbing amount of pain and creaking from the mere action of Getting out of a Chair, Gardening, Making the Bed… from Mere Action, in fact.

So first, I determinedly did my Beginners’ Yoga tape (can it really be 4 months since I bought that?), then jogged merrily to the garage for 20 minutes bouncing up and down with Pondering. Because with the jubilant creaking of the springs (and me) it’s no use trying to listen to dispatches From Our Own Correspondent, or to a baffling medical phone-in on France Inter… you have to make your own entertainment.

What did Albert Finney think about? Did he rediscover himself… solve world problems…? Don’t know. And being of diminished brain I can’t do that anyway. I can Contemplate Trivia quite well, and in the small hours I veer readily towards Pointless Angst, when I regurgitate everyone’s problems aeons after they’ve been dealt with and forgotten by the people they belonged to.

From time to time I do try to think usefully. For my healthy bouncing entertainment today I tried a delve into the India/Pakistan situation - it’s the 60th anniversary and George had tortuously explained it over breakfast.

After two minutes I found myself wondering where the hell the spider was that had made that gigantic web across the window… and could it have been that spider scrabbling above our bedroom ceiling at 4 o’clock this morning? Or something with an even bigger appetite… And what can I dish up on Friday evening, remembering that Herbert is experimenting with vegetarianism (one of three people in France)? And why did they decide on Partition, did George say? And blimey, have I only been doing this for one minute and a half?

It is now 24 hours later. I did manage 20 minutes on the trampoline yesterday by launching into a brilliant, if hazardous, Cancan routine. I then wobbled carefully back to the house, had a lie down, and woke up this morning feeling as if I’d run up and down Mount Everest. A friend told me I’d done too much, too soon.

That’s good enough for me. I'll keep my Pondering to the shower from now on.