As you may or may not know, I work from home. (Otherwise the commute from England would be a tad long.) And if you've been paying attention at all you'll know that I've recently bought my first house, with my boyfriend. My new house is great because, rather than just working from home, I now actually have an office.
Previously, when I told people, "I work from home," what I actually meant was, "I work at a cramped, not-fit-for-the-purpose table, in the corner of my bedroom." Meanwhile, the people I was telling would conjure up images of IKEA furniture, a beech wood work centre, those leather box files, neatly lined up on bespoke shelves above my head, an arty and inspirational picture to my right and a few post-it notes to show that I actually do work.
Until we moved to Somerset, the reality was a fold up chair borrowed from my housemate, that wouldn't fit under the desk properly, which in turn resulted in me having to lean forward and incur back strain. The only plus was I would literally have to roll out of bed to get to work, but in turn I would only have a short roll from work to bed – quid pro quo.
However, now I actually have a whole room, just for me and my office. Eventually it'll have a sofa-bed for guests and it'll double as a music room, but my legs fit under the desk, I now have a comfy, big leather chair and I can close the door on it all at the end of the day.
The best bit about my new home office is that I have a window. It overlooks our, someday in the future, lovely garden and many of the neighbourhood's gardens. And it is here that my real story begins this week.
With Christmas just over, kids everywhere will be out on their new bikes, trying out tricks on their skateboards, Wii bowling or trying not to scratch in that new jumper Aunt Mabel knitted them. It just so happens that the kids two doors up from me have evidently received a trampoline for Christmas.
I only know this because every day I several pairs of feet running down the garden, accompanied by squeals of laughter and anticipation. Then silence. Then more squeals and on gazing out of the window of my most elegant of home offices, I gain glimpses of bouncing figures and the faint squeak of trampoline springs.
The kids two doors down must be the most popular on the street, as every day after school, they arrive with a gaggle of chums. They then proceed to bounce around until it gets dark and mum's threatened to burn the trampoline to the ground if they don't get off it this instant.
The daily bouncing got me wondering about the strange fascination. I don't know about the US, but over here, there's definitely been a proliferation in the number of trampolines in gardens. I mean, I couldn't give you any statistics, but there's definitely more trampolines being sold these days. My niece and nephew have one and the kids on the last road I lived on were in a permanent state of bounce. It's hardly scientific evidence I know, but just go with it.
I guess when I was a kid, I'd have liked to bounce too – I'd probably enjoy a bounce now, if I gave it a chance. But what is it about trampolining that can occupy something as complex as the human brain for hours on end? Developers spend their lives trying to make games that challenge and stimulate in ever-more complex ways, when all they really need to do is make a trampolining game for the mind.
When it comes down to it, no game could ever replace the mini-adrenaline rush of the trampoline bounce. Nothing could digitally simulate the slight breeze over your skin as you rush up and fall back down into the soft mesh or give us that sense of controlled danger.
This is why we'll never live in a science-fiction utopia of digitally created everything. That's why people will still go and see the ruins at Machu Picchu and Giza, rather than wandering round perfect virtual versions. That's why we'll never live in a world where real food is simulated via a zappy thing. Because in a world like that we'll have forgotten the simple pleasure of the trampoline and what kind of world would that be?
Most played: Guitar Hero III
Most wanted: Fable 2