But tell me, where do the children play?

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On Saturday, four little girls turned up at our joint yielding gifts and cards to play and celebrate Jack’s tenth birthday. A more gorgeous little friendship group I have not seen in ages. They are all so supportive of each other and lovely to each other. Polite, crossed with just the right mix of cheeky.

We headed to a trampoline centre. One of the girls was fresh out of an arm cast while another was recovering from a significant knee injury but I signed away all our legal rights to sue anyway.

We entered a huge, fairly filthy establishment where the music knocked out my sense of hearing. For sixty minutes, the gang disappeared while Mr. Woog and I complained about the noise, the filth and generally everything, apart from a decent coffee made by a sour faced youth.

We talked about, in days gone by, soft play centres and how on any given rainy Sunday afternoon, we would go to a place called Whizzy World and watch the boys go completely feral in an attempt to wear them out. And how, even earlier than that, we would take them to the Soft Play Centre at the top of Chatswood Westfield, and watch them beat the shit out of each other in the ball pit. I recall one particular visit, which was our last. One kid had obviously eaten a bad prawn, and had dropped his guts going down the slide. This single act caused an immediate evacuation of the centre apart from me.

Because I was emptying the ball pit in search of a missing hearing aid and had to endure the stench until it was located.

Mr. Woog and I sat near the foam pit on Saturday, which is a pit full of foam cubes. We discussed what lay beneath the foam and came up with the following.

Skin cells.


Possibly hearing aids

Dried urine

Embedded farts

Socks (Apparently if you got caught using the equipment without socks you got asked to leave, said the signs dotted everywhere)


At the end of the hour, five little red faces appeared and we headed home. Where they then spend the next three hours jumping on our own trampoline leaving me to ponder whether I had been better off spending that $75 on a quality bottle of gin.

Play centres. Do you go to them?

Where did you play when you were a kid?