A guy at work got married recently and mentioned that at his wedding reception they hired a load of spacehoppers for kids to mess around on. I’m guessing the reception was somewhere quite roomy, possibly even outdoors.
His tale immediately bounced (see what I did there) me back to happy memories of my spacehopper period – a bit like Picasso during his blue period I shouldn’t wonder.
I bloody loved my spacehopper and went everywhere I could on it. I truly believed that the future was in spacehoppers. You know that way you are as a kid? When you believe with your heart and soul that what you are doing at that moment in time is something you’ll do forever and ever and ever. You’ll never get bored with it, never never never. Well that was me and my spacehopper. We were inseparable. I even used to take it to bed with me (not in the bed of course, that would be weird, no?)
I told my mum and dad that my aim was to hop all the way to Romford from where we lived (about 3 miles). My dad, unsurprisingly, said maybe I should set my sights a little lower and practice hopping about the garden a bit first. Pfftttt, what did he know? Quite a lot it turns out ;).
I started off with a pretty low ability level and very weak thigh muscles. My co-ordination was a bit lacking at first and I tended to veer off in all directions. After some pretty hairy moments out on the streets of Elm Park – highlights include bouncing off the pavement into the path of an oncoming bus, hopping into a wall and hopping into a rose bush (ouch) – I decided daily training was required.
My training regime involved me trying to do absolutely everything on my spacehopper. Pop to the shops for mum to get her veg? No problem. Pop upstairs and get dad’s slippers? Errr … a challenge but do-able. Hop to the end of the garden to get mint for the potatoes? Easy. Roller-skating on my spacehopper? Check.
I felt I was ready for my big trip. I had thighs like Xenia Zaragevna Onatopp (aka the bird with the killer thighs in James Bond) and could bounce non-stop for at least 30 minutes.
Feck off – it’s my spacehopper!
So did I make it to Romford on my spacehopper? Did I bollocks! Are you insane? Who could hop 3 miles on one of those things? Oh and FYI – bus drivers do not like kids on spacehoppers – FACT.
No idea what happened to it but I do sort of have one – albeit a bit smaller than the original. Trouble is I don’t think I’d fit on it and not sure Lex is going to give it up any time soon.