Aint nothing bouncing on that...

As some of you may already know, my nextdoor neighbour has a habit of offering to re-home rubbish that no-one wants. A lot of his finds are from Freecycle. People's skips. From the wheelie bin at the school he worked at. So after a horrific week dealing with the pair of these morons and their foul-mouthed teenage daughter, my mood was spectacularly lifted witnessing Steve Nextdoor haul into his back garden what can only be described as 20 ft by 20 ft inflatable that had survived the Helmand Province.

It was tattered and soiled with brown sticky liquid. It looked like it had been in cold storage for a number of years - and by cold storage I mean preserved in a septic tank on a Traveller site. It was spattered in a fecal soup. Using every ounce of creativity, dreams and imagination I had in my being, I put money on it being a time-travelling bouncy castle from post-apocolyptic Guam - the same summer all inhabitants had diarrheah.

I struggled morally and ethically to stop myself taking a photo of this bouncy castle autopsy that he opened up like a tin of rotten herring on his lawn - but I decided that I needed to stop laughing at people who have a lower IQ than kitty litter. At least for that day.