In today's Ireland there are more bouncy castles standing at any one time than there are real castles. The summer arrives and housing estates thrum to the sound of mini generators and industrial fans. Inflatable turrets cast wobbly shadows across neighbouring gardens. The lawnmower is no longer the soundtrack to a Saturday. It has been replaced by the unmistakable thwack of seven-year-olds on rubber.
Not so long ago, bouncy castles were rarities, to be spotted only in their giant form at town festivals and passing funfairs. They were for special occasions, and the five minutes for £1 were cherished. Now, no child need go more than a fortnight without throwing off his shoes and bouncing himself sick. May has been an especially big month, as it is a time of First Holy Communions - and Communion parties are no longer a day at the zoo and a burger at McDonald's, but all-out affairs requiring caterers, face-painters, ponies and second cousins flying in from Canada.
The swaying structures are squeezed into gardens hardly big enough to accommodate patio furniture. Parents compete to see who can hire the biggest, most elaborate castle for their child. A poor one will undo years of model parenting. Pity the parent who makes the mistake of settling for inflatable sumo suits, just to be different, and sees their child's social status crumble. This competition has driven an explosion in bouncy technology. There is bouncy boxing, bungee running, gladiator jousting, inflatable obstacle courses, inflatable wrestling, inflatable twister. It won't end until somebody invents an inflatable roller coaster that twists around the entire house.
So the day of the party is spent with kids running from table to bouncy castle. They pound up and down for hours, fuelled by marshmallows, crispy buns and cola. There will always be at least one tantrum after a bigger child clobbers into a smaller one. By the end of the day the walls will be sticky and the ridges swilling with tears and pink vomit. And by 8pm it will be time for the kids to come down off the thing and go to bed. Because the adults want some peace and quiet. And a go on the bouncy castle. So Communion and birthday parties now often climax with grown men and women, fuelled on white wine and bottles of French lager, splitting the seam of a new rig-out while reliving their childhoods. After all, who are children's parties for if not the adults?