Now before you go and start thinking that this story is craziness of the most batshit proportions I encourage you to stop and consider for one tiny little moment. Yes, it’s madness to go for a midnight run through a tunnel miles under the sea. A place where trains might rattle along at any moment to crush your fragile bones. A location where people with shiny weapons are keeping an eye out for folk just like you in order to actively discourage them from making any further progress.
However, it’s worth taking into consideration just how persuasive this particular salesman is. It’s a very simple proposition. The guy isn’t selling anything especially nebulous like hopes or dreams or anything as wishy washy as that. What he has on offer is something far more marvellous. Come on, are you really telling me that you don’t want a bouncy castle of your very own? I thought so. See? You’re beginning to understand.
So it’s hardly all that much of an entirely shocking surprise that someone was prepared to sprint their way to Britain for a chance to get in on all that exciting inflatable action. That came out really rather wrong but I’m sure you know where I’m coming from. He ran his way in the dark away from the cruel heartland of anti-fun (sorry to slander France but their recent veto on bouncy palaces has cast their nation in a rather harsh light) towards us.
And waiting for him was that bouncy castle salesman who had been so very convincing indeed over the phone. Of course, once said migrant had pitched up the thought did occur to him that the situation was nothing more than a highly elaborate sham. Luckily nothing could be further from the truth and he is now king of his very own pumped up domicile. Who cares about a room when you can attempt a backflip as you move from living room to kitchen?