Hubby and I have just assembled the base for the kid’s trampoline and are about to start on the safety net when the loyal slave calls round and offers to give Hubby a hand.
So I head off to make the tea.
When I get back the poles are up.
“What are these holes for?” asks Hubby. “Should there be screws?”
“Nah,” says loyal slave. “That’s probably for a different sort of assembly.”
They carry on working.
“These are ever so wobbly,” says Hubby.
“Let’s just put the net up,” says his mate. “When it’s all tensioned properly it’ll be fine.”
The instructions are lying on the grass where they have been discarded. I idly pick them up and flick through the pristine pages.
Oh look, there’s a diagram – and aren’t those … screws?
“Guys,” I say. “There’s supposed to be screws.”
“Oh,” says Hubby. “Perhaps that’s what the holes are for?”
“You’re not reading the instructions are you?” says his mate with a look of horror on his face.
Yes I know. It’s such a girly thing to do. I head back up to the garage and – oh look – a pack of screws. I take them down to the boys.
At last the trampoline is assembled and I leave them jumping up and down while I take the kids in to prepare dinner.
Hubby comes in just as the sun starts to set behind the hills.
“The net’s inside out,” he says.