Sussex columnist: The party at Jumpin Fun that almost broke me and a mummy night out in Worthing

I know I sound completely ungrateful, but I’m not – I’m really thankful to the parents who host parties and invite my children because they love them. And when their birthdays roll around, I’ll once again play host to excitable bunches of kids invited to celebrate with my daughter and son.

But, obviously, if I could choose how to spend my free time, it probably wouldn’t be playing referee to children who keep accidentally bounding into each other on a bouncy castle, or playing tag in a soft play where I’m about a foot too tall to comfortably run around.

A long leisurely lunch with friends, or something like a soak in a bubble bath would definitely be more relaxing...

We’ve gone to parties for the last three weekends, and have more coming up for the next three consecutive weekends.

So far, I’ve twirled and spun around with Elsa at a Frozen-themed party, I’ve witnessed 30 children go wild on a bouncy castle (and wished I’d invested in a pair of ear defenders), and then on Sunday, I joined the masses at Jumpin Fun in Burgess Hill, where any hopes that I might be the next Ninja Warrior UK were crushed.

As my son is four, he had to have an adult with him, so I was poised to run, jump, crawl and chase around after him.

Not a problem, I smugly thought to myself. I run three times a week, I’m pretty fit, and I’ve always thought Gladiators looked pretty easy. This will be a piece of cake.

Wrong! First, I wore jeans. What was I thinking?!?! There’s no give in them. How I expected to throw myself over a large inflatable pole in a pair of New Look’s finest super skinnies is beyond me. My nimble four year old whizzed round unencumbered by questionable fashion choices, wondering why his mummy was turning an interesting shade of purple.

Then, there was the disembarkation from inflatable mats to navigate. Some slides whizzed you onto huge inflatable pillows, which my son just climbed off. But such was the weight of his 40-something mum-in-questionable-trousers, said pillows sank quite considerably in the middle and left me flailing about on my back like an upturned beetle.

There was no choice but to get off these un-adult-friendly contraptions by doing an inelegant semi-backwards roll, landing me in a heap in a busy thoroughfare with children just itching to step on my head as they ran past.

All that being said, it was fun, and I would do it again. Might just have to don some gym-wear, sweat bands, and ask if Jet or Lightning might be free to train me first.

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The worst part of all parties was yet to come, though. The food. Not because it’s bad. The opposite in fact. Party food is the absolute best. Kids’ party food in particular.

Chocolate fingers eaten in the same mouthful as a cheese sandwich and crisps is a taste sensation. And when else are you likely to eat a pink wafer biscuit or cheese balls?

It’s all just so yummy, such a taboo treat, but that’s the problem – none of it is for you.

You have to sit there and watch, usually at a mealtime so you’re super hungry, while your children devour plate after plate of naughty treats knowing your only hope of sustenance is likely a rejected sandwich crust or, if you’re lucky, crisps that have a bit of squash spilled on them. It’s torture for grown ups!

With that in mind, seeing as it was my birthday at the end of last month I thought I’d better have a little party of my own to make up for it.

About 12 of my girlfriends popped out for dinner and drinks with me in Worthing. There was lovely food, gin, cocktails and company, but I sure would have loved a plate of Jaffa Cakes and sausage rolls!