A Trampoline Rewoven

We once had a garden. Now we have two rabbits, Dusty and Lily, who have laid waste to one quarter of the the lawn. They are trying to burrow to Australia where they have been led to believe there are endless golden fields of carrots awaiting immigrant Chinese rabbits. I personally laid waste to another quarter of our garden some years ago by installing an all-weather table tennis table, which no one ever uses. It sits there, a dusty concrete testament to unshakable optimism. A third quarter is lawn which is enjoying its brief green spring, before it too turns to dust by summer's brutal end. Which leaves us with the fourth quarter, on which I ordered a trampoline to be installed. Not just any trampoline, but a trampoline made to measure.

The trampoline proved a huge success. But it's a harsh world out in that garden, and six years of acid rain and acid snow and desert sand took its toll, and a hole appeared. At which point we banned its use and sat and twiddled our thumbs for nearly a year, but that turned out to be not as much fun as jumping. So we contacted the company who had made the trampoline, which in every other way had proved solid as a rock. They were a little reluctant when we told them that it had been made to measure, but they took down the measurements, and eventually turned up with a new trampoline mat. It was far too small. They went away again and returned with a second new trampoline mat. Which was too big. They left, and this time took the old mat for purposes of comparison. Some days later,  they turned up with a third new trampoline mat. As soon as it was unrolled, we all agreed that it was too long. I went back into the house, and was surprised, an hour later, to find the trampoline installers still hard at work linking the trampoline to the springs at two sides of the frame. But it's too long, I protested. Never mind, says the supervisor, we've thought of a plan. We won't use springs at the two ends, we'll just tie it to the frame, that way it will fit. I thought about this. Have you ever done this before? I asked. The supervisor's face screwed itself into a grimace. He said nothing. In my mind's eye I could see the trampoline refusing to tramp or, worse, ripping as three children tried to bounce on a trampoline that simply couldn't bounce no matter how it tried. I shook my head. I said we weren't going to be the first to attempt this particular experiment.

There is a solution, of course, because this is China. And because this is China, the solution consists of a vast investment of manpower and a vaster investment of womanpower. The company dispatched three trampoline weavers to weave us a new trampoline mat on site. Which is an extraordinary undertaking. Three weavers have sweated over it for two full days. Well, when I say three weavers…. the supervisor sits on our plastic garden chair and smokes and plays with his mobile phone, and both my daughter and I have noticed that the one woman seems to do most of the back-breaking labour…. I've never thought before how a trampoline is made. Surely there are machines?  But some, at least, of China's trampolines are made like this. This company is a big supplier of playground equipment with a big glossy catalogue. The trampoline is two-thirds woven. When it is completed – another full day's work – it will be covered in a waterproofing bouncey glue. Two days later, it will be ready to use.

I recounted this tale (in briefer form) to a venture capitalist who is a friend, and commented that I would find it challenging to do business in China. He smiled as though he'd heard a million tales like this and said, 'It's all in the detail.'