We installed an 8ft trampoline in our Cambridge room and it went like this…

Trampoline springs are the only things creaking in this Mathmo’s bedroom

POV: Due to a quirk in your college’s ballot system, you end up with a room so big it feels illegal, and you’re a mathmo whose abilities to decorate a room are on par with your social skills.

This is what happened to my college husband, Theo, and I just couldn’t sit and watch him cover all 32 of his floor with paper that had been desecrated with equations on behalf of the Mathematical Tripos.

I knew that I, as his current spouse, had to do something, so I set out to fill his room with something big, bouncy, and budget. An award-winning documentary has been made to record this daring undertaking, which you can view below.

Meet Theo, my mathmo husband

After many sleepless nights of work, or what Cambridge students simply call “nights”, I conjured up the second-best idea I’ve ever had: a trampoline. (Obviously, the best idea I’ve ever had was to start using Anki flashcards: nothing can beat those bad boys when it comes to efficient studying).

Anyway, I rallied the housemates and channeled my inner communist to convince them that we must all contribute towards this trampoline, or else we aren’t true friends. Even Kieran, the closet-Tory and UKIP-sympathiser, agreed to join the cause.

Once everyone had agreed to sacrifice their student loans towards the cost of a trampoline, we commenced our search. Having browsed all the prestigious auction sites, such as Christie’s, Sotheby’s, eBay, and Facebook Marketplace, we discovered that we had a serious problem.

Trampolines were readily available, but transport was not. What good was a £10 trampoline if it was as far away as London, Australia, Narnia, or even Girton? This severely limited our options. However, after some perseverance it seemed like we had struck gold; one of our housemates found a nearby trampoline on Facebook Marketplace for only £15.

This housemate, who I won’t name because he had the audacity to give me coronavirus last term, purchased it immediately. 

Unfortunately, we soon realised that what he had actually purchased was a trampoline cover and not a trampoline itself. On an unrelated note, the author of this article would recommend reading beyond the first word on a listing when you’re purchasing something.

Giving me coronavirus is regrettable, but giving me false hope about purchasing a trampoline is something I’m not sure I can ever forgive.

Anyway, we move. We continued searching for local, cruelty-free, and free-range trampolines, and I was starting to feel as if all hope was lost when finally, we found it.

She was eight foot wide, in good condition, and only a 10 minute drive away. Furthermore, the listing was free and therefore within our Conservative budget. After inquiring and discovering that the trampoline was still available, we were overjoyed and arranged a time to pick her up, getting our friend, who mysteriously has a car in Cambridge, to give us a lift. 

When the time finally came, we drove to the seller’s house in a car that has since been converted to scrap metal (rest in peace Paulo, you’ll make excellent cutlery for Peterhouse), and eventually found the address. Much to our joy, the trampoline was already packed up, and we proceeded to swiftly load it into the car, thanking the enigmatic seller, who told us she also got the trampoline for free from someone else. Ah, the circle of life. Or in this case, the circle of trampoline.

Not sure Mufasa would be able to fit on here

We drove back to my place, dumped the trampoline in the corner of the garden, and then kind of left her there for a few weeks so that she could acclimatise to her new home (i.e. we forgot about it). 

When lockdown hit, and the last shred of our will to study evaporated, we decided to give the trampoline a good-old scrub, let her dry, and then transported her into Theo’s infamous bedroom/hangar. 

Our dream was finally being realised. We were ready to assemble the trampoline, which we had named Maddison by then, and that’s exactly what we did. While Theo sat on his computer and simultaneously played four games of online poker like an absolute degenerate, we assembled Maddison, and in less than an hour she was ready to go.

Hard at work vs. hardly working

It was time.

The magnificent trampoline was ready for her first bounce in her new home, and of course we agreed that Theo should go first. IThe look on Theo’s face after his first bounce was unforgettable; I hadn’t seen him smile since a girl last acknowledged his existence – and trust us, that was many, many, many moons ago. 

The trampoline was big, but not so big that it obstructed the room, and did exactly what we intended: it made Theo happy, and for that, we will be forever indebted to it. 


Watch me and the boys bounce with each other in our Youtube video, here:


This is based on a true story. Nobody was injured and no damage was done in the making of this article. Trampoline was purchased in October when it was legal to carpool, and COVID-19 safety precautions were taken.

Also, my housemate Kieran claims to vote Labour.

All images are the author’s own

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