I'd never seen anything like it. It went by the name "Bouncy Pillow", was primary coloured, made of inflatable rubber and was about 30 foot by 20 foot, glowing surreally in a kids' fun park in the midst of the Ayrshire landscape.

It looked like a cross between a bouncy castle and a very large pillow, and my kids found its ludicrous lure irresistible.

Ten minutes later, however, I was lying stocking-soled on the grass, gasping for air, fighting the pain, shouting at my kids through gritted teeth to stop trying to hug me as I could not breathe.

Another five minutes of staring at the sky and imagining dying slowly of spinal wasting disease, I finally managed to stand with assistance.

Those who had been watching minutes before would have seen a very jolly, youngish-looking father bouncing ecstatically with his kids, pulling funny faces and striking geeky mid-air poses. They then would have witnessed the sudden epic disappearance of said father from the edge, heading at speed through the air towards the island of Arran.

I suppose I only have myself to blame. A sign that tells me "Adults please take care" is a red rag to my bullishness, or maybe to my sense of insult at the suggestion that I somehow cannot take care of myself.

Or even worse to my sense that even though I am close to 40, damn it – I can still be a big kid at heart!

The heart is OK, the neck and spine still a little sore. What's hurt more than anything is my sense of being invulnerable.

After landing on my neck, I had a little epiphany: if I don't face up to how old I really am, I could die in some ridiculous attempt to prove how young I am.

I can only imagine the funeral. The many suppressed giggles as the speeches try to avoid all words to do with me being a "fun guy" or having been a professional "high flyer".

Perhaps my friends, knowing that I never liked to take anything too seriously, would have selected 'Jump' by Van Halen as the soundtrack for my final voyage into the sky.

I have decided not to take the severe track and ban all family members from bouncing on anything. The solution is simple: I finally have to grow up. This is hard for me, as doing deliberately stupid things has for me and my peers been a sign of our anti-establishment rebelliousness.

Did I not at the age of 25 sneak onto a private golf club at midnight with two friends and a bottle of wine and play 10 holes with a tennis ball and a stick in the name of punk rock and anarchy?

Did I not once jump a fence with a girlfriend and make love on a bowling green in central London as passing cars honked their horns?

No, those days are over, from now on I shall have to face the world as a serious adult with responsibilities. No more the allure of the forbidden and the naughty. Next time I see a warning sign I shall do as I'm told.

Although, having said that, I did notice a fabby new 40 foot twisty slide in a park on the way out to Milngavie.