So, on a recent Thursday evening we shook off our old lady personas (ok, my old lady persona and her normal outlook on life) and we found ourselves in the very trendy East London suburb of Dalston.
Divesting ourselves of most of our worldly goods (over to the coat check) we dove into said adult ballpit with the glee of young children. Acutally, to be completely factual, Sam dove as I did my usual slightly awkward princess wander.
Taking up the entire mirror-walled room with the level of the balls around mid-thigh, our first hour was simply messing about in the clear balls, attempting to break the world record for giggling selfies whilst the beat played on.
As the DJ started up, so did the psychedelic under-lighting that cast the room hues of neon. It felt like a proper rave - all around people were dancing, throwing balls at strangers, reliving their childhood dreams and grinning from ear to ear.
It. Was. Amazing. And ridiculous. Definitely ridiculous.
When you go (and it should be when rather than if) we'd definitely recommend booking an early timeslot because it gets busy, wearing trousers or jeans, having £3 in cash for the cloakroom (unlike me) and make sure that you stop in the bar afterwards to try a few of their fantastic cocktails. The balls are cleaned by their special machine but definitely wear clothes that you don't mind getting a little bit mussed.
A blogger's work is never done.
Did I get Big Bang Theory style childhood flashbacks (ala Sheldon Cooper)? Heck yes I did. The bar on the ground floor is just as quirky.
Hanging out at the GlowyMcGlow incarnation of the BallieBallerson popup was simply the best evening ever - leaving was really rather difficult.
Ooooooooh and did we mention that the bar is known simply as #? Cheers hipsters!
One day I'll grow up. Maybe. Probably not.