Bungee Jumping For Charity.

I have always believed that charity is one of humanity’s noblest impulses, right up there with holding doors open for strangers and pretending to understand the rules of cricket. 

But recently, charitable fundraising has taken a dramatic turn. No longer is it enough to run a bake sale or shake a tin outside Tesco. No, modern charity demands spectacle. It demands danger. It demands that ordinary people hurl themselves off high structures while attached to what is essentially a glorified elastic band.I am speaking, of course, about bungee jumping for charity, an activity invented by someone who looked at traditional fundraising and thought, “This would be much better if people screamed more.”

The idea is simple: you climb to the top of a crane, a bridge, or some other structure that was never intended for recreational use, strap yourself into a harness that appears to have been designed by a committee of overconfident spiders, and then leap into the void while onlookers cheer, film you, and occasionally shout helpful things like, “DON’T LOOK DOWN!” which is a bit like telling someone in a burning building not to think about fire.

I recently agreed to participate in one of these events, because I am a generous soul and also because someone told me there would be free biscuits. The organisers were extremely enthusiastic, in the way people often are when they are not the ones doing the jumping. They explained that the bungee cord was “tested to the highest standards,” which I assume means they once dangled a sack of potatoes off it and nothing catastrophic happened.The safety briefing was delivered by a man named Darren, who had the calm, serene expression of someone who has watched hundreds of people plummet off platforms and has become desensitised to the sound of human terror. Darren assured me that bungee jumping is perfectly safe, statistically speaking. I asked him what the statistics were, and he said, “Oh, loads,” which did not fill me with confidence.

Eventually, I was led to the jumping platform, which was located at a height best described as “illegal.” From up there, the world looked very small, and I realised that if humans were meant to be at this altitude, we would have evolved wings or at least longer legs. The crowd below waved encouragingly, though from my vantage point they resembled ants who had developed an interest in extreme sports.The moment of the jump arrived. Darren counted down from five, presumably to give me time to reconsider all my life choices. At “one,” I did what any brave, noble, charity‑minded person would do: I froze completely and made a noise like a distressed kettle. 

Darren, however, was prepared for this and gently nudged me forward, in the same way one might encourage a reluctant toddler to go down a slide.And then I fell.There is no dignified way to describe the sensation of bungee jumping. You plummet, you scream, you regret everything, and then just when you are certain you are about to meet the Earth in a very personal way the cord snaps you back up like a yo‑yo that has suddenly developed opinions. You bounce several times, each one accompanied by involuntary noises that will haunt you for years.When I was finally lowered to the ground, the crowd applauded, presumably relieved that they would not have to fill out any incident reports. Someone handed me a biscuit. I ate it while lying flat on the grass, contemplating my survival and wondering whether charity might be better served by something less perilous, like a sponsored nap.

But I will say this: bungee jumping for charity is unforgettable. It is thrilling. It is terrifying. And it raises money for good causes, which is the important bit. Just don’t ask me to do it again unless the biscuits are chocolate Hobnobs.