Mr Whippy

Since I have returned form the first leg of my splendid journey, I have acquired a new confidence that was admittedly slightly dormant beforehand. I find myself talking to people on the street like I think I'm in bloody New Zealand, where it is common practice.

It would probably be common here too, if we all gave it a go more often. Try it. Next time you are passing someone in the street say, 'Lovely day. I hear Homebase is having a sale next week,' or words to that affect.

The rewards could be unbounded, as I found out when I conversed with Brian, while walking the dog on sundae.

'Cracking day. They say parsnips are supposed to be the new super food.'

'Do I know you? Nice hair by the way.'

'Good Lord, its you Brian, the ice-cream man. I didn't recognise you without your Funny Feet.'

And it was. It was Brian the ice-cream man, still alive and well after all these years. Brian used to do the local round when I was a young boy, and was without doubt a bit of a nutter. He was a few 'hundreds and thousands' short of a Fab to be honest.

I remember once, back in the day, playing at the bottom of the road. About five of us were sat on the pavement, probably melting ants with magnifying glasses, when Brian in his ice-cream van came tearing round the corner in stealth mode (he'd turned his Greensleeves music off). He mounted the pavement and tried to mow us all down for a laugh. I recall throwing myself over a garden wall, as the yellow modified transit bumped over the kerb, with Brian inside, absolutely pissing himself.

Happy days!

He knew us all well, as we spent a daily small fortune purchasing his chilly goodies. We were such good customers, I had the amazing honour of him parking right outside the house. Our cheek and abuse granted him the permission to try and run us over from time to time. Some of the boys also used to hang onto the back of his van as he drove off. They were on skateboards at the time, so would be propelled at speeds you would expect to make the wheels explode. If he saw them in his mirror he would go even faster.

Anyway. This chance meeting with Brain has provided me with an opportunity, most young lads could only dream off. He still does his rounds (though he says all this modern politically correct heath and safety shit, prevents him from attempted murder on the pavements these days) but was off into hospital for a couple of weeks to have his cones removed.

I told him I was about to head off for Canada, but wouldn't be going for a few weeks, as I have to wait for my mother to return from her travels (we are like a family of gypos) so I can leave the dog with her. Then and only then can I sod off again.

'So are you working at the moment?' he enquired.

'Well, technically no. But if someone clicks on an advertising banner on my website I do get paid. I made 15p yesterday. Does that count?'

'You could have bought a Mini Milk in the good old days for that. So you are free for the next couple of weeks?'

'Again, technically yes. But I have to look after the dog.'

'The dog will like it in my van'

'You are gonna take my dog in your van?'

'No, you are gonna take your dog in my van. How do you fancy doing my rounds while I am at the mercy of the NHS'

'ME? An ice cream man. You are f##kin joking Bri? Alright then.'

So, before you could say Neapolitan, I had become an Ice Cream man.

'Do you still sell Benson & Hedges from under the counter Brian?'

'Nope, that particular diversification ended after I got caught outside Olchfa.'

"So, I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin by. See now all my flavours are guaranteed to satisfy."

Who would have thought it ay? You never know, Brian might not recover and I could become a permanent purveyor of 99s. Its a ruthless business though. Who can forget the ice cream wars in Glasgow. Lolly Gobble Choc Bombs, Zooms and Orange Maids being used as lethal weapons. Several killed. One by a well aimed cornet.

A brief tour of the van and I'm all set to go. I sometimes think I was born without ambitions. Just happy to be alive like. But a long lost ambition re-surfaced on seeing the magical vehicle. I always wanted to go in the back of an ice cream van. They would look so amazing from outside, but as mere mortals were also kept at bay by that sliding glass window.Nowhere else will you see the unique and magical wallpaper you get on the inside roof of an ice cream van. Tremendous. I distinctly remember recreating the magic of being an ice cream man as a child.

I used the street sign. I would stand behind it and my customers would choose which frozen delight they would like by pointing to a letter, reconstructing the selection of a lolly on a real ice cream van, when you would point at the sticker on the glass window. The 'W' was always popular. But, the 'Howells Road' sign never lasted long, as it was frequently broken off and used as a ramp or a club. They gave up replacing it in the end. This only gave me the excuse to upgrade to a new 'van.' There was a new selection when I got behind 'Cyncoed Close,' and my customer loved it.

I have a worrying feeling there is something more to being an ice cream man than meets the eye. Something mystical. I could almost be selling my soul to the devil. Never ever being able to leave my van, until I pass it on to some unsuspecting stranger on the street. I thought Brian was looking well for his age. As if he had been kept in a cryogenic state due to spending most if his life in a mobile freezer.

Frozen in a perpetual purveyance of upside down daleks, with bubblegum at the bottom. Trapped between the four Walls.

What have I done?

Well stop me and buy one anyway and as the sign on the back says look out for cross children. They'll be the ones I've tried to run over.