The local Mr Whippy has, for the past three years, timed his visits just as The Flipster was eating his dinner. Thanks.
We’d shut the windows and the front door in an effort to sound-proof the house but those dulcet tones would squeeze between the weatherboards or was it up through the cracks in the floor boards? He parks a few doors down, outside a house where no one ever seems to be refused ice-cream or required to finish their dinner, and sits and patiently waits. He’s in no hurry.
He’s turned up again this week but substantially later, or maybe he’s been held up with sweltering customers; what with the heatwave and all. The only way to stop The Flipster from leaping out of his bath and running naked and dripping into the street was for The Dutchman to go and retrieve an ice-cream and promise he would be allowed to eat it in the bath.
The perfect cool-down before bed; cold bath and ice-cream. And come to think of it, not such a bad combination when you see how much mess The Flipster can still make with a choc-top!