What time is it?

It's 3 o'clock precisely!

And how pray tell do I know -

because the ice-cream van known affectionately

as "Mr Whippey" has just disappeared up the turning opposite

on two wheels as if he had the hounds of hell at his heels.

 

This would appear to be some sort of a daily ritual

almost invariably accompanied by a very tinny version

of The Yellow Rose of Texas played at full blast

on his tannoy system. 

Stop me and buy one.

 

 

I should also add that today it's freezing cold and

there's a strong "Norfolk" wind blowing, so called because

it can't be arsed to go around you and so goes straight

through you chilling the bones on its way.

 

Why have I started singing "I'm dreaming of a white Easter"?

Stop it at once Julia or you'll talk it up.

The kids round here are really cute.

 

 

Back to Mr Whippey - as no one in their right minds

would really fancy an 3pm ice cream cone on a daily

basis what is the blaggard up to?

 

Could this be a novel, and I might add rather sinister, new

method of drug running?  Are there hoards of ice-cream

addicts living over the road?  Or does he have a secret

bit off stuff tucked away in one of the bungalows who

just can't wait to get her hands on his raspberry mivvie?

Such fun!

 

 

Fear not - I'm on the case and will be watching

from my mirador for further excitng developments.

There's something for everyone with Mr Whippey.