It was my birthday on Tuesday and, for the first time I can remember, I spent it driving to work in a blizzard. I don’t like snow at any time of the year, but in March? Give me a break.
While my wife and son gaze happily out the window as the first flakes start to fall, I stomp around the house muttering about the injustice of it all and convincing myself that it will prevent me getting to work/football/pub.
Obviously, I exaggerate for effect; it’s never stopped my going to the pub yet.
Anyway, back to my birthday, as I battle my way through the elements, fielding a series of ‘Oops, I forgot’ texts as I go, what do I spot in the distance? An ice-cream van.
Fair play to him, he’s got to make a living but I wonder how many sales he made that day.
An ice-cream while lapping up the sun in the height of summer? Don’t mind if I do.
An ice-cream when the driving snow means I can hardly see two feet in front of me? I think not. That sort of occasion calls for a bowl of steaming chicken soup.
In fact, that’s an idea. Maybe ice-cream vendors could ply their trade throughout the year, dispensing 99s in the summer and cups of soup in the winter. Just a thought.