Mr Whippy.

14 Nov

 

My parents would suddenly being to sing – LOUDLY. Sometimes they danced for extra effect. However, it never worked.  Once the van entered a 5km radius of my house, my super–sonic detection system would immediatley detect Mr Whippy’s favourite song- Greensleeves. Series of images flased through my mind….the the choc-top dipped vanilla ice-cream in a cardboard-like cone, the summer sun melting the ice-cream, my tongue as it wrestled to lick off the melting ice-cream half way down my arm…

After promising to clean my room & grabbing some gold coins..the race to Mr Whippy would begin. However, I never raced. No way. This is where I pulled my powers of the ‘Oldest sister’. As the Mr Whippy Van drove passed our house and around the corner…I would say “I’ll stay here incase he comes back around…you guys hurry up and run fast, otherwise we’ll miss out!”. It worked everytime. My two sisters, red-faced and out of breath would always deliver the goods. The three of us would then always sit on our drive-way savouring each lick!

 

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