Mrs Whippy Read Free Page A

the hot, sweet tea and allowed it to slidedown my throat. It instantly calmed my nerves. I was afraid to close my eyes in case I fell asleep. I felt completely worn out.
    There was a bang on the door.
    â€œEmelda!” came the shout from the young supervisor. “Back to work, break’s over,” she snapped. “There’s a line of people waiting at the till.”
    â€œYes! OK!” I replied, jumping and spilling hot tea over my hand. I forced my swollen feet into my shoes. I put the hardly touched cup of tea back on the table and hobbled my way out to the shop floor.
    It was only eleven o’clock.

Five
    Why do I love ice-cream so much? It’s not just the taste I like or the soft, creamy texture. I appreciate ice-cream like a wine drinker appreciates a good glass of wine. Like wine tasting, ice-cream appreciation is not just about drinking or eating it. To experience the true flavour you need to pay attention to your senses. Sight, smell, touch as well as taste.
    The colour of ice-cream can tell you its origins. I’m not just talking aboutbrown for chocolate and white for vanilla. I’m talking about rich homemade ice-creams with juicy raspberries, strawberries and blackberries.
Real
ice-creams that don’t have artificial flavourings. Ice-creams that don’t come straight from a factory and into a tub. I’m talking about ice-creams made in someone’s kitchen from organic ingredients and freshly grown fruit, filled with natural flavours. Tangy orange, bitter lemon and country brown bread ice-cream.
    Gourmet ice-creams have the right thickness and consistency. The texture on your tongue can be balmy or harsh. Does it give a refreshing zing to the edges of your tongue, enough to make your mouth water? The ideal touch is a mellow softness that leaves a velvety feeling in your mouth. Like the perfect kiss.
    When I taste it I take small spoonfuls, like wine tasters take small sips of wine. I leave it on my tongue and allow my tastebuds to get to work. Sometimes it doesn’t taste as the aroma leads you to expect. Sometimes the aftertaste is different. Most importantly of all, and the point I’ve been making about ice-cream, is what is the memory evoked by the ice-cream? Not only on your palate but in your mind.
    You’ve already heard my memories. Childhood days on the beach, wedding days, garden parties, romantic dinners and perfect kisses. Well, I have a new and fresh taste in my mouth to represent a new and fresh memory. Here it is.
    I returned from my first day of work and collapsed onto the couch. As soon as I sat down I was sure that I would never, ever stand up again. The more Isank into the couch, the more it seemed to wrap itself around me. It held me tight and hugged my body and I felt loved. By a couch. The phone rang and I ignored it. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even make my way to the kitchen for some ice-cream. That’s how bad the situation was. All I could feel was shooting pain running up and down my legs, my arms and my back. Packing bags was proving to be very hard work.
    Just when I thought that not even an earthquake would move me from my spot, I heard a sound that made my heartbeat quicken. It was the tinkling music of the Mr Whippy van. It got louder and louder as it came nearer and nearer to my road. My heart beat so loud I was sure my neighbours could hear it.
    Grabbing my bag from beside me, I forgot my pain and jumped up like athirteen-year-old who had just spotted Colin Farrell. As I opened the door I saw at least fifteen children running excitedly toward the van. And there he was. Mr Whippy himself, standing at the window, smiling proudly at the approaching crowd.
    I joined the back of the queue, feeling like a child. For once in my life it was the man that was having this effect on me and not the ice-cream. What age was he? Early fifties at least, I guessed. He had brown, leathery-looking skin, like he had just been away on