The Good, The Bad, and The Flakey

This afternoon, while debating the pros and cons of getting out of a warm bed I heard the distant call of the first Ice Cream van of the year, This seemed particularly bizarre juxtaposed with the snow falling outside my window. With nothing better to do it started me thinking about my brief career as an ice cream "man".

I would have been 18, and had just finished screwing up my A levels. I needed a holiday job, prior to going off to a University desperate enough to enroll me (That turned out to be a post Toxteth Riots torn Liverpool Polytechnic!). Most of my friends were working in various fast food joints at Alton Towers, who this year had declined to use my services. My dad spotted an advert for a job driving an Ice Cream round. I had passed my driving test only a few months earlier so it seemed the ideal way to earn money and hone my new skills! After the shortest of interviews, accompanied by my dad, and with some judicious lying about the extent of my driving experience I was taken on. I had to cycle the 8 miles to the depot in Uttoxeter. Ashmore's Ice Cream was known throughout our part of Staffordshire, and their Ice cream enjoyed a good reputation. I looked at the shiny curvy vans, with their colourful paintwork, parked in a row. There bodywork was curved and fluted to mirror the soft peaks of an ice cream cone. Inside the vans I could see the gleaming workings of the ice cream machines that would dispense with a flourish, a beautifully formed swirl onto each cone. Then I was shown my Bedofrd Ice Cream van... It was box shaped and bright blue. It seemed to be an unhappy marriage of fibreglass and wood. It was clearly never intended to be anything as exotic as an ice cream van. It looked as out of place against the modern vans, as a Rag & Bone cart in a royal procession. Even morre disappointingly there was no sign inside of a whippy ice cream machine, just some small chest freezers. There would be no flourishing for me. It was just deserts though. It was as close to being an ice cream van, as I was to being an experienced van driver. We were a good match. Thankfully, the first day I was to go out with Ian, who would show me the ropes. Ian was a few years older than me a didn't seem thrilled at the prospect of babysitting the rookieit was a bit like those buddy cop movies. He was the hard bitten, cynical, Ice Cream vendor, who had seen it all before. I was the young, eager, but naive rookie, with the idealistic view of the frozen dairy trade. This mismatched partnership could never work. However, just like Hollywood, by the end of the day, this couple found a grudging mutual respect.

It had been an easy enough first day. Ian showed me the route of my round, while I dispensed the ice cream at each stops. The ice cream was stored in tubs in the freezers, alongside the various ice lollies, and was dispensed by a common kitchen ice cream scoop. There was not much to learn about the range of wares. 2 sizes of cones, a shell shaped wafer, and a box of Cadburry's Flakes for the obligatory 99's. It may have been primitive and basic, by the standards of the Mr Whippy vans, but the quality of the ice cream made up for it. When the day was over I was confident I was up to the job.

The next day I was on my own. My previous confidence had deserted me. As low as it was it took a further dip as soon as I started out. The truth was the biggest vehicle I had driven up to then had been my dad's Ford Sierra. I managed to reverse the van exactly 12 feet before I hit the wall of the yard, denting the rear bodywork. I can't really say it detracted from the overall shabby look of the van. Anyway I managed to hit the road without hitting anything else.
Over the next week I got into the swing of my round. I also made the discovery that I had a choice of chimes. My van had an electronic chime, not quite in the usual tradition. I could choose from about 50 chimes, including some film themes. So that week I sold ice creams to the melodies of "Star Wars", "Superman", "The Great Escape", "The Magnificent Seven" and more innapropriately "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly". When I say sold ice creams, I may be exaggerating! The following factors were combining to thwart my efforts as an ice cream mogul. The weather was miserable for a January, and this was in June! My round consisted of a succession of picturesque , but sadly sparsely populated villages. My van did nothing to help attract customers, who were more likely to bring me their rubbish rather than rush out for an ice cream.. My vehicle was so mechanically unsound that I had to plan my route to where I could top up with water to stop the thing overheating. Every time the thing overheated the freezers failed, and the Ice creamtook on the consistency of lumpy sour milk! The one insurmountable barrier throughout, was me. I am no more cut out for a career in sales than I am for a career in ballet. Kids would come up to the van asking for a 99 with all the trimmings and then offer about half the price. As a one time fat kid (and now time fat adult) I always felt empathy with a fiscally deficient, slightly chubby, Ice Cream hungry kid. Of course this made no business sense. I was on commission and by the end of that first week, I had earned myself, barely enough, to keep a closeted TV teenager in tights! The boss showed me undeserved generosity and made my wages up, but I could tell he was regretting hiring me already.

The second week was barely an improvement. At one point a nice lady took pity on me and brought me out coffee and biscuits. I really thought she hadn't grasped the vendor / customer dynamic, but it was really sweet of her. Towards the end of the second week, fearing the sack, I turned to a more aggressive marketing strategy. I deviated off the route to my school town of Cheadle and parked myself on the school bus park, at final bell time. Although I actually did some starting business that afternoon, I incurred the wrath of the regular, and authentically Italian Ice Cream man, who's pitch was just around the corner. I was served with double cone of bilingual expletives with a sprinkling of Sicillian threats. I did think afterwards that he did have a point as this was his livelyhood and I would most likely spend my earnings on chocolate, tights and Lego. After that second week of poor sales, I decided my career in commerce was over and I quit.

The only things I had to show for my enterprise were a 10 Flake a day habit, and a collection of Italian swear words!

A Lego model of my van. Uncannily accurate apart from the fancy faring on the roof. Courteousy of the amazing http://www.brothers-brick.com/

A Joy-full Adventure

Fri evening after work I went for a meal with my friend Joy. I don't see enough of Joy. We've known each other for ages. Joy technically was the first person to see me wearing girls clothes! I reminded her of this and we started reminiscing about our Skye Adventure.

It must have been 15 tears or more ago. Joy myself and Peter Bamford (the friend with whom I shared a house) went for a week's holiday to the Isle of Skye. Now Pete was an avid and skillful rock climber. If you had met Joy or myself back then, you would very quickly realise that we were absolutely unsuited to mountains (or even hillocks!). It was supposed to be an exploring holiday so we left Pete to come up with the plans. One day he decided we should trek to the remote Loch Coruisk on the west coast of Skye. It was one of those fabulous bright and sunny Scotland May Days (May is best month up there, on a balance of sun/midges). The walk involved about a 5 mile walk through a well foot-pathed valley called Glenn Sligachan and then a scramble over a dip in the Black Cullins mountain range (The clue is in the word mountain!) The valley walk was fine, and the views stunning, with mountains either side. Then came the mountain "pass". It seemed to go on forever, every time we went over a brow another stretched before. Pete of course took it like a stroll. Joy was a little fitter than me and our party soon stretched over 50 yards. We did finally get to the top. I was shattered. It was at this point that I vowed as an ex Physicist, I would never fight the laws of Newtonian Physics or gravity. If god or whoever has decided that a bodies natural state is at rest, then I for one am happy to go along with that. However all the effort had been worth it. The view from the top will stay with me forever. We looked across the beautiful, stunning loch, to the White Cullins . I have never been quite convinced of the existence that a God or any other supreme being is in control of the random madness of the world. But, at that particular place at that moment in time the I could have been convinced very easily that this couldn't all have been put together by accident. My exhaustion disappeared into the vista before me. With smiles lit up by the sun and enhanced by the fact we were now heading downhill towards the loch. The route down proved to be very hazardous indeed. There was no real path, so we were scrambling over rocks, and sliding down scree. After half an our of effectively descending on my bum we made it. It was absolutely worth it and more. The loch was peaceful and at the same time dramatic.I have also never felt so remote and isolated before. We had passed a couple of walkers on our way, but down here there was no evidence of human existence at all. i loved that. As a born worrier it is nice to be released from that. There was nothing or nobody to worry about. (of course this lack of worry soon worried me!) Anyway we spent an idyllic hour by that loch. I was proud we had made it.

Coruisk from the Cullins, and Our "Green Leggings" Beach

Unfortunately we had to turn to thoughts of getting back. Joy and I started to panic. The route down had been so difficult we didn't think we could make it back up. Pete got out the map. He indicated there was another route. We could follow this footpath around the coast and then back up the original valley. It was significantly longer, but saved "mountaineering". We were happy with this. I t might also be more interesting. Our happiness soon disappeared on the so called "footpath". This was no more a footpath than I was a mountaineer!! We soon found ourselves plastered against a rock face edging as delicately as we could the sea crashing 50 foot below. I may be being slightly melodramatic, but I was scared. Pete of course took it in his stride, but he did help out on the tricky bits. On hindsight (the best of all sights) the fact that this path was called The Bad Step should have been a clue. We survived this baddest of steps, and found ourselves on a tiny beach. I had now developed other problems. All the scrambling and climbing had reduced my cheap Jeans to utter rags. They were literally falling off my arse. I was effectively naked from the waist down. However Joy was at hand. She for some unknown reason had a spare pair of leggings in her rucksack. So that is what I did. I sat on a remote tiny beach on the west coast of Skye and changed into women's green leggings. (I know you were waiting for the dressing bit!) They fitted Ok, apart from being "slightly" baggy round the hips! (sorry Joy). We set off again. My worry now, was that if we got stuck, I would be on the 9 o'clock news being winched into a rescue helicopter in Green Women's Leggings! We eventually made it round the headland to the far end of Glenn Sligachan, at a tiny settlement called Carmanasury.

The Bad Step, and Carmasunary

By now it was late afternoon and light was dusking. We doubted that we could make it all the way back up the Glenn in daylight, and it would be far too dangerous in the dark without torches! So we again looked for another plan (Plan C if your counting). There was a path of a few miles that would get us to the nearest road. This would have to to preferable. We set off again. I was now struggling again, due to my boots being the cheapest I could have bought. The fitted my feet in exactly no places! What I was walking on now was more part blister than foot. I soldiered (or hobbled) on. We made it to the road. It was by then pitch black, and very cold. We were also now about 15 miles away from our car by road. Time for Plan D! We flagged down the first passing car. They were very kind and offered to help us out. There was only room for one so Pete went along with them to fetch our car back. I have this memory of a very cold hour, by the roadside, Joy and I hugging each other for warmth. We eventually got back to our hotel in Portree via a bar at about 11 pm. It had for Joy and me been an amazing day, and as you can tell, 15 years later we can still recall it so vividly.

A View Across Loch Coruisk