I don’t know why but the jangle of a Mr. Whippy ice-cream truck always makes me think of that clown from Stephen King’s IT. I know there is a horror story to do with an ice-cream truck driver and small children but can’t remember what it is it. I don’t want to remember what it is because we had our very own potential horror story right here on Sunday. I was in the garden when I heard the familiar jingle making its way around the neighbourhood, so did big ears my youngest. As anticipated he stamped outside to ask me if he could have an ice-cream., I used my favourite diversion tactic and told him to ask his father. He disappeared, and I carried on. A few minutes later I heard the most anguished of screams coming from the street side of our hedge. Had something terrible happened akin to the horror stories I mentioned earlier occurred? Nope, apparently Mr. Whippy had attempted to drive off before youngest son could order his ice-cream my elder son told me slurping on his choc covered soft serve five minutes later. Poor Mr. Whippy won’t do that again in a hurry.