Mr Whippy tried to kill me

Have you ever walked across the road and thought “I’ve got enough time to get to the other side before that car reaches me”, but then you get halfway and you’re filled with a moment of panic that you might not make it and that you’re going to die there and then?

I did that today; with an Ice Cream van. A Mr Whippy “doo doo doo be doo” ice cream van.

The giant flake on top looked menacingly at me. I sped up my footsteps, hurrying, my butt wiggling from the sheer acceleration (anyone who does Zumba will know this feeling exactly – the one where you realise all that hard work dieting and exercising has been wasted. If I’m truly honest though, I mainly thought this because I was pushing the pushchair with one hand and chowing down on a blueberry muffin that I held in the other.)

My mind went into overdrive. I had a mission impossible moment where I mentally visualised myself thrusting the pushchair quickly ahead of me so that it parked itself perfectly at a complete standstill at the safety of the pavement. I’d do a ninja jump and land, both feet firmly planted, on the bonnet and stare into the eyes of the podgy driver, his face an expression of utter shock, and (of course) a certain degree of admiration. I’d then say “next time, drive more carefully” in my superhero voice and wink as I hop down, grab on to the pushchair and go along on my merry way, a skip in my step.

Nothing quite so exciting happened however. The most interesting thing was that when I got home, walking up the steps to our front door, I turned to see Noah lick the outer wall. He giggled. I had no response.


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