Dim's Write Stuff

You might know him or her as Mr Whippy , Super Soft Server, the Ice cream Man. What ever your moniker for these wickedly delightful interruptions to your Sunday afternoon, one thing is for certain; the Mr Whippy Van is a prime example of how the more things change, the more they stay the same . I remember waiting, barefoot and singleted, at the fence of our front yard in Townsville many dozens of moons ago, for the Mr Whippy van to appear. I'd been listening to the plaintive peel of Greensleeves for what seemed like hours, gradually getting louder and no less doleful as the van crept through suburban streets closer and closer to our front yard. The mere sound of  of the melancholy tune sent the neighbourhood kids into frenzied rapture. Mum. Mum. Dad. HURRY, Mr Whippy is coming. No body wanted to miss out on a soft serve ice cream. I can't remember if flake bars were around in those days. They might have been. I do recall the sometimes choking exhaust f...