Maltesers Ice Cream

I've just bought myself an ice cream in a nod to the nice weather. Actually, I'm wearing sandals, sunglasses and a t-shirt and spent the lunch-hour sunbathing, so I'm doing as much nodding as that dog in the adverts that used to have the voice of Vic Reeves but stopped having his voice when Vic Reeves was found guilty of killing a bulldog and then leaving the scene of the crime. It's a Maltesers-based ice cream, but rather than go for the brave step of a giant spherical lump of honeycomb covered in rapidly melting icecream that you have no means of holding without getting covered in ice cream, instead they've gone for what amounts to a choc-ice on a stick. I'm disappointed, to be frank, but impotent in my rage. I'm not going to complain to Masterfoods, because their name intimidates me, so I'll rage impotently here, thank you very much.

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In contrast to me, the man in front of me in Londis was buying ten loaves of white bread and ten packets of sausages. I wanted to ask him whether he was hosting a sausage sandwich party, or whether he was buying his week's ration of food, but then the thought that this man might only ever eat sausage sandwiches made me feel sad, and I didn't. Also I'd just got Axel F stuck in my head thanks to that stupid frog, which was quite distracting.