All right, I admit it! I have thought long and hard, planned, schemed and fantasized about killing the ice cream man or at least seriously injuring him or possibly just puncturing his tires. I swear these guys have some sort of child radar, and with their Black Cab like "Knowledge" are aware of the residences of every child in the neighbourhood. There are two or three different ones near me who scan the houses for primary coloured curtains and scour the streets for hungry little munchkins and then follow them to their place of abode. Unfortunately then, they never ever ever forget that this is the home of small people who will willingly ingest frozen sugar in any form and aren't the least concerned about it's origins. Then, the next time he's making his rounds, he'll sit out front of my house playing his seasonally inappropriate song "Greensleeves" whilst I instruct my little ones to not even glance out the window else they be sent to Brat Camp for the summer. I tell you what would send me diving under the sofa cushions for loose change a snack mobile driven on reused vegetable oil hawking fair traded, organic frozen confections that don't make me shudder when my children scoff them down. I will spare the lives of all ice cream men and women if they heed my call and stop parking in front of my house in the hopes that my kids will eagerly stuff themselves with frosty E numbers. Nice Cream Van anyone?