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Timothy Lea. Confessions of an Ice Cream Man
CONFESSIONS OF AN ICE CREAM MAN. Timothy Lea
CHAPTER ONE. In which Valentina, an Italian ice cream lady, nearly garrots brother-in-law Sid and proffers exquisite retribution to Timmy after an unpromising beginning
CHAPTER TWO. In which Valentina’s mum arrives and an unexpected love idyll is rudely interrupted
CHAPTER THREE. In which Timmy goes to buy some ice cream tricycles and meets dissatisfied, passionate Pam
CHAPTER FOUR. In which Sid unveils his unique vehicle for selling ice-cream and the family attend a taste test of the first batch of Mum’s ice cream
CHAPTER FIVE. In which Timmy goes down to the library to get some Italian ice cream leaflets translated and becomes involved with Tina and Clare who have come under the Italian influence
CHAPTER SIX. In which Timmy prepares to go out on his first sales foray
CHAPTER SEVEN. In which Timmy bumps into Mrs Betty Gregson on the job and is forced to do naughty things with her by a kinky and mistrustful husband
CHAPTER EIGHT. In which Timmy makes an ice cream action painting with an uninhibited lady called Sybil who has an artistic bent and a desire to experiment
CHAPTER NINE. In which Sid gets the ice cream concession at the Clapham Open Tennis Tournament and things start to go wrong
CHAPTER TEN. In which things continue to go wrong and get even worse when Sid and Timmy find themselves closely involved with Mrs Brewer and her sensitive daughter, Henrietta
CHAPTER ELEVEN. In which Sid prepares to exhibit at The International Ice Cream Manufacturers’ Great Exhibition
CHAPTER TWELVE. In which everything hinges on the result of the competition for the best ice cream
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Tina is kneeling in front of Clare and leaning forward threateningly and I sense that aggro is but just split seconds away. In such an explosive situation a man has to stay cool, I think fast, and arrive at a split-second decision. I reach for my y-fronts and start to pull them on. If you start by saving yourself that’s always one life on the credit side.
‘You ! ! ! ! –’
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‘Big game ’unting?’ says the bird, her eyes widening.
‘“Noggett of the North,” they used to call him,’ I say. ‘The very whisper of his name used to start the caribou migrating. He could shoot the centre out of a washer at twenty paces.’
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