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The only six ice-cream choices available to a child in the 1970s

TODAY’S kids, in addition to their bloody phones, can pick any f**king flavour ice-cream they want. When you were a child these were the options: 

Vanilla

To a generation, this was ice-cream. Bright yellow, simultaneously watery and oily, and in its soft-scoop version the invention of a young scientist named Margaret Thatcher, it tasted of nothing, was definingly bland, and was a top-echelon treat.

Strawberry

Pink version of above. The strawberry taste was sickly and disgusting but it was a sensation. You knew you’d had it. You’d boast about it at school.

Chocolate

Didn’t taste like chocolate but nothing chocolate-flavoured did back then. Drinking chocolate didn’t taste of chocolate. Chocolate biscuits didn’t taste of chocolate. Still, it was the right colour.

Neapolitan

Vanilla and strawberry and chocolate, all in one tub? Astonishing and only for special occasions, like your parents’ anniversary or a neighbour’s divorce. Allowed you to confirm they were all essentially identical, and to mix them together for a sweet, grey post-war reward paste.

Raspberry ripple

Blew minds. There are grown adults still reeling at their first encounter of vanilla ice-cream shot through – in picturesque ripples – with deep, flavoursome raspberry. How? Why? Was Thatcher involved again? Does eating this make me a scab? But God help me I cannot stop.

Mint choc chip

Unavailable to the general public for decades, only sold through specialists, this was your mum’s ice-cream of choice. Green, sophisticated, containing real chocolate, as adult as smoking in bed, as luxurious as Imperial Leather soap. An After Eight in frozen form, you imagined Princess Margaret would have one, in a bath. Too raunchy for the Queen.

You'd think I would have shut the f**k up, wouldn't you? By Russell Brand

‘ELLO mateys! You’d think I’d be keeping my head down after all that sexual predator malarkey, but rampant egomania don’t work like that! Here’s the truth as I see it: 

Soleros

Blessed as we are by the scourge of Icarus, I purchased the frigid be-mangoed coolant known coquettishly as ‘Solero’. As I cogitated at length on the voluptuousness of this harlot, this Venus, this tuppenny whore of the freezer section, it melted and fell off the stick. ‘Not again,’ I verbalised.

Kamala Harris

Ooh, my tweet that Harris is ‘the new pick in the bait n’ switch we are being offered in lieu of democracy… offering cutaneous and genetic novelty to secularist devotees’ has upset the old cart of Cox’s Pippins! What I’m saying is the Democrats aren’t radical even if she’s black. Perceptive for a deluded, tight-trousered conspiratorial narcissist, would you agree?

The obligatory conspiracy bullshit

The attempted assassination of Donald Trump? All the hallmarks of the Deep State. Not a dicky bird suggests any connection with the Deep State, which proves it. Can cracky-crack gunslinger Hunter Biden prove he didn’t purchase an AR-15 that fateful morning? I must continue to posit these perplexing posers while the Rumble revenues roll in.

I weep for the mother goddess Gaia

Every day I weep for the planet. Not literally, for I am liberal with eyeliner, but the Earth belongs not to us but to our children, our children’s children, and our children’s children’s children. It is ruminating in my bewhiskered noggin that no-one has ever said that before.

Ukraine

Zelenskyy continues his unprovoked and naughty attacks on peace-loving Russia, refusing to give back aggressively annexed territory, the cheeky so-and-so. But Starmer yet supports this warmongering Mussolini of the modern minute! How can anyone without excrement for a cerebellum hold a worldview so diametrically wrong?

The unsavoury allegations about your old mucker Russ

‘Why carry on when so deep in the shit?’ you may enquire. The answer is not my monstrous need for attention; it is to prove that, like Christ, I’m innocent. I’ve even been baptised so God’s pressed the moral reset button and I’m good now. I wouldn’t be surprised if He’s lining me up for second-in-command. Sorry Jesus, you had a good run.

How I’m learning to love MAGA

Many a year has passed since TV was queueing up to hand over wads of the old spondulicks, but as the man who f**ked the octopus said, there’s always another sucker. I like the look of these bumptious fellows in the red hats. They seem credulous and accepting, ready to dismiss past misdeeds as piffle. Share a platform, Donald?

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