Bull efforts at writing stuff to different styles, for a training day. Why lose it?
Ice cream used to be simple. The kid got cream, Ma froze it, then Pa hawked it around the streets. When he ran out, it all started again. But it’s numbers that sell the ice-cream now; ice cream’s lost that homely warmth. And Dean Freeze is one of the generation of chilly entrepreneurs making an ice-cool fortune from that familial failure.
“What do you think about Ovaltine?” asks Local hero Dean Freeze. He’s making it big in Ice Cream. Bristol boy Dean is Managing Director of Luxury ice cream, a five-year old firm based here in Bath, employing 200 people.
Dean Freeze is a big shmuck. With his cheesy blondness and slick mcchick hair, I really hate him. He doesn’t know this. He wouldn’t understand if he did. His mouth’s moving as I write this, and words are coming out, but who cares? It’s just a string of platitudes.
Did my buddies die in Angola for this? So I could hear blondie here warble his merry way about frozen milk. I mean frickin Ice-Cream, who gives a toss to be honest. There are people starving in Namibia, and this hefty piece of polished shit, this burnished turd, is mouthing off about how he’s moving into the super-market.
“Nobody wants Maraschino Cherry Surprise” he poots. Damn straight. “We’ll keep coming up with new flavours. What do you think about Ovaltine?” I think it’s a great drink, I think it’s healthy, and so on, but I really can’t see what that’s got to do with a big tub of lard. I’m talking Mr Freeze now, not the ice-cream.