I love B&Bs!

Last week we hit the North to promote the new Topshop store in Manchester. Jimmy was like a foal let loose in the meadows, whinnying up the M1…or was it the M6? I have a terrible memory for roads and directions. Luckily I had good navigators and after several hours (quite slow lane-focussed) we arrived in Wilmslow where we were booked in to stay at Marigold House with Kate and Bernard. There was the darling Bernard all ready and waiting in the driveway, eager to get the van plugged in and us settled.


The place was immaculate. Gleaming and deeply domesticated. I was delighted to discover that Kate and Bernard’s neighbours might as well have been a Who’s Who of Weatherfield, past and present. There in the village shop as I assessed milk purchasing possibilities, were wall-to-wall signed photos gazing down at us: Jim McDonald, Steve McDonald (what’s happened to his hair?), Deniece and good old Ken Barlow. Back at the ranch Bernard poured us G&Ts and divulged tales of suburban intrigue amongst the locals. It felt safe and cosy and I was kind of relieved to be in a version of the countryside after so long in the city.


The job went really well with lots of Topshop customers thrilled to be being given free chocolate goodies. Elsewhere we traded our wares with builders for power and with the Manchester Eye workers for a ride on the wheel. I can’t believe how much the city seems to have changed…yet going for a spin round the old neighbourhood proved that some things never change. The city centre thrives whilst the surrounding areas sink into pot-holed decay.

It was great to have done the job and for everyone to have been happy with it. My first big out of town event - and here’s to many more.



After returning to London the following week was super-hectic. Lots of Easter chocolate fiends unleashing their desires at the van. Greenwich at the weekend was thronging with people and it was really good to discover quite a few making a special trip because of the piece written about Choc Star in the Metro on Wednesday. We scooped and shook ice cream until we were sold out of everything, then handed round the last few pieces of Millionaire’s shortbread, brownie shots and chocolate gingerbread men before heading home and diving into the bar round the corner for some heavy duty bourbon cocktails. Bliss.

Clutch control

I took the van down to the East Greenwich Market on Saturday. As I swung round Hyde Park Corner, over the Vauxhall Bridge and through the sunny streets of Peckham spring was clearly in the air. I counted three ice cream vans heading out that morning. Each shaking off their winter coats and rousing themselves for soft scoop glory.

After my summer 'market research' experiences I have been privy to the world of Mr Whippy and his sharp tongue, so it is always interesting to clock the faces of my fellow mobilers. Apart from a couple of really sorted looking guys up in Harlesden, the comradery seems a bit bleak. On this morning each ice cream man bore a kind of grim-faced determination to shift some cones and staunchly refused any 'wotcha's with me.

I sallied forth to Greenwich where the market had been set up in a kind of Blue Peter-style garden - all stiles and urban scrubland. Eddie the juice man volunteered to manouvre the van into my spot - essentially some bracken covered earth under a tree - I think he thought we'd be there all day if I did it. I'm actually alright at parking the van, but you know...sometimes there are all these blokes around and they kind of want to lend a hand and it was a bit of an awkward spot...

Before long the place was teeming with locals come to check out the new market. It was great! I felt like I was involved in a village fete. The bunting and the rolling for a pig game weren't there but it was as close as we were going to get so near to the Blackwall Tunnel.

I spent most of today sitting in traffic, listening to old tapes and trying to be as alert a driver as possible after my shock earlier in the week. On Monday I was involved in this really full-on road accident. I was on my bike - wearing my helmet for once - when a very hairy situation occured, rendering the two other people flat on their backs on the road, unconscious and me fine. It was the strangest thing. All kind of tripped-out and slow seeming.

Anyway, the point is, Jimmy needs a good run. He can't be dealing with all this stopping and starting and I'm sure I'm getting a thick left leg from the endless clutch-control. Next week we're heading to Manchester to do a job for Topshop so that should do it. Can't wait to get on the open road!