I should have gone to church today;
I thought I heard the bell,
and then I saw the ice cream van
and off the Walls I fell.
The lady driver of the van –
‘Van Illa’ is her nom de glance,
we’re all in love with her,
she’s such a sor bet lass.
She saw my tubby tall figure fall
and Whippy’d round to care.
Ice creamed on that street cornet,
I thought I’d flake out there.
I neither rum or raisin know
What caused this frightening turn.
I roared a roar as Lions Maid
and caused a ripple of concern.
I weekly wafered to the crowd,
which now was choc-a-bloc;
“I’m quite OK!” I called out aloud,
the crowd, like me, in shock.
Van Illa gave kiss of life-
The folk could see the humour.
For she has been for twenty years my wife –
I’d butter scotch all rumour!
She telephoned the ambulance
but she (it comes as no surprise)
pressed ninety-nine, not 999,
“The number is not recognised”.
I struggled to my feet again,
let that be to me a warning:
that rocky road has hurt my Softee parts.
To church I’ll go next Sundae morning.