It matters not how old you are, or how cool you think you look. When you drop the ice cream from the ice cream cone, you just stand there and look at it on the ground. The realisation creeping in that even if you go back and get another one, it would never taste as good. So you look at the cone, look at the scoop on the floor, look around to see if anyone is watching (they are) and stroll on dejectedly. Biting into the cone reminiscing about the strawberry and vanilla flavour (with sprinkles) and how it took you back to the days of carefree abandonment and youth. Your only thought, ‘FUCK!’
Sunday lunch today. Not the usual roast chicken and stuff, but a lamb (goat) kleftiko with stuff (it’s only been a couple of hours but I haven’t a clue what it was served with. I think the horrors of ‘ice cream gate’ are still messing with my mind. Now I know lambs are small and cute, but this lamb (goat) must have been fully grown (doesn’t that mean a sheep) the left over for me mates dogs would have fed a Palestinian family for three weeks if you believe the MSM.
My afternoon walk consisted of a jolly jaunt down to the harbour, only for me to get to the end (where they are building an open aired theatre ready for ‘Carmen’ at the start of next month) have a half litre of water then wonder back to my abode. Honestly, this not drinking shit and actually doing exercise is making me feel much better about myself and other things. Then the ice cream debacle sent me into an existential panic about life. Could be worse. Could be ginger!
Dec247h 
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