The ice pole cometh

ice poles

As the hot weather persists, so the reward of a lolly after a sweltering commute becomes attractive.

Yesterday I bought a Fab.

I was, however, disappointed on two fronts: first, they don’t cost 6d anymore and nor, on the wrapper, does it feature Lady Penelope (the woman who invented the word and spelled it out every episode except the one where Alan takes Tin-Tin up the Round House – a scene subsequently deleted by censors).

For me, a lolly isn’t a lolly unless it features a Gerry & Sylvia Anderson puppet on the front.

As a kid growing up in south London in the sixties my lolly of choice was a Jubbly (I’d like to say Mivvi, but that was only available if you were posh and rich).

A Jubbly was three old pence, but each time you bought one you’d forgotten that the juice only lasted for about 5% of the devouring. 95% of the remaining time you were sucking on a pyramid of ice.  You might as well have visited a newsagent in Trondheim rather than one in Tooting!

Ice poles were better value and, if you were trained in sword swallowing, you’d appreciate 100% of the available juice.

These days there is far greater choice – especially since salted caramel was invented. The danger of these excessive options is, you open the freezer chest and, by the time you’ve scanned the contents, inspected the likely e-numbers and wondered if you really would like a Cola-flavoured Calipo, the freezer is on its way to defrosting.  If this happens you’re going to have to find another newsagent to buy your lottery ticket in.

I understand Linda Lovelace was a fan of ice poles (whoever she was).

 

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