Don't you just hate it when you're unable to enjoy a gloriously sunny autumn afternoon because you're sick in bed with a fluey bug and a fever? There I was last Thursday: lying on my bed in my pajamas, listlessly trying to watch a DVD playing on my laptop but unable to concentrate on the shenanigans taking place at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce... when I became aware of a faint jingly-jangly music coming from my open window. I hit pause on the DVD and squinted my ears, and gradually realised that the jingle-jangle was a sped-up recording of 'Greensleeves' and was getting louder, which could only mean one thing: an ice cream van was about to drive past my bedroom window.
Remarkably, it proceeded to park a mere twenty metres from my doorstep. "IT'S A SIGN!", my febrile mind deduced, and without another thought I grabbed some coins, thongs and my phone, aimed myself at the front door and lurched through it.
After the children in front of me had bought their ice creams, I stepped up and asked for a cone dipped in chocolate and nuts. The ice cream man cast his eyes down at my pajama pants and raised his eyebrows. When I explained that I was home from work sick, he not only wished me a speedy recovery but also added a flake to my ice cream cone FOR FREE.
Best sick day EVER.
