When I think of my childhood summers, I think of Mr Whippy. I think of those familiar, distant Pavlovian chimes, carrying the promise of frozen, sugary goodness. I think of the zombified children sprinting across the common towards a tutti frutti Mercedes-Benz Sprinter. I think of 99 Flakes with all the toppings, of oyster delights half-dipped in chocolate, of plastic cones filled with radioactive-blue soft serve and gumballs…

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The ice cream van has been dying a slow death these past 30 years. In the halcyon era of the soft-serve automobile, it was estimated that there were more than 30,000 ice cream vans roaming the UK. Today, that figure sits at around 2,500, with some estimates as low as 1,500. 

If the ice cream van is a rare sight, its siren call is even rarer. Just last month, it was reported that vans in Rotherham, South Yorkshire, would only be allowed to play their distinctive chimes between noon and 7 p.m., with a minimum of two minutes between each 12-second burst. Many of these regulations are already national policy, but the proposals would give the local authority stronger control. I understand not having vans loitering outside of hospitals and places of worship, but some of these restrictions sound a tad Cromwellian. Either that or we’re........

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