It had been another tough day for Paul. Sales were down and his future was looking bleak.
Life for the humble ice cream vendor was a constant struggle.
He was sitting with Miss Mary, the tattooist, who was also having a difficult time as well.
He often sat with Miss Mary and her assistant Lenny the Needle. Together they lamented their choice of occupation in a world so rapidly changing.
‘It’s a hard game,’ Paul said to her as they sat sharing a double peaches and cream.
Paul’s whole family had been in confectionary. Father, fathers father all that sort of thing.
Family tradition was important he wanted to believe.
As it was the bicycle driven cart was the one built by his grandfather in 1928.
The only thing that had changed was the pricing on the front.
Right now Paul was facing the end of his time and he knew it.
There were stalls being set up all along the beachfronts with cheaper ice creams and greater variety.
He was on a new marketing strategy; he had to do something he thought.
Do you think the new uniform works? He asked
Morpethroad 