Written by Lydia in Sentimental Sundays

Our maternal side of the family come from Jersey in the Channel Islands and almost every summer as children we would go to the island. As you know, food runs in our DNA and so family meal times were a big deal. Enormous amounts of food was devoured in one sitting and the ‘grown ups’ would go to extraordinary lengths to cook something different for us all each night of our stay.

Raiding the freezer at Aunty Gail’s for tubs of ice cream was a favourite choice for dessert. One particular variety that has been seared into my memory was rainbow ice cream. Striped ice cream with pastel ‘rainbow’ colours, though I never remember lurid green and  lucozade orange in the colours of the rainbow song. Think Joseph’s Technicolor dream coat meets a cheap, white plastic ice cream tub, no less than 4 litres deep.  It was too soft and scoopable, flopped into bowls and quickly started to melt into a sticky, multicoloured soup. It was the type of ice cream that just reeked of scientist concocted ingredients.  I am sure my brother would tell you otherwise, but it was revolting. Even at a young age I took no pleasure from eating something so sickly sweet and confected with pithy orange and lime green, candyfloss pink and palm of violets purple flavoured, striped ice cream. The taste would ruin whatever next choice of ice cream you had opted for next.

It certainly created a girl and boy divide. The men would usually finish the whole tub between them, forget the bowls, all spoons in. I can still see my little brother with melted ice cream dripping down his chin.

Disgustingly marvellous.


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