We All Scream

I like to think I have many talents. Today I learnt that eating an ice cream cone with anything approaching dignity is not amongst them. It started well. Me and the better half were enjoying a preamble along Seaburn beach and decided to round off a pleasant morning with the ingestion of frozen treats. The problem started when I became aware of the tell tale drip--drip-drip of melting on my hand. I tried to ignore it, but the trickle soon became a sticky torrent, coating my hand and making the cone soggy. There then followed a very real  moment of terror when I realised that the structural integrity of the cone was fatally compromised and urgent action was required - not shortly, not in a moment - but right this fucking second. Dutifuly I rammed the thing into my mouth, managing to get ice cream and monkey blood over my chin, cheeks and nose in the process. I was no longer deriving any actual pleasure from the thing and attacked the rapidly disintegrating mess with a frantic mechanical motion, a look of grim determination that I suspect was completely inappropriate for the task in hand. Luckily me and the missus (who incidentally encountered  no such problems) were in a place where no one else could see me make a spectacle of myself, otherwise I suspect I would be single right now.