Ice cream

I have been into town with Tiger and she forced me to buy an ice-cream maker. She dragged me to John Lewis and marched me up the escalater. I did not even get the luxury of standing there, sagging over the handrail while I get carried upwards and can rest my ancient feet. No. I get told to get up the stairs jolly quickly or there'll be trouble.

And if that wasn't bad enough she whizzed off to the cookware department on the second floor and found the ice cream makers and refused to move. In fact she stood there and shouted loudly to the coffee demonstrating woman that she needed some help with the ice cream makers and be flipping quick about it because she has another appointment in half an hour and this time she's not going home without one.

After about five minutes of Tiger shouting and the coffee demonstrating woman looking a bit uneasy, a nice young man arrived and Grit, sorry, Tiger, demanded that he told her all about them, and what you do, and how you can make delicious chocolate ice cream, and you can use soya products too, you don't have to use any of that cow-killing stuff if you don't want. Then Tiger started drooling a bit and grabbed one in an unseemly haste, dribbling, 'It's mine and I'm going to have it. Get your hands off it.'

Within ten minutes she'd forced me to pay for it and then marched me back down the escalators to get it home. I did not even get a chance to hover about by the faux fur throws and gloat about the fact that I got a John Lewis one on ebay for a tenner, and absolutely gorgeous it is too, if only Shark would stop rolling about in it pretending to be eaten by a grizzly bear.

Now we're at home, and I'm going to give Tiger a big telling off about behaving so rudely in John Lewis, and especially about pushing in front of the old lady at the queue to pay so she could shave five minutes off the time she could get back home and unwrap her new lovely present to herself.

But first, I'm going to make ice cream.