I am aware that it is seemingly against the law in this country to make any kind of joke regarding bombs and airports online. It is a law that I find frankly ridiculous but in the spirit of understanding that site Managing Editor Tom Ewing has two young sons and could do without being banged up for 28 days at her majesties not inconsiderable pleasue, I shall not be making any jokes about such a think right now. When I refer to a Bombe later in this piece, it is an an Ice Cream Bombe, and no kind of explosion, beyond a taste explosion, should be inferred.

And anyway, you can’t get a Bombe in Luton Airport. You can’t get Mr Whippy, you can’t get a Magnum, a Two Ball Screwball, a callipo, a feast, a tub of Haagen Dazs, any amusingly titled Ben & Jerry punning ice cream, not even a four litre tub of Bejam’s White Vanilla, whose whiteness in a less enlightened day showed its purity from all artificial additives bar bleach. You cannot buy any form of Ice Cream whatsoever in Luton Airport. I know. I tried.

I had a flight delayed last week due to the DEADLY VOLCANIC ASH. nine hour delay, much of which I spent mooching around London on the wings of a slight air of fail. All the museums I thought of visiting were closed. The served my Malaysian Chicken Curry with far too many sliced red chilli’s in it (bearing in mind that in the twelve years I have eaten this dish, it has never had a raw sliced chilli in it, merely a nice heat to the soup). I walked and rumbled killing time, and thought I would have me an ice cream while I was waiting. But no, even better than that, I would hold off on the ice cream until I was in the tedious waiting area in Luton Airport. Skyside (as it is called) is not the biggest of airports but I thought one of the food stalls, or even old WH Smiths would have a wee chest freezer where I could get a Magnum.

I walked around and around the shops, marvelling at who exactly would buy those beefeater teddies (before seeing an Italian man buy three). There were no new interesting bouze flavours to note, no Bailey’s Bubblegum flavour (COPYRIGHT ME), but there was certainly no ice cream. And it was hot in there. The light, airy building was not all that airy and got its light from plastic corrugated windows which amplified the heat considerably. This was a building that needed ice cream. Perhaps it is a bit Western of me, but the European Convention On Human Rights must have a sub-clause on access to Ice Cream in an airport or other enclosed spaces where the police can legally carry automatic weaponry. That is the kind of quid pro quo I would sign on for (armed police with access to ice cream have a less itchy trigger finger surely).

In the end I had to have a Starbuck Mocha Frappucino, which is crushed ice with a lot of cream on top and thus NOT THE SAME. It cooled me down from the heat of the room, but not from the SEARING ANGER of not being able to get an ice cream. What would Lorraine Chase say?