In dire need of ice cream, I slunk out of the flat at 8pm, almost took a wrong turn and fell 21 floors to my certain doom, but luckily checked myself before I wrecked myself, and took the lift down instead. Then I walked up South Bridge Road to Adler’s, a hostel in the middle of Chinatown.
I’d gone there not because I needed a room for the night, desperate to escape the yells of my daughter, but because they sell ice cream sandwiches for $6 a go, surely a mark of moral collapse on my part. If you need to pay somebody to put two cookies around a splodge of ice cream, you may very well need to reassess your lifestyle choices. But I was feeling kind of low, and I needed a bump.
The ice cream sandwiches are very good, if created by a company in Singapore rather than handmade in Adler’s hostel. There’s also nobody on the desk at the hostel, although a woman raised herself from slumbering on a sofa at the back of the lobby and took money from me. I didn’t get a receipt and I don’t know if she even works there, or just saw the opportunity to make an easy buck, but I paid somebody for my ice creams, at least.
They might be overpriced, but at least there are some interesting flavours. I had a toasted marshmallow ice cream, squashed between two brown sugar biscuits, while my wife had Earl Grey between lemon wafers. Our consensus is that the marshmallow flavour wins. The Earl Grey tastes interesting, I’ll give it that, but your palate tires of the novelty long before the ice cream is over.
I’m meant to be eating more healthily. I have a blender now, for goodness’ sake. And I suppose I lasted a good day and a half without pigging out. But it’s damned difficult to stick to resolutions when there’s ice cream so close…