Mr F and I just had pizza down in the square and, as the catalogue for the LL Bean Expandable Waistband Fall Collection has just been delivered we thought we’d really raise hell and buy ice cream for dessert.

We have been buying gelato at the same place for years. A 6 euro insulated vaschetta, to go. Four flavours. But Mr Igloo or Eskimo or whatever his name is has a new sales assistant. I’ll call him Beppe. According to Beppe you can only have three flavours in a 6 euro container, or six flavours if you don’t mind them being in doll’s tea party-sized amounts.

My husband pointed out that we have never before had problems fitting in four flavours. But Beppe wasn’t having it. ‘Can’t be done,’ he said, and we had a tense moment while he stood with his scoop in his hand. Then I sensed him wavering a little. Maybe a distant bell rang, something they teach you in Gelateria Sales School about the customer always being right. He started offering to remove half a scoop here and half a scoop there to accommodate my anarchic demand for a fourth flavour. Too late. He had already pissed me off mightily and anyhow, I didn’t want my amarena yogurt getting contaminated by Mr F’s malaga flavour. 

I dunno, Beppe. Maybe this is your first week on the job and you’re still a bit anal about portion control but hey, sometimes you have to take the road less travelled. You understand what I’m saying? Sometimes you just have to squeeze in that extra scoop. Fortune favours the brave.