Some people say that the first sign of spring is daffodils, others that it’s this Sunday’s vernal equinox. For most, it’s the annual tightening of the regulations regarding what the law calls “vehicles used to convey and sell perishable commodities”. That’s ice-cream vans to you or me.
So it has proved this week in Worcester, where the council has reduced the amount of time ice-cream vans can wait by any kerb from 20 to 15 minutes, prompting grumbles from pensioners who fear they won’t be able to walk over in time.
The laws around your local Mr Whippy are surprisingly stringent. Government guidance says they are not allowed to set up within 50 metres of a hospital, school or place of worship. The chimes cannot ring for “longer than 12 seconds at a time”, more than once every two minutes, at more than 80 decibels, or outside the hours of 12–7pm. In London in recent years, the Low Emissions Zone has meant that many drivers were forced to sell or scrap their vans and invest £50,000 in a new one. Insurance and a trade licence cost £800. No wonder the nation’s former fleet of 20,000 food-service vans has been reduced to a quarter of its former size in the past decade.
Yet, despite the encircling hassle, the life of an ice-cream van man can still be highly lucrative. When the weather is good, “iceys” can make up to £600 a day. It costs only about £100 a day to run one, so the profit margins are potentially vast.
Especially if drug gangs take over the vans and use them as a front for their wares, as happened in the mid-80s. The so-called Glasgow ice-cream wars culminated in the murder of vendor Andrew Doyle, who worked for the Marchetti ice-cream company.
At least that version of “ice-cream, you scream” isn’t something Worcester’s pensioners have to worry about.
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