One morning I awoke in a *dignified* mood. I strode downstairs, got on my horse and rode off in search of.. One glass of orange juice. It happened again.

This time, what happened next was I came to some sleeping dragons, snoring fire. Green smoke, blue smoke then purple and gold. More purple and gold.

I was transported to a place in a parallel dimension called Woodford, where, in a memory of spring time, blossoms sang sweetly on the branches and the air was blue.

I was so thirsty, my throat was dry. All I wanted was an ice cream.. I longed for the ice cream. I could imagine it's incredible flavour and texture. Each taste would seem to last a lifetime and still not have all the sweetness enjoyed from it. Each drop would be of an intensity and succulence so profound yet equally, be light and moreish.

But it was not to be.

The palace of ice cream was closed. It had been so for days, and would remain so for who knew how long.

Winter rippled through the palace of ice cream. Shelves groaned with dust and loneliness, the windows shivered with a plastic bitterness.

I did not want to leave it like that. Reaching into my pocket, I found the right key and placed it in the lock...

The ice cream machine whirled into life......