Remember the ice cream van? That unexpected treat, trundling through the neighbourhood on a summer afternoon, nursery-rhyme melodies twinkling hypnotically, salivating kids in feral pursuit, and the friendly man in a lab coat, known as Mr Whippy.
For younger readers, this might seem like a sting from a mobile paedophile ring – Gary Glitter cutting his teeth, a blueprint of transport buggery. But it wasn’t. It was bliss – a pure memory, undiluted by the cynicism and negative innuendo that’s now rife in every thought process.
Sightings of the ice cream van have dried up. The van itself has retired to lonely beach promenades, anchored to sticky coin arcades and idle rocking horses – all sad victims of modernity.
Like most of yesteryear’s cultural touchpoints, these characterful merchants were priced out by monolithic supermarkets: the same supermarkets that have encroached on every neighbourhood, heartlessly swallowing independent retailers – hungry digestive systems producing the same replica droppings with every bowel movement, homogenised corporate cow-pats that discolour our towns.
The romance of the ice cream van’s surprise visit – the unscheduled randomness and innocent charm – is now a distant memory. Usurped and undercut by Tesco’s cost-efficient fridges – the deep, cold, life-support machines that keep food at the precise temperature to be deemed legally fresh, yet tastelessly morbid – a fitting microcosm of our shopping experience.
But, as technology takes away, it occasionally gives back. Almost apologetic for denying us these nostalgic throwbacks, the ice cream van has been reinvented.
Ice Cream Drones are about to occupy the skies. That rickety old van has grown propellers and a sophisticated GPS device. The low-flying airspace is being carved up like 19th-century Africa – the new colonists (the technology developers) are getting busy and creative. The real estate above our heads is primo, and will soon teem with activity.
Complete with the vintage backing track (Spotify override optional), these unmanned drones will patrol residential streets and parks on warm days. Being privy to everyone’s online shopping profiles within a 100-metre perimeter, they appear with telepathic accuracy. If you’ve Googled a product stocked by the drone, then expect a visit. And the rotating logo of a Magnum on your bedroom wall – beamed via the drone’s onboard laser projector – might seem like direct marketing gone too far, but is in fact completely legal under the new ambient advertising laws.
Nothing’s out of bounds in the hungry world of marketing. Anything can be repurposed as a billboard these days, and the ice cream drone takes no prisoners. The garage door, street signs, car windscreens, your friend’s forehead – they’ll all soon be appropriated as advertising platforms. And there’ll be no recourse. If you don’t like being illuminated like a mobile ticker tape, then take solace in the fact that you don’t live in a part of the world where drones disperse a very different type of message.