Readers! What follows is strangely eerie and alarming, but it's impossible to put your finger on why. Judge for yourself.

If you put your bicycle upside down and turned the pedals, it was an ice cream making machine.
You could produce any flavour. Vanilla was popular, as was chocolate.
I still pretend to make ice cream this way as a 41 year old man, with my £1500 racing bike. My wife kindly agrees to collude with this conceit, pretending to consume and enjoy my wares. Even when, after she's finished her cornet, I pretend that it was made with poo (chocolate), wee (vanilla) or period (raspberry). I have even sold her a Neapolitan.