"So, Donald Trump is going to be staying with us."

I'm genuinely surprised, because, if it's possible for anyone in this house to loathe the degraded human wreckage that is the current American president more than I do, it would be my wife. And yet, apparently, she's been talking to him, and he's going to pop round for a visit, and stay overnight.

"I guess he could stay in the addition," I say. We built an addition a few years ago, a multi-purpose room with its own lavatory. Guests stay there.

We're sitting around on the night the American president is due. The night moves along, and we have to admit he's probably cancelled. We retire to our bed, strangely disappointed. I've never met an American president (though I met Justin Trudeau once, when he was a only a member of parliament). It would be an experience to meet one, even Drumpf.

We hear some commotion on the street. I part the blinds and look out the front window. "There's a limo the length of a…

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I love ice cream. I wish I could say it's because I have some deep emotional connection with ice cream, like how one of my favorite memories is my grandmother buying me an ice cream cone at the zoo when I was 4 years old and I got to see an elephant for the first time. Or maybe I would associate the ice cream truck with my memories from elementary school when I was going through a tough time due to my parents' divorce. But neither of those things would be true; I just really like ice cream…