Iced Memories.

Out for another cycle run. This time I was showing a few friends the attractions of my local housing scheme.
I led the field towards the estate, we could see it glowing white in the distance, like a distant jewel.
The team were suitably impressed as we approached. Gleaming white houses and streets. Everything pristine and new, sparkling. Elegant and smartly dressed people walked purposefully about, teeth gleaming.
I cycled towards the pièce de résistance, the white heart of the scheme.
A brilliantly white council house made of icing sugar, mmm, mouth watering . .
We all stared at the unattainable.
But then I suppose these schemes were the great white hope of the 1950's, and that's what they were like then, (in my memory anyway).