Anton Freezey-Cold is an ice-cream man. He can usually be seen in Regent’s Park in hot weather.

I been selling ice creams since I first come here in 1958. The hotter it is weather-wise, the more ice cream I sell, sales-wise. I sell a lot of ice cream these days. This George Bush, saying Global Warming is not happening, all he need to do is look at queues at my ice cream van in Regent’s Park. Global Warming is real, or my name’s not Mr Freezey-Cold. (Actually, my name is not Mr Freezey-Cold. It is Mr Carpigiani, but that does not help sell ice cream, so I change it.)

In Regent’s Park in hot weather last year is many young childrens, lining up for ice cream. Somedays, as I handed over the cone, I burst into tears as I realise we will all soon get too hot and die, no matter how much cooling ice cream we eat. One day all ice cream will melt. And then polar ice cap will melt. And then London will flood. And childrens will be floating down Marylebone Road on uptured bathtubs crying. With no ice cream.

Over Christmas, I realise my increased prosperity is in fact symbol of imminent destruction of London, city I love, and of all human civilisation. So I go in garage and paint my ice-cream van black, and replace giant illuminated plastic cone on roof with scowling black skull. I take off “Row Row Your Boat Gently Down The Stream” song from speakers and replace it with Venus In Furs by Velvet Underground and The End by The Doors. Then I paint new slogan on van. Not ‘Stop Me And Buy One’ but ‘London! Your discomfort = my profit = your ultimate doom.’ And “Mr Freezey-Cold says YOU WILL ALL DIE’. My son, Pauli Freezey-Cold, help me with this. He is fan of Slipknot group and dresses like bat.

Weather got hot last week so time for me to drive to Regent’s park. Before I go, I get all ice cream out of ice cream machine in van and replace it with dust and ashes. Then I am off through Kentish Town, through Camden, onto Marylebone Road with music playing out of van …. “Kiss my whip of shiney shiney leather…” … “this is the end, my only friend, the end…” and so on. In Camden goths and drug addicts and Japanese tourists chase after my van. They think I am selling cool new kind of Nihilist Ice Cream.

In Regent’s Park, by entrance to zoo, American tourist comes up, first customer, to buy cone for his son and I give him cone full of ashes and dust. He says, “Mr Feezey-Cold! What is the meaning of this?” And I say, “It is symbol, symbol for what your country do to world. Soon, all London will flood and whole world will die from heat. Enjoy your cone of death!” Parks policeman comes over. Apparently, it is against law to sell cones full of dust and ashes to children as if they were a food. I consider trying to drive away, give policeman the slip. Then I realise I am in an ice-cream van which has a top speed of 12 mph and my name, Mr Freezey-Cold, written on it in big letters.

Long term, I don’t know what the future holds, ice-cream-wise. Mrs Freezey-Cold say to me no children will buy ice-creams from ice cream van that says they will all die and plays frightening New York avant-garde music and dionysian psychedelia. I think she still resents me for making her change her name to Mrs Freezey-Cold.

Anton Freezey-Cold was talking to Stewart Lee