WE ALL HAVE A DREAM… well, mine was to one day get an ice-cream truck. We were late adopters of the smart phone and social media, but with the smart phone comes 24/7 access to eBay, which for a long while became my strange addiction.

I stumbled upon a Commer Karrier, swinging a price tag of $80,000, so my dream seemed about as likely as winning Lotto. Commer Karriers are the real deal, with beautiful snub-front noses, wide grills and Morris looks — plus these trucks were the original Mr Whippy vans.

With prolonged pig-headedness, I searched on. After two years, another van came up for auction in Perth, Western Australia, so I called the number, but to no avail. The auction ended with no purchase and the van was not relisted, yet the phone line remained dead. Every week I called that number, hoping something would come of my cries down the line. Three months later, voilà: there was a slight English twang in the voice at the end of the line, and after a little wrangling the deal was done. Teena scowled as once again I emptied the bank account, on a blind-buy ice-cream van on the other side of the country.

Teena is the big guns. If you ever thought that something could not happen, send Teena in and BAM! Sorted. Somehow, the van was on its way, even if the final payment was made with only minutes to spare.

Marc, our transport guru, later rang to say the van was ready to collect. She was parked only a few suburbs away, and off I went to get her. There she sat in the yard, diminished, in faded pastel-pink paint and rims that looked like they were purchased from Satan’s shopping mall. Marc fixed me with a boyish grin and raised eyebrow, wondering if I had any idea of the project we had just taken on.

Once I finally found a gear, I drove her along the highway. Hmmm, spongy brakes and no clutch… let’s just say I have never pumped a set of brakes so hard. Somehow I got her back to the shop without squashing anyone, but I was a quivering mess. I had to explain to Teena that the truck was HUGE! A freaking big Bessie — not the cutesie little truck we were thinking — and practically undriveable. It was a truly butt-clenching moment but Teena, as always, could see the potential of our new girl. For the next few months Bessie sat in the car park as we contacted all the vagabonds and pirates we could muster to fix the clutch, rebuild the gearbox, have her resprayed and get her registered and back on the road.

Bessie’s name had stuck, but when I googled ‘Big Bessie’ a world of warcraft loading pages came up with a truly voluptuous lady who looked a little skanky. We went to our graphic designer Cathy, who has always ‘got’ our quirky style, and two weeks later I nearly cried: with a few little tweaks her design for Big Bessie was perfect.

Then I read in Gourmet Traveller that one of the super pastry chefs of the ‘big island’ was also about to start an ice-cream truck. I panicked: I am not nearly as talented or good-looking, so what would I do? Yep, one-upmanship: I would make a giant melted ice-cream cone for the top of the truck. After several attempts, we were finally happy with our foam and fibreglass creation, and mounted the cone phallically on top of the truck as a raised finger towards those who would take us on. Ironically, those talked-about pastry dudes never did set up their ice-cream truck…

We were accepted into our first festival with the big fish. The week-long summer ‘Taste’ festival on the Hobart waterfront is massive and known to turn ill-prepared punters into trembling wrecks. I wanted to make soft-serve ice cream from scratch, and started with the Penn State Prison formula. Ah I nearly cried: the barrel of our ice-cream machine froze solid! I called in the one man who knew our original Van 1 Carpigiani machine, Laurie Rossiter (aka Mr Fluffy the ice-cream pirate). Laurie zigged, Laurie zagged, cogs were re-shimmed, micro-switches replaced and springs resprung. Three days before the festival, Laurie declared the machine ready.

The council came to give Bessie her final inspection. As we stood in the truck and got the tick, a beeping delivery van reversed up the shop’s driveway… Teena screamed and I cringed as the fool backed into Bessie. We jumped out of the truck: one of the quarter panels looked like the apocalypse!

There was not enough time to get Bessie fixed, but Teena had an epiphany — a band-aid solution. She raced home and printed out band-aids, laminated them and stuck them over the damage. We rolled Big Bessie into the festival, our heathen sundaes took off, and our moment of ice-cream redemption had finally come.

Bessie is that point of difference and a chance to let the mind wonder: will people eat a fat Elvis sundae, bacon marmalade… or can I make them think that this ice cream is a contraband drug, name it after a dead celebrity or TV show, float it in booze and sprinkle it with sherbet…

We love our big girl. Next project, Harriett!

“We rolled Big Bessie into the festival, our heathen sundaes took off, and our moment of ice-cream redemption had finally come.”