Betty stood to address the irate residents of Bronford. ‘She ain’t writing 'bout me!' Short and fiery, Betty had a figure best described as round. ‘Ok, ok!’ Jackson stopped serving drinks and sat on the bar instead. As the landlord’s son, he’d called the meeting. ‘It might not be a bad thing, this book about us.’ He continued. ‘Bit of publicity might help, clean Bronford up a bit.’ ‘Give over!’ Robert the prison officer shouted. ‘They don’t give a sod about us.’ 'People think we're scum, you know, kids from that shit heap Bronford. She’ll just make it worse.' Ross was nineteen and stood to command attention, teasing his fingers through his red and blue spiky hair. ‘But what if they got to know us a bit, that we’re not such a bad lot.’ Roberta was always dressed smartly. She smiled at Peter who still preferred to wear his aging, smelly Donkey jacket. 'But why is the book ‘Tales from my Ice Cream Van’?' Asked Bill. Everyone tried to talk at once. ‘Be lost without you.’ ‘Our everything shop!’ ‘Don’t miss a trick our Bill.’ 'What about the drugs, what’s she gonna say ‘bout those.’ Angus bit his thumbnail. ‘There are drugs everywhere, and sex.’ Charlie tossed her mane of hair. Her mum was the local prostitute and she knew more than she should, being only twelve. ‘Nar, really?’ Bill pretended to be shocked. ‘Ain’t no one gonna be interested in us!’ Shouted Maxine, hopefully, and more aggressively than she intended. Janine stood up and gradually the group stopped to listen. ‘Don’t matter where ya from, we’re all the same, really. All tryin’ to get through. An if there’s someone out there wot realizes they’re not alone, ain’t that worth it?’ The group muttered agreement. ‘Right, lets vote.’ Jackson took the floor. ‘Hands for yes?’ And hands for no?’ Yes it is. This is the book the residents of Bronford wanted you to read.