Recently I was visited by a couple of my uncle Martin and aunt Arlene from North America.
It was lovely to hear Martin recount courting Arlene by taking her to a restaurant dumpster, where they waited to see a brown bear.
I was reminded of a recurring feature of my childhood when my mother would treat my sister and I to McDonalds but insist we eat it on Chapman Hill, so we could look at the lights of Weston Creek.
