I’m cut into slices, yet I start as a whole. I’m round like a wheel, but I’m meant to be shared. Cheese is my blanket, sauce is my voice, and toppings are choices, some loved, some dared. What am I?

Don't let that orange thing from the fire get into your eye! Oh, and before I forget, what is that?

This place is best described by some lyrics in an old familiar song: 'Where are you? And I'm so sorry.'

It's a fruit that is shaped like a bubble. With a crease down one side your hands they may slide but grabbing it could get you in trouble.

For a while, these mercury filled tubes went in either end. How did they track which when where?