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.

This is forced upon us, when we have to be social. Nonsense jibber-jabber, most folks want to go postal. Most do it daily, and it’s just a little vocal. Here’s a convo, it’s a drag, but this riddle’s your focal. ‘Nice day we’re having, I don’t think it could be better.’ ‘It’s sure is! But have you seen next weeks weather?’

Once part of dinner, set aside, to face tomorrow’s microwave ride. Forgotten deep where cold winds roam, often abandoned in my plastic home.

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