Most of us will have enjoyed toasting marshmallows round a fire. Twenty years ago I remember a large biker (whose father was chief rabbi of Berlin) who’d manically shout “Daleks’ Brains” each time his marshmallow set alight and dissolved into a gooey mass. This was the same biker who gave me a mild concussion when someone dared to put vegetables on his barbecue. A corn on the cob hurled into the darkness found a target. Years later, whenever I toast a marshmallow I can hear his manic cry.