Look, there's the oldest McDonald's in the world.

We are driving through Los Angeles on the way back from Yosemite when KD says-Look, there's the oldest McDonald's in the world.

After we park the car and go into the Thai restaurant, which has an electric train set into the ceiling, display cases full of perfectly organised Japanese toys, Transformers and Hotwheels cars, I walk back through the car park to take some photos of the McDonald's.

The closer I get, the more baffled I become.
I don't know where to look first.
I feel as if I am in that film Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
I feel as if the neon lights are grubby hands reaching out and drawing me in, whispering to me of patties and pickles and buns and ridiculously over-sized sugary black chemical-laden water.
I could easily walk in and order a Cheeseburger, I am so mesmerised.

But then, as I get close enough to the 'restaurant' to take a photo of the sign that tells me the history of the building, I am snapped from my hypnotic trance by something familiar to all McDonalds -
The repulsive odour of boiled oil, fried flesh and ketchup.