There was a carpark at the back of the venue. Weeds sprouted through its potholed tarmac, and large, smelly bins lined the backwall. One of them was for glass recycling, and the ground near it was littered with bits of broken glass. I could hear them crunching underfoot, and it was surrounded by a distinct smell of old alcohol that mixed in with a faint stink of piss. It was definitely away from prying eyes, but it wasn’t the most ideal setting for a romantic encounter.