I remember my Sony Trinitron: Stylish cube design with the best picture quality ever.

I remember Kwai Chang Cane and not understanding why people thought he looked Chinese. Rest in peace, David Carradine.

I remember the TV Clinic in Worcester Park and the lost feeling I used to have when I left my television to be fixed – which it usually was.

I remember whirling round like a dervish at the Louise’s last gig in Gander Green Lane.

I remember Bazooka Joe bubble gum. It came wrapped in a little comic.

I remember taking our new kittens to the vet and not understanding how she could say Issey was a she without so much as a peek at her private parts. We had convinced ourselves that Issey was a boy because she bossed Padstow around so much. Anyway we asked how she could tell and she said, “All tortoiseshells are female”.

I remember reading, probably in the Melody Maker, a quote from Scott Walker about Neil Young, just after his first solo album had been released, saying how great Young’s “prose” was. It seemed to me that Walker had misunderstood the back of the album cover, which has part of the lyrics – “I was chopping down a palm tree etc” - of The Last Trip To Tulsa printed as prose on it, and that Walker therefore wasn’t as intelligent as he was cracked up to be.

I remember cycling past a dead badger lying in the road just outside Chapel Amble, and thinking it looked as if it was screaming.

I remember boys at school thinking ginger beer was a really cool idea – we were discussing it at the bus stop at Hampton Court on our way back from games - and I seem to remember Andy Mackie being involved so we are talking about age 12-13 here. I think they had a recipe/demonstration on Blue Peter.

I remember a friend of mine insisting her baby was conceived within wedlock even though the baby was born about seven months after she got married.

I remember interviewing a couple of musicians who asked me not to mention that they lived together, because that sort of thing was not allowed ‘back home’ in Ireland.

I remember asking for, and being given, The Jackson 5’s Greatest Hits, for Christmas the December I got married – I think it was from Val, my first wife’s step-sister. This might be a false memory because it was released a year earlier. But wanting, and getting, the record was real. I also remember being bowled over by the Thriller video. And finally I remember – last Friday – checking the front pages of all the newspapers at the local garage, and all of them referred to Michael Jackson as the King of Pop, none of them as Wacko Jacko. The Sun called him Jacko but that was only due to space constraints. I was very pleased that all the Fleet Street editors had resisted the temptation and treated him as a human being who’d just died at 50. By Sunday of course it was no holds barred.

I remember when JazzFM started playing more soul than jazz and eventually changed its name to SmoothFM. But at about that time theJazz appeared on DAB radio – heaven! Didn’t even bother with DJs rambling on between tracks. Then it got successful, started using DJs and adverts and then – it folded. Lo and behold if the other day, while autotuning our new DAB radio for the bathroom, I didn’t come across JazzFM, which is now broadcasting on digital only, and while there is a little bit of soul and r&b in there, plays jazz. I wonder how long it will last.

I remember the other day the Mail - and probably all the other papers around the world - ran a story about an Audrey Hepburn stamp being sold at auction. It was produced in 2001 in Germany as part of a series of movie icons, and showed Miss Hepburn ostensibly smoking, a cigarette holder sticking out of her mouth. While - or because - that image of her from Breakfast At Tiffany’s is indeed iconic, her son, an anti-smoking campaigner, wouldn’t allow the image to be used and the stamps were destroyed. Except 30 or so were saved from the incinerator and some have emerged on the market since. What nobody seems to have noticed is that the cigarette holder on the stamp has clearly been Photoshopped into the picture. In the original, she has a pair of sunglasses dangling from her mouth. I wasn’t too happy about the holder, which looks too thick and not detailed enough. The shadow has clearly been faded out and the picture has been flipped but look at the earring, the smile, her eyes. It’s the same photo. Yet not the same.

I remember having heated discussions with fellow governors over whether children should be allowed to use calculators in the classroom. Or perhaps just discussions. I think the heated ones were with parents.

I remember when software launches involved receiving T-shirts, toys or invitations to parties. The most recent software I received for review came in the form of a 30-day trial.

I remember having the idea for an IMDb for records. You know, which members of a group or which session musicians played on a particular track. But I haven’t got round to beginning it. I wonder how they started IMDb. They didn’t even have a precedent.

I remember a member of Roxy Music complaining that, with Brian Eno around, they would play a few notes and what seemed like three weeks later they would emerge sounding completely different.

I remember the snotty little kid who was climbing on the seat opposite me on the bus earlier today banging my guitar case and looking at me and smiling - I paused and smiled right back. Her elder sister did not have a snotty nose but had gorgeous big brown eyes and sort of stroked my guitar case but she was all of four years old so we won't say any more on the subject. Anyway, snot-nose realised she wasn't annoying me by hitting my guitar case so she started to unzip my rucksack and laugh like that kid in The Simpsons - hna hna. I just zipped it back up and she unzipped it so I zipped it up and gave her a look. She then got bored with me and started climbing on the back of the seat - I wouldn't have wanted to be the woman in front. All the while her mother - if that's the right term - was standing in the pushchair part of the bus having a row with someone on her mobile phone. And we're talking about an intimate relationship type of row here. Totally out of control. But the thing that interested me was that I was completely cool with this little kid - though I'd rather she hadn't had a snotty nose - banging my guitar case. The guitar was quite safe... and...

I remember Zippy - our friends' springer spaniel - being so excited to see us that she weed over my guitar case. And my guitar is fine.

I remember amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant.

I remember je suis, tu es, il est, nous sommes, vous etes, ils and then it fizzles out.

I remember playing pick-up sticks, which is probably not how the game was spelled.

I remember that scene in Soldier Blue when the very 'white' American soldier got killed by the Indians and everyone in the audience cheered.

I remember the scene in ER when the doctor everyone hated got his arm chopped off by a helicopter blade.

I remember an episode of Scrubs where four doctors/actors from St Elsewhere turned up.

I remember seeing David Battley, a British character actor (usually in TV comedy programmes on account I guess of the shape of his face) outside WH Smith in Streatham. He died in 2003.

I remember sticking up for my ISP in the UKOnline newsgroup. The moderator was so pleased he/she sent me a T-shirt and a car sticker. I still have them both. And I still use UKOnline.

I remember 106 Burdon Lane. I didn't, but I came across a reminder while re-reading A Passage To India. Either side of the number at the foot of page 106 I had pencilled "Remember" and "Burdon Lane" - it must have been more than 40 years ago. For that is where the 'first girl I loved', Barbara - known at Nonsuch as Bra - lived. I often see the house when driving over that way and invariably think of her mum and scary dad with their German accents. I remember Mr D once said Palestrina was only good for wallpapering to, Mrs D made apple strudel, Barbara's brother Colin brings to mind one of those brown warehouse worker's coats (like a lab coat) but I can't think why, and Barbara, sadly, I mainly remember for looking down her nose at me (after we had split up) because I didn't smoke. Pathetic. But I wish I had a photograph...

I remember three events that will cause me immediately to change the station when listening to the radio: anything by ELO; anything by Elton John except for Bennie And The Jets, Rocket Man or Tiny Dancer; The Stranglers singing Golden Brown.

I remember Fortes in Brighton. Is that how it was spelled? I think it was where there is now a Harry Ramsden's - just by the pier. And I remember going there after taking my 11-plus and sitting upstairs and having lunch and looking at the view. This was on a Saturday, but I don't know if this memory is true because I also remember having orange juice as a treat with our school dinner and being allowed out on the field.

I remember getting on a bus at Raynes Park (this was when the 118s used to do the route, which is a long time ago) and finding that it was about to be driven by John Goodwin, my quasi-uncle, who passed away last week. I don't think I ever saw John without a smile on his face. He gave me a bag of sweets to share with my friend on our way to Morden - and as far as I can remember we got a free ride.

I remember seeing John Martyn - who died yesterday - appearing at Ewell folk club in the room round the back of the King William IV. He asked if anybody could give him a lift back to Kingston. I believe he lived on the border of Surbiton and Kingston at the time.

I remember recognising the location for the cover photograph of The Tumbler. We used to look for it while walking through Home Park on our way to sports afternoons at Grist's.

I remember seeing John Martyn at Kingston Polytechnic - which now of course goes by the name of Kingston University.

I remember taking a video camera with me to the Greyhound, Fulham Road, and asking John if he'd mind me filming the gig. He was round the back, totally spaced out but smiling and said 'no, far out, peace man' etc. I had borrowed the camera from my Dad and unfortunately the video tape is reel-to-reel so I have no idea what it looks like. I must dig it out and see if I can digitise it.

I remember seeing John Martyn at Les Cousins in Greek Street, Soho. It was the first time I had heard him use echoplex and despite the discomfort of the church pews it was absolutely stunning, particularly in that tiny room.

I remember being disappointed when The Road To Ruin came out because there were jazz combos where the echoplexed guitar should have been. The album was delayed quite a while, because of printing issues over the cover we were told at the time, but I now find, according to the 'official' website, it was more complicated than that. I quote: 'John had disagreements with Joe Boyd over the production of this album and, because of the numerous overdubs; John felt that the recording lacked spontaneity.' He wasn't wrong.

I remember John Martyn releasing a live album from his home in Hastings. You could only buy Live in Leeds (named after an earlier album by the Who) by mail order. It was a limited edition and I think my friend Richard actually bought one.

I remember on one of Richard and my many evenings spent exploring the pubs of Soho bumping into John Martyn who was doing much the same with a friend of his. (Bass player - name escapes me.) We exchanged pleasantries and Richard and I later realised that this was the time of his divorce from Beverley/work on the Grace And Danger album.

I remember working out the chords to Winding Boy off of The Tumbler.

I remember being amused by John Martyn's Glasgow/mockney accent, particularly as I knew he was born about five minutes away from where I lived and was brought up. Admittedly he went off to live mainly in Glasgow when his parents split up and I would have just moved into Phyllis Avenue in Motspur Park at about that time, so our paths didn't cross until a lot later.

I remember hearing that John Martyn had lost a leg and assuming it was the diabetes or the drink. And of course it wasn't. He had a cyst behind his knee which burst.

I remember listening constantly to The Apprentice early on in my relationship with Margaret and feeling that every song on the album was about me, was me singing those songs about my life. How did he do that?

I remember exchanging emails with a well-known folk/rock musician, who told me that when John Martyn walked into a motorway service station the other musicians would go quiet, knowing that there might be trouble coming. And a lot of people have said the same. But he was special. And I don't think we'd have wanted him any other way.

I remember going to see John Martyn at the Fairfield Halls, Croydon, a few years ago. (Just checked and it was eight years ago today!) My daughter had bought me a ticket for my birthday. He had already put on quite a bit of weight - he got even bigger when he spent most of his time in a wheelchair. There are pictures and a set-list here.

I remember Davy Graham, whose Folk, Blues & Beyond was the only album I have ever lent without getting it back. And Roger Curtis is dead as well!

I remember Woolworths.

I remember how good the first series of Lost was. All those back stories. All those references. All that plotting. And I remember how disappointed we were at the second series. I think my favourite character was John Locke.

I remember Teilo Colley, news editor at PA, telling those of us who were listening all about Morrisons. Apparently it was a chain of supermarkets oop north. We hadn't heard of it.

I remember walking a very drunk Julie McGrath around the function room upstairs at the White Lion in Streatham, back when she used to be Julie Emmett. I can't remember who was supporting her other arm, but it was probably Derek McGrath. She only had to ask and she could so easily have become Julie Gurrin!

I remember falling in love with Nora - but no, I don't remember her surname. It was my first day at a new branch (Brixton) and she had just come back from holiday and was wearing brown legs, a short sundress and a thick Irish accent. I last saw her on the news reports from Dunblane, where a gunman had gone on a rampage. Her kids were at the school and she looked very schoolmummy but still had that accent.