I remember being impressed by the number of people my brother always seemed to know as he walked along the street in his home town of Falmouth. One day, walking along Piccadilly in London with my girlfriend and a work acquaintance of hers, I bumped into and passed the time of day with a work colleague from the Mail on Sunday. A hundred yards later I did the same with a workmate from the Daily Telegraph. Impressed the hell out of my companions! Impressed the hell out of me!

I remember Emile Savundra on the David Frost show. He was the head of an insurance company that had collapsed and when they started taking questions from members of the audience who were victims of the collapse, I was astonished to see Mr Kennedy, who had been my chemistry teacher my first couple of years at grammar school.

I remember seeing Spike Milligan in The Bed Sitting Room at Wimbledon Theatre and how he peeked out from between the tabs and said: "What are all those people doing in my room?"
I remember being able to buy a quarter of warm salted peanuts from Woolworths.

I remember how you could always see more stars in the sky when you were on holiday. And comets.

I remember Roger Charles seeing my wedding ring and asking if I was bisexual. I felt flattered.

I remember the cat at the end of all MTM (Mary Tyler Moore) Productions. The one on Hill Street Blues wore a policeman's peaked cap.

I remember the controversial Windscale being renamed the unknown Sellafield, as is if we wouldn't notice.

I remember them renaming Treets, Marathons and Picnics. Why?

I remember Simon Dee.