I remember one Christmas, or it might have been my birthday, asking for a game of Go. Came the big day and my parents hade bought me the Waddingtons game of that name, which was I believe a sort of travel-around-the-world game, which is not what I wanted at all. I was after the Chinese or Japanese game of Go played with white and black stones on a wooden board criss-crossed with black lines. I politely pointed this out and my parents kindly took it back and managed to find me what I wanted. It is so complicated I still can't play the game, but have great fun playing Go-ban, which is like an open-ended Connect 4, and which Go players play as a sort of between-games breather. It might amuse you to know that the name on the box it came in was Nintendo. Anyway, I have felt mean and ungrateful ever since.

I remember, at a free concert in Hyde Park during the Sixties, hitting John Peel on the shoulder with a rolled-up copy of International Times.

I remember reading somewhere that John Peel was the late DJ's pseudonym, which he used "for family reasons". For years I took this to mean that his real name was too obscene to be announced on radio.

I remember Mario Fabrizi, mainly for his parts in the Hancock TV shows and Tony Hancock's film The Rebel. He was also in the TV series The Army Game, playing "Moosh". Its cast list reads like a roll-call of Fifties London comedy actors, including Harry Fowler, Bernard Bresslaw, Arthur Mullard, Harry Towb and of course, the pair who went on to appear in and as Bootsie and Snudge, Alfie Bass and Bill Fraser.

I remember being able to buy four Blackjacks or Fruit Salads for a penny. That's an old penny, of which there were 240 in a pound.

I remember going to Sunday School.

I remember someone throwing a medicine ball at my legs during PE one day in the hall of the Bunyan Baptist Chapel, which we used for such things. I don't know why as we had a perfectly good gymnasium on the other side of the school. As my feet had left the ground just before the ball made contact with me, my body did a quick 45-degree flip and I landed on my face. I'm sure my nose has not been right ever since. I also remember playing Scrabble in French (it was a French lesson) in one of the rooms in the Chapel, which was eventually knocked down and rebuilt as the Kaleidoscope Centre.

I remember the controversy surrounding the Rolling Stones singing "let's spend the night together" and I seem to remember Mick Jagger in an interview suggesting the song was just about spending an innocent evening together. I saw no reason to disbelieve him.

I remember Chucklefoot. [This update posted 19/12/05 - I will probably do this again - I feel I should add some amplification, which, despite it being against the spirit of the blog as a whole, I hope will enhance your (whoever you are) enjoyment: In about 1980-81, my family, my brother's family and my parents went to Cornwall for our summer holiday, renting a cottage in St Blazey for a couple of weeks. During the course of our hols we struck up a relationship with Chucklefoot, both a one-man band and a variable group of pub entertainers, including Nigel, a multi-instrumentalist who came for dinner on our last night and blew me away with his version of I get the blues when it rains. Anyway, Chucklefoot himself, whose real name I can't remember, but that's him in the second picture down on the above linked page, encouraged me to get up and perform on concertina in a pub in Fowey during our middle weekend, for which I got applause, and which inspired me to start practising guitar and ultimately led to my performances in front of people at Sutton and then Claygate folk clubs. Without Chucklefoot...? I hope you understand why I felt this addendum should be blogged.]

I remember Pez sweet dispensers.

I remember Buster Edwards, one of the Great Train Robbers, selling flowers on his stall at Waterloo station.

I remember Rod Stewart on Top of the Pops singing Maggie May with John Peel pretending to play/mime the mandolin. It was rumoured that Rod Stewart had been discovered singing on a railway station. It was a rare treat to have a record that my mates and I could own up to liking appearing on TOTP. I remember buying his album Every Picture Tells a Story on cassette.

I remember Roger Charles telling us off for not singing loud enough in the carol service.

I remember a teacher, in a lecture to school governors, telling us: "It's just as well we don't teach children to walk at school, or there would be a lot of people falling down all over the place."

I remember buying my daughter a golliwog.

I remember when the Tiffin Fair kept getting bigger and bigger each year.

I remember Ken Barlow saying that the trouble with this country was that rather than working, everyone is waiting for their pools win. Substitute Lottery and it comes right up to date.

I remember Ken Barlow saying there was a documentary on Channel 4 he wanted to watch.

I remember being given a cigarette by my Dad when I was about five. I had one puff and haven't smoked since.

I remember my first guitar. It had Marizza embossed on it and was hanging up in Brady's arcade in Kingston. I still have it.

I remember miming playing the trumpet all the way through a music lesson in the first form at Tiffins because there were a limited number of free music lessons available. I thought if they could see I was a natural player they would let me have lessons. I got lessons, but didn't practise enough so eventually gave up. I still have my mouthpiece and some mutes though. I may even have an embouchure.

I remember my first car, a Triumph Herald, cost £55.

I remember an episode of the Dick Van Dyke Show where Dick bought Mary a grand piano for her birthday and didn’t know where to hide it. So he left it in the middle of the living room. She of course didn’t notice it.

I remember Carter’s Tested Seeds Factory which was demolished to build a council estate.

I remember owning a PVC jacket. Like my Afghan coat, it ended up rotting in the garage.

I remember owning a blue velvet suit. Actually, I still own it...

I remember going to Walton Civic Centre to pick up my final dustman’s wages and seeing them filming a sketch for Monty Python’s Flying Circus. I think it was about architects or accountants.

I remember having to drive through Puddletown to get to Bridport.

I remember being able to see out of train windows.

I remember getting Patrick Moore’s autograph at the Boys’ and Girls’ Exhibition at Earls Court. He was a young man.

I remember being shocked at the price of a pint of Guinness in central London when it went up to 50p.

I remember a cul-de-sac which no longer exists in Wimbledon - probably where the bus terminus now is - which had a turntable for trolley-buses. I remember seeing trolley-buses in Kingston.

I remember when Kingston won its Royal Charter, changing from Kingston-on-Thames to Kingston upon Thames.

I remember walking down Green Lane in Worcester Park with some friends and being set upon by yobs. I recognised one of them from Morden, where my aunt and uncle lived. I engaged him in conversation and managed to secure safe passage. I remember his name.

I remember cinemas in North Cheam, Worcester Park, Morden and Raynes Park.

I remember the Millennium bug.

I remember a stuffed dog, a wire-haired terrier, in a glass case, I think at Clapham Junction station, used for collecting for charity.

I remember my Afghan coat - it smelled rotten when it rained.

I remember seeing Grimms with Keith Moon on drums at Kingston Poly. John Gorman was brilliant. They seemed to go on all night.

I remember seeing The Incredible String Band at the Roundhouse performing U.

I remember seeing Adam Faith in panto at Wimbledon Theatre. A Lonely Pup was his hit at the time and I seem to remember him giving a real puppy away to a girl who went up on stage.

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

I remember: "We have a nine eleven, armed robbery in progress, C Surplus Store, corner of People's Drive (or was it Peebles Drive?) and 124th Street." And I remember: "Hey, hey, hey - let's be careful out there."

I remember Alistair Wisker giving me a book of his poetry. He also came to the school (he was an old Tiffinian as well) to see a show and brought his wife Gina. She wore a fur coat. She was nice. I tried but didn't manage to talk the Tiffin Arts Society committee into booking him for a poetry reading. I remember finding out only recently that he had died from cancer.

I remember Painting by Numbers.

I remember I remember Rod Dean, English master at Tiffin, telling me I didn't stand "a snowball's chance in hell" of getting into Oxbridge.

I remember my OU lecturer at the end of one course telling me she was leaving, and that she had saved my assignment until last as she knew it would enjoy it.

I remember a vet who used to bring his mobile phone with him to parents' evenings at my daughter Charlie's school when he was on call. It was the first mobile phone I had seen and was the size of a small briefcase.