I remember an old busker who used to play a one-string fiddle outside the Lyons in Kingston. Lyons was on the river side of Thames Street, and I used to like their hot Ribena, which came in a glass held in a metal holder.

I remember going to Headley Heath one Boxing Day with my new walkie-talkies.

I remember riding on Bruce's back. He was a red setter belonging to my aunt and uncle.

I remember El Cordobes. i think I even had a poster.

I remember one lunchtime being amused by a bloke singing along at the top of his voice, arms waving, to We are the Champions by Queen. It was at the Charlie Chaplin, a pub in the Old Kent Road, and a stripper was on stage dancing to it, but it was the drunk who I found fascinating.

I remember an old guy who used to sit on a bench in the grounds of St Leonards in Streatham, which I used to walk through on my way to work. The first time he asked me for change I said "no, sorry" to which he replied "sorry - you don't know the meaning of the word". So then I used to give him 50p if I saw him on or just after my pay days. The last I remember of him was that he thought he'd roll up his trousers and show me the sores on his legs. I still always acknowledge beggars and apologise to them if I'm feeling neither flush nor generous. They usually seem to appreciate it.

I remember sitting in a bar at the Royal Lancaster Hotel with a champagne cocktail and a bowl of nuts, feeling like goddamn Holden Caulfield.

I remember the excitement of BBC2 and Radio 3 simulcasts, whereby you could watch, for example, the Last Night of the Proms - and listen in stereo. Wow.

I remember stuff I learned at primary school that I still make use of now, such as scoring paper or cardboard so as to get a neat fold.

I remember Crackerjack.

I remember there was a factory on the way to Kingston which had the company name, Dallas, in large letters on the side of the building or on its chimney, which whenever I saw it reminded me of the Dallas Boys, a five-man singing act who we had gone to see in a summer show while on holiday, I think supporting someone like Lonnie Donegan.

I remember shaggy dog stories and knock knock jokes.

I remember as if it was only a week ago (which it was) that I went to see Ken Dodd at the Wimbledon Theatre (which for some reason is now called the New Wimbledon Theatre). And yet I hardly remember any of his jokes. Not that he told that many - about five or six and they were nearly all in the second half. And yet he was on stage, making a packed theatre laugh non-stop from 7pm until just after 11pm with only a 20-minute pause for his support act (a relic from the days of variety, a lady trumpeter(!) who has supported him for years) and a 15-minute interval. So for about three and a half hours he had that audience by the scruff of its neck. Genius.

I remember bumping in to Edward Woodward and Michele Dotrice at the Slipway pub/restaurant in Port Isaac. I realised it was them while we were eating. After they left they obviously went for a short stroll and when I saw them come back to their car I just had to rush out and tell him, only slightly gushingly, that I thought The Wicker Man was one of the best British films ever made, and his contribution to it helped make it so. He seemed genuinely pleased, and we chatted a while about all the interviews he had been doing for the DVD re-release. Of course I told Ms Dotrice that Some Mother's do 'ave 'em was a notable achievement as well.

I remember my Dad telling me not to buy a Cliff Richard single - I think it was Living Doll - on 78rpm, as they would soon become obselete. So I got it on 45rpm.

I remember one year keeping my watch on GMT for a whole summer.

I remember Winfield, Canda and St Michael were the brand names under which goods were sold at Woolworths, C&A and Marks & Spencer.

I remember Sparky's Magic Piano.

I remember wet fish shops.