I remember a film society at school where they got hold of various obscure films, the only one of which I remember consisted largely of documentary footage at concentration camps during the Second World War.

I remember bumping into Wee Willie Harris on the train on his way home from filming - some sort of promotional work. I used to know his wife.

I remember going to watch Dennis Waterman's Showbiz 11 play football. One of only two or three football matches I have ever seen in my life. Francoise Pascal kicked off.

I remember the Monty Python team brought out an LP (Matching Tie and Handkerchief) which on one side had - though they didn't announce it - two grooves, so which track you heard depended on where the needle landed.

I remember the production of King Lear we did at Tiffins, when the cast (ie two of the three sisters) included the daughters of both Dorothy Tutin and Paul Daneman.

I remember being one of the last few up on the last night of an OU summer school (the other two were girls). It was about an hour before breakfast. And we made it to the final morning's classes. I think I even made it to breakfast.

I remember "dost thou think just because thou art virtuous, there'll be no cakes and ale". Or something like that.

I remember Mr Crabtree goes fishing.

I remember a man who used to entertain the queues outside the London Palladium by jumping over a matchbox.

I remember "WPc Sadie Stick, hit me again with your big black stick, I'll have a word with you when I find my dic - tionary," words from a song by Mike Absalom which I probably only heard once, when I visited my estranged wife's cousin in Salisbury.

I remember a fabulous ride on horseback in an unspoilt part of Majorca where we were staying on holiday. Soon after we returned home I had a riding lesson in Coombe and was put down by a rather snotty teacher so never rode on a horse again.

I remember chimney sweeps.

I remember Five Boys chocolate. It had pictures on the wrapper of a boy or boys with different expressions on their faces.

I remember hearing someone knock at the door and being told, when I asked who it was, that it was someone who said: "Children should be seen and not heard".

I remember my first remote - you had to plug it into the VCR!

I remember Fannie and Johnnie Craddock.

I remember baking powder submarines and divers.

I remember Look and Learn, a weekly comic for grammar school boys.

I remember Ernie Reid, who gave us a guided tour of Chichester Cathedral.

I remember Henry Cooper knocking down Cassius Clay.

I remember radio valves.

I remember Torchy the Battery Boy and Four Feather Falls. They were among the first "Supermarionation" programmes.

I remember a second-hand shop in Bognor Regis called The Barons.

I remember Shergar going missing, as well as Lord Lucan. Probably a complete fallacy, yet to my mind they always seem connected.

I remember A for Andromeda, a superb BBC science fiction series starring a young Julie Christie, with whom I fell in love.

I remember walking up Golden Cap (highest point on South Coast, I believe) one year and Eliot complaining that his back was aching. I probably said words to the effect of "pull yourself together, you big girl's blouse", let him rest a moment and then amde him carry on. Imagine how great I felt a year or two later when he was diagnosed with scoliosis.

I remember Ronnie Wood buying Sir John Mills's home in Richmond so he could sleep in the same room as Hayley Mills.

I remember when the Hand in Hand, on the edge of Wimbledon Common, didn't have a spirit licence, and just sold beer and mead.

I remember The Persuaders - I still wear black driving gloves on the off-chance that they make me look a little like Tony Curtis.

I remember seeing Ian Dury and the Kilburns at the Nashville, shortly before he got his record contract. He was stunning, particularly on Nervous Piss, which I have never been able to find recorded.

I remember reciting the Lord's Prayer really fast with my friend during a family service, and thinking that we wouldn't be noticed. We got such a withering look from Mr Dibben, the Sunday School teacher.