I remember drinking in the White Lion one night after work with Julian Heathcote, a fellow banker and cyclist. On my way back from the gents', resplendent in my Lycra cycling shorts, I noticed someone had got Tom, the landlord, pinned back against a table and was repeatedly punching him in the face. Having had a couple of pints, I instinctively pulled the man off, Tom only being a little (though sinewy) Scot, and then, just as instinctively, I ducked because I realised I was about to get punched. When I looked up, however, the attacker was actually heading for the door. It wasn't long before the police arrived, Streatham nick being over the road. In the meantime I was given a swift half, which was all my adrenalin-rushed body could take, on the house. It turned out to be a revenge attack by a big Irish family in the area, one of whom Tom had banned from the pub. I even went to court as a witness, but the rest is mystery. I don't think the pub's even called the White Lion any more. And where was Julian?

I remember Bill Boaks, who used to cycle around Wimbledon with billboards about road safety all over his bike.

I remember odhu/ntinggo, Big Chief I-Spy's sign-off in his column in the News Chronicle and in his books.

I remember Walter Potts, a character in Coronation Street. I think he was a window-cleaner with aspirations to be a pop star and with Dennis Tanner's help, he made a record, which I think was released in real life. Christopher Sandford was the actor's name.

I remember Travis Bickle saying: "Someday a real rain will come and wash the scum off the streets."

I remember the night the news broke that Ian Dury had died, I was working overnight on Teletext and put up as quote of the day for the next day a line from one of his songs: "All I want for my birthday is another birthday."

I remember changing the big ends on my Hillman Imp.

I remember all the words to I've Got You Under My Skin.

I remember knowing two girls from The Lady Eleanor Holles School. They were sisters and one of their names was Bryony. Very grand.

I remember discovering that my old schoolfriend and guitar partner Gareth blew the whistle on Nick Leeson, the "rogue trader". I heard it from Simon Windmill.

I remember dandelion and burdock, a popular fizzy drink.

I remember feeling guilty because my brother use to tease my sister and I knew he only did it because I used to teased him so much.

I remember the man who called himself Jesus. He used to hang around at gigs and festivals dressed in sort of a white shift and sandals and he said he was Jesus. And then the Strawbs sang a song about him.

I remember the first time I repeated myself in this blog. It was a piece about Eliot's brace at rehearsals for the Fragile gig. I had almost repeated myself word for word. And I had to go back and delete one of the entries, I can't remember which. Now I wish I had left it, because I am sure there would have been a slightly different nuance to what I had written. And let's face it, it wasn't blatant plagiarism. Though it was perhaps lazy. Thing is, it's bound to happen again, and I don't know what to do.

I remember Mrs Morant, a primary school teacher, standing over me until I had finished my pudding (see my entry for March 9), but I did not know until recently that my mother had gone into school the next day and respectfully suggested they were wasting their time making me eat anything containing currants.

I remember my first day as an encyclopaedia salesman. We had had a couple of days training (that is learning the spiel and when to stop if you are clearly wasting your time.) Anyway come the first day, walking from door to door and not once getting across the threshold to the second speech, which is delivered in the living room, I was so hungry half way though the afternoon that I ate the only thing offered to me - a currant bun.

I remember Mr Forster (my girlfriend's father), on hearing that I had a job as an encyclopaedia salesman, saying: "You couldn't sell milk to a starving pussy!" He was right.

I remember An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge.

I remember my dad's boat, the Margorikki. Mainly finished in mahogany.

I remember the first film I saw at the pictures was The Abominable Snowman. I hid under the seat.

I remember losing my recorder on the way home from school. It had a specially made case.

I remember getting a penny deposit back on empty bottles.

I remember Chaucer's Nun's Priest's Tale.

I remember our crop of English teachers, Jim Greenwood, Alf Monk and Bernard Harrison. They were all totally genuine, passionate and anti-establishment, a bit like Robin Williams in Dead Poets' Society. It wasn't until many years later that I discovered they were disciples of FR Leavis, straight from Downing College and hoping to change the world, teaching a morality based on the works of Shakespeare, Chaucer, DH Lawrence, John Clare, John Donne, William Blake.