I remember the end titles to The Flintstones, where the lights go off one by one in the night-time townscape of Bedrock, but then one by one go on again after Fred has been locked out and is shouting "Wilma!"

I remember Mr Pastry - and discovering that a young upstart whose performance I was reviewing for The Stage at Christmas had actually trained with him!

I remember when I was about 9 or 10 my schoolfriend Barry Hodkinson had a real bow and arrows - real archery stuff, not pretend like mine - which he was probably allowed because he had an elder brother, Terry. One day Barry was shooting out of his bedroom window into the garden as usual when he shot a sparrow by mistake. The bird had just flown into the path of the arrow. He felt was so bad about it that he broke the arrow.

I remember taking a shortcut towards the end of a round-Surrey bike ride I did with Jennifer and Ren - the Highwayman's Ride I think it was called. Only a small shortcut. We had arrived at Epsom Downs late and everyone was cycling away from it as we got there. We still arrived back as they were all going home.

I remember Richard Beckinsale trying like mad to get into Paula Wilcox's knickers - yet still exuding innocence.

I remember tea caddies. They were fixed to the kitchen wall and dispensed a teaspoonful of tea leaves at the push of the button. We didn't have tea bags then.

I remember Camp coffee. It was in an HP Sauce-shaped bottle and it was liquid. Back in the days when we made tea in a tea pot.

I remember the sight gag Harry Worth used at the start of his TV shows with his reflection in a shop doorway. You'd know it if you saw it.

I remember walking along at a Tiffin School fair with my hand non-chalantly placed in my girlfriend's back pocket, and the mock-authoritarian tone of a master - I can't quite remember who, but probably Bert Seaborn - calling out "Gurrin, boy, take your hand out of there!"

I remember Spangles.

I remember Angela Walton, whose funeral I went to a week ago today. She was without doubt the sweetest, kindest, friendliest, most genuine person I have ever had the pleasure to work with. Her humour was always very self-deprecatory - as the Egham correspondent on the Surrey Herald she called herself "the Duchess of Egham", but with tongue firmly in cheek. If you asked her for an extra three pars she would say: "Always a pleasure, never a chore." If someone got stroppy it would be: "Ooh, get back in the knife drawer, Mr Sharp." She was short-sighted, drove a battered old mini and was the first person I heard use the word "pants" as slang for "rubbish". She was always having parties or get-togethers - in fact of the half-dozen or so I have been invited to in the past 10 years three were hers. But I suppose that just shows you how few friends I have rather than how many she had. The church was packed. She was lovely. It's not fair. But then cancer is never fair.