I remember the sound a milk float made as the milkman made his deliveries at around 5 o'clock in the morning.

I remember the sign on the door as you went through into the non-public section of Brixton police station that said something like "You are entering a known terrorist target. Be vigilant". Very reassuring - and this was in the days long before 9/11 or 7/7.

I remember jumping off the sea wall and finding out too late that the sand below was further away than I thought. My tooth went right into my knee. I think it was at St Osyth, near Clacton.

I remember buying sheet music.

I remember a coal merchant situated beside Wimbledon railway station - William Way I think it was called - and I remember the smell of the sacks of coal.

I remember the obscure quotes printed at the top of the pages of the International Times - one was "The willingdone git the band up" which I later found in Finnegan's Wake.

I remember whenever we had roast lamb (on Sundays, obviously) I used to finish off with extra gravy and mint sauce all mixed together. I can still taste it.

I remember Tony Leitch, an architect and a very artistic acquaintance of mine, Tiffin Arts Society era, had bought a holiday home and was gradually equipping it (crockery, cutlery, furnishings etc) with stuff bought from jumble sales, boot fairs and charity shops. In other words, a very eclectic range of styles, almost an absence of style, which is what I have based my secret life on - the one I go away to in my caravan.

I remember my caravan - I am taking it away for its last holiday tomorrow - the best goddam caravan ever.