I remember taking a picture of Eliot, Maxine and myself as he set off from Heathrow for the New World. Unfortunately I was pointing the camera towards the security section and I get told off.

I remember Sid Shilling, who, whenever anyone in the office (Streatham, 266?) sneezed, and while others were saying “Bless you” would say: “Noise, please.” I continue this tradition.

I remember the late George Childs would always buy us (colleagues at Camberwell, Denmark Hill) a few bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau on the appropriate day in November.

I remember the Optic Wonder. Cheap, plastic but hours of fun.

I remember having to retake my Wolf Cubs art badge because the examiner wanted me to have more original material rather than copies. I had to go somewhere in Wimbledon. I imagine it’s easier to get an art A-Level nowadays.

I remember (visionary and probably inspirational primary school teacher) Mr O’Flaherty sitting outside his classroom with rarely less than one child on his knee. And the New Zealand teacher who would take her class out on the field for a picnic at the drop of a hat. Miss Sully?

I remember Jim Greenwood, and was so saddened to learn that he passed away in September. Have just read numerous biographies about what a great rugby player/coach/writer/thinker he was. But what an inspirational English teacher he was. I am beginning to hate reading Tiffnews.

I remember winning 10 shillings from Jim for having the best covered English exercise book. I believe I cut out a cartoon Scot in kilt with all the regalia and stuck it on a piece of Fablon. There were probably some words on there too. I think he was supposed to be Macbeth. I was into cutting and pasting even then. And humour.

I remember Jim kicking a hole in his desk and later on saying how worthy David ‘Polly’ Pollard was to have tried to fix it.

I remember sitting in the garden of the Canbury Arms with several other boys and three English teachers - Jim, Alf Monk and Bernard Harrison. I do not know if this is a true or false memory.

I remember Jim instilling in me a love of Shakespeare, DH Lawrence, John Donne, John Clare, Zen Buddhism and – indirectly – Dennis Potter.

I remember forgetting to post this yesterday. But I didn’t remember yesterday, which is why I didn’t.

I remember yesterday being the first time I have ever driven back from Golden Cap without a bag or jar full of fossils. I didn’t even go on the beach, due to the tide times and the enormous waves. Well, enormous for me.

I remember my Toy Story 3 moment as Eliot put his monkey puppet into a bin bag marked for the charity shop, the day before heading off to Austin TX. I have a suspicion I might secrete it somewhere before I take the bags to the charity shop… (I did.)

I remember a time when I preferred Vanilla Fudge’s version of You Keep Me Hanging On to the track as sung by Diana Ross and the Supremes, then getting a bit middle of the road (or is it adult orientated rock?) and preferring Diana Ross. And now I feel I might have swung back to the Fudge. Usually I’m alone in the car when I have these episodes, so it can’t be peer pressure or affectation.

I remember wishing I’d written the blog post on La Historia De La Musica Rock suggesting in the wake of his ‘70th birthday’ that John Lennon was a tad overrated.