I remember Uncle Vic's Christmas club.

I remember fighting with Paul Inkpen and ‘Sam’ Hinton. Both at their respective times were my best friends. With Paul it was under a tree while walking across the fields on our way home from school. With Sam it was on our way into or out of a lesson.

I remember going on sales courses where Marks & Spencer was held up as the paragon of good business because they didn't need to advertise. Everyone bought their underpants because word went round that they were excellent. Word of mouth. Excellent products. It was all you needed.

I remember one of my colleagues on a short story writing course handing in examples of his erotic fiction and expecting the tutor to read it. Blokes are so simple.

I remember another writer on the same course who had crooked teeth, a tendency to hand-write everything in capitals and a backstory that included working on fairgrounds and being evacuated in the Second World War. He wrote unschooled but incredibly vivid stories.

I remember promising I'd make a girl I used to work with my daughter's godmother. I think her name was Sue. She was not unattractive which probably had something to do with it. She isn’t my daughter’s godmother.

I remember being chucked for being frigid. Her name? I can’t remember, but I think it began with J. Jackie?

I remember a very important kiss under a tree in the park near the Rookery.

I remember a drunken grope in a kitchen in Raynes Park. I’d gone back to this girl’s house after a party. I believe she asked me to stop and I truly believe I did. Then I threw up in her front garden. I don't remember her name but she was blonde. I never saw her again. Not surprising really.

I remember a gadget you could buy that allowed you to sound like Punch. A swizzler? I had one put couldn't get it to work. Uncle Vic could.