I remember Asha Puthli. Can’t find a downloadable version of The Devil Is Loose anywhere. I’ll have to dig out the vinyl and digitise it.

I remember the sound of a dripping tap, having spent some time building up under the bath, then seeping through the floorboards and on to the lathe and plaster of the ceiling, through to the paper, through the paper on to the sofa below and bouncing off on to the wooden floor. When you are woken by that sound at five in the morning, you don’t at first realise that it is the sound of water leaking through a 50p fibre washer in the tap connector causing upwards of £3,000 damage.

I remember the Scottish guy whose name I can’t recall but who lives near Victoria Park, works for Sony and drinks Guinness in the Elephant.