I remember...

2011-12-31T23:23:00.001Z

I remember buying Russell Hoban's The Mouse And His Child at WHSmith in Bognor at the start of a holiday and reading it that week. It's not that often I read novels that quickly. Puckoon by Spike Milligan and Keith Waterhouse’s Jubb are the only others I can think of off-hand. And of course this remebrance was kicked off by news of Hoban’s death this month. And I now remember where I put Jubb…

I remember that feeling of excitement when you 'catch' a magnetic fish.

I remember the loft apartment that Cagney lived in. You had to go up in a big industrial lift to get to it. And Lacey lived in Queens. She moved into a house in a nicer area during the show. I don’t remember if that was from Queens or to Queens.

I remember Grandad McCrae’s fascination with the transmigration of souls. And his RAF sunglasses.

I remember fighting back tears when Cinders went off with Prince Charming towards the end of this year’s Epsom pantomime. Poor Buttons. Such a beautifully judged performance by Andy Pelos. And such a beautiful Cinderella.

I remember, while I was using a parking meter recently in a side street in Wimbledon Village after dark, lighting it up with the flashlight app on my iPhone so I could see what I was doing, I overheard a young boy say to his schoolfriend, “My dad never gets any apps!”

I remember Tony ‘Chunky’ Smith and his lovely wife Anthea.

I remember discussing the latest Muppet Show with Richard in a pub in the Walworth Road.

I remember when it seemed to take ages to get from one year to the next. Another ellipsis I think…

2011-11-30T04:40:00.001Z

I remember buying Keith Waterhouse’s Jubb on Amazon. I thought it would be a lot easier than finding my original copy, but I can’t remember where I put it.

I remember Ezra Pound's poem about a shopgirl. About being blown away by such a girl. I knew exactly what he meant.

I remember the Gadget Shop.

I remember when all butchers seemed to have at least two fingers missing.

I remember It’s Not Unusual missing from the Tubes’ live recording of the Hammersmith concerts, which I thought was a shame as I had really enjoyed Fee Waybill’s interpretation of this minor classic. I presumed it was a licensing problem. I never did get round to buying the album on CD, so I was delighted when I found on Nathan’s Classic Rock Moat a bootleg recording of the Boston concert on the same tour which has loads of the Tubes’ theatricality still intact, some great guitar and synth sounds, and of course the slightly wonderful It’s Not Unusual.

I remember becoming quite adept at changing the elastic bands that used to drive the mechanism in my first Panasonic video recorder.

I remember the smell of the late Ben Lyon’s after shave. Perhaps not its actual smell, but that it smelled.

2011-10-31T15:51:00.001Z

I remember Eliot doing me a shot from inside the fridge on FaceTime.

I remember Ray Krebbs. He was a character in Dallas. He was a good guy, of which there were not many.

I remember thinking Malcolm Le Maistre didn’t quite fit into the whole Incredible String Band thing.

I remember seeing a lizard in Cornwall this year, in the dunes below Brea Hill. A young guy had caught it and was as amazed as I to find one there. You used to find loads when I was younger, but I thought they had all died out (especially compared with how many you find on the continent) although I did see some on Golden Cap a year or two ago.

I remember trying to update iTunes. And my iPhone to iOS 5! Nightmare!?! Good grief. But I think other people might have had it worse. My favourite is the upgrade causing the place names on Google maps to be in Chinese.

I remember Bert Jansch, Steve Jobs and Sir Jimmy Savile.

2011-09-30T22:17:00.001Z

I remember trying to buy Eliot a tortoise. We wanted to get him a pet and knew that a cat or dog was out of the question with his asthma. So a tortoise seemed ideal. Which is when I found that you’re not allowed to buy or sell tortoises any more. They used to be all over the place when I was little. And while I agree that it’s not right to pack them into crates and ship them around the world, which I believe is why the trade was banned, I see no good reason why I should not be allowed to buy one that has been properly cared for so far, and continue to care for it properly.

I remember when if you wanted to weigh yourself you went to a machine on a railway station or in a shop such as Woolworths. Woolworths weighing machines had great big dials on. It cost a penny to weigh yourself. That’s 1d, not 1p.

I remember buying a light meter in a second-hand camera shop near Par Sands.

I remember squirrel boy. Neither a real-life Mowgli nor a cartoon character, it’s what I used to call Eliot when he would stand in Richmond Park and coax squirrels to climb up his leg for a peanut.

2011-08-31T06:33:00.002Z

I remember JJ in assembly saying you should always have the right money with you for the bus. Also talking about a boy who had died while running for a bus, saying he was the sort of boy 'who ran for the bus'. Like it was a good thing.

I remember being told by Butch Key that we were 'standing on the touchline of life'. Like it was a bad thing.

I remember Mrs Newsome, my primary school head teacher, denouncing scrumping for apples - which someone had been stupid enough to do in school uniform.

I remember my cornet teacher. His name was Mr Meek. I think his first name was Eric. He had a very good embouchure. But he also had a moustache, which I used to think would get in the way of his trumpet playing.

I remember a history lesson in which Colin Prince talked about an auto-da-fe. I still don't know what it means.

2011-07-31T20:52:00.001Z

I remember the Swiss army knife I got as a freebie from some computer game company or other. Eliot cut himself with it the first time he picked it up. I don't think my dad was impressed – and not just because it was his carpet Eliot was bleeding on.

I remember picking up a songbook in a charity shop, along the lines of Little Boxes and Other Songs by the person who wrote Little Boxes, whose name escapes me. We were visiting Wendy (my mother-in-law at the time – I’m not sure if she’s still my mother-in-law, presumably not) in Southend. We also met some RNLI crew members in the pub.

I remember bumping into Lee Remick in a shop in Chichester. Or rather gawping in awe as she looked at a stand of greeting cards.

I remember fruit-flavoured Polos.

I remember a friend telling me he had spent two hours that morning in bed listening to his parents bickering. Which had confirmed his need to move to Australia almost immediately. And now he’s gone.

I remember Auntie Betty (not really and aunt – a family friend) saying a cat had jumped over her pram when she was a child, by way of an explanation for her fear of cats.

I remember folding tabs on stage, invariably with at least one other person.

I remember putting away the awning very carefully each time so that it stayed in pristine condition. Initially with another person but eventually on my own. But I still took it very seriously.

2011-07-21T13:13:00.001Z

I remember being rescued from an upturned dinghy a few hundred yards off the south coast.

I remember recording the Tiffin King Lear cast in a performance of the play at Beaconsfield. The cast included the daughters of Paul Daneman and Dorothy Tutin. We made them run around the grounds in the pouring rain to record the chase scene. And mixed it years and years later.

I remember St Osyth, the Sussex Club and Elmer Sands, and like to think I have carried on the tradition by sticking largely to Golden Cap and Chapel Amble.

I remember VJ 8055, Margorikki and the VW campervan.
I remember eating at the Key Cafe in Wimbledon, a place by Kingston bridge near a shop that sold latex, or on special occasions the Pot in Earls Court. On one very special occasion at a restaurant in Kensington Church Road.

I remember on one birthday singing Bob Dylan’s Forever Young for you in the garden.

I remember doing this all before. Happy 85th birthday, Dad!

2011-06-30T21:37:00.001Z

I remember my imaginary friend Joy. Or at least being told by my mum that I had an imaginary friend Joy.

I remember telling Marian that I had no friends other than my cat, Tinker.

I remember a boy in my class doing quite an impressive cartoon drawing of soldier. I think his name was Michael Green. Green was definitely his surname. I also remember him for annoying my dad by not saying thanks when we drove him home after working on stage one night after school.

I remember a time when 'boy, you been a naughty girl you let your knickers down' was thought of as not really fit for public broadcast. The lyrics being played on radio today must have John Lennon whirling in his grave.

I remember when I would often print out maps of places I was going such as theatres or holiday destinations. Now I just tap the post code into my iPhone and up comes a map, with a suggested route if I want it.

I remember one of my colleagues on a creative writing course handing in erotic fiction. I don’t think it was ‘homework’. Just extra little bits he would ask the tutor to read and give him feedback on. Erotic is probably too classy a word. Dirty? I don’t think Naomi was impressed.

I remember Sutton library being in a large house, long since demolished, in the middle of Manor Park.

2011-05-31T11:37:00.001Z

I remember Kathy Kirby's attempted suicide. She had taken an overdose and then phoned someone for help. It happened in the same week that Jimi Hendrix was reported as being somewhat more successful at killing himself. I was so angry that he had gone and she was still around. She died something of a recluse during the past month – having done nothing I believe of note since the Seventies. Just imagine what Hendrix might have achieved had he had another forty-odd years…

I remember buying a secondhand typewriter for Eliot from a junk shop in Wadebridge. I think it became our caravan typewriter for a while.

I remember having a party line on the phone when we lived at Phyllis Avenue. You had to pick it up and listen and make sure you could hear a dialling tone rather than a conversation before making your call.

I remember the long, hot summer of 1976. We were trying to paint the bedroom walls at Longfellow (I seem to remember purple and orange!?!) and the paint was drying as you brushed it on.

I remember telling my Dad I was going to leave Maxine. I think we were in a pub - possibly at Weston Green - on the way back from the studio at Beaconsfield where we had been working on King Lear. He predicted 'a lot of pain'. He wasn't wrong.

2011-04-30T21:36:00.002Z

I remember the Exchange & Mart.

I remember driving all the way down to Hazelmere to see an opera production in what was essentially a village hall in Hazelmere. I had to review it for The Stage. Though it had an amateur production atmosphere, I was amazed at how good it was. By amateur production atmosphere, I think I mean they were enjoying it.

I remember a fellow student on an OU course whose son was at Tiffins with me. I can't remember his name though. Pet something?

2011-03-31T20:14:00.001Z

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.

2011-02-28T05:37:00.004Z

I remember posting on Facebook having just watched The Social Network. It was weird. Like I'd become part of the film.

I remember the Jolly Boatman. Not sure if it was a pub or a restaurant because I don't think I ever went there. I just walked past it a lot.

I remember Arthur Haynes, a very popular TV comedian in his day who vanished into obscurity and who is even less famous now than Benny Hill or Charlie Drake. I suppose those two at least made a few records that are still around to remind us of their talents. I originally put quotes around the word talents but I don't think they're needed. Although I prefer Bernard Cribbins recorded output to either of theirs.

2011-02-10T20:17:00.001Z

I remember Linda Streeter. Rest in peace Linda. I know it can’t have been an easy decision.

2011-01-31T22:58:00.001Z

I remember the spoon a nurse said she was going to get for my wife’s toffee yogurt, even though she had asked for jelly. She also asked for vegetable soup and they brought tomato. So she hardly ate anything, especially as she was already feeling sick and double-especially as the nurse forgot to get the spoon I remember her going to get.

I remember a video game where you had an overhead view of yourself driving a car around courses that were built around domestic environments – eg a breakfast table or a desk with pencils and rulers and so on. So it was just like playing with a toy car, driving it around the table top. No idea what format it was, but obviously a little way on from ping pong.

I remember: ‘Our whole universe was in a hot dense state, then nearly 14 billion years ago expansion started. Wait - the Earth began to cool, the autotrophs began to drool, Neanderthals developed tools, we built a wall (we built the pyramids). Math, science, history, unravelling the mysteries that all started with the big bang. Hey!’

I remember waiting outside a cinema in Wimbledon (there were several – this was the one down the Broadway on the other side from the theatre) and asking someone (ie a grown-up) to get us into the film because it was an A, so children weren’t allowed in unaccompanied. I thought it was a Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin film that I particularly wanted to see, but according to Wikipedia their last film together was in 1956. I would have been four – I don’t think my mum would have allowed that!

I remember Ron Howard’s character in The Smith Family using the expression ‘I want to rap’ meaning ‘I want to chat’ to his father played by the amazing Henry Fonda or to his sister played by the gorgeous Darleen Carr. He sounded absurd/pretentious, and I don’t think we in Blighty had heard of rap music at the time. I believe Henry Fonda often used to put his gun away in a shoebox in his wardrobe.

I remember Finetime Fontayne – one-time member of the Coronation Street cast – and was reminded of him when I recently heard on the news the name of the Nigerian president - Goodluck Jonathan.

2010-12-31T14:53:00.003Z

I remember my mum going to some sort of keep-fit class where she had to swing dumb-bells around. It was all the rage. I don’t know if it is a true or false memory – I’ll have to ask her.

I remember driving out towards Leatherhead late one night with my dad to see if we could get a better view of a comet.

I remember, in the caravan for Fang's Last Trip, my daughter being unable to read out the words on a mug she had given me many years before. The words were 'I love my Dad'. Thankfully she cannow say them again.

I remember a Chuck Lorre vanity card at the end of an episode of The Big Bang Theory. It was the first one I had bothered to pause the tv to read. It turned out to be about Pat Metheny, a personal hero.

2010-11-30T13:33:00.001Z

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?

2010-11-05T01:11:00.001Z

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.

2010-11-01T10:13:00.001Z

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.

2010-09-30T10:18:00.001Z

I remember playing along (sort of) on my guitar to Singing Time – the B-side of Tommy Steele’s Little White Bull. I have only just found out – some 48 years on – that it lasted little more than a minute and a half.

I remember walking among the rafters of Tiffin School. We used to keep some of the stage equipment there. And I remember rumours of a dead pigeon in the water tank. That bit might be a false memory, relating to Fawlty Towers.

I remember Ty Hardin. Not sure why. I think he was in a cowboy series.

I remember Jim Greenwood (our English teacher) telling us Zen stories such as the one where a butcher cuts his meat in such as way that his knife never gets blunt, or a drunk man falls down stairs and doesn’t get hurt.

I remember Sea Monkeys. I think I might even have ‘grown’ some.

I remember having a Seebackroscope.

I remember wishing I had X-ray vision, or the ability to hypnotise girls.

2010-08-31T15:01:00.001Z

I remember the uproar when Mia Farrow had her hair cut short.

I remember thinking Connie Kay, who played drums on Astral Weeks among a million other things, was a woman. I was getting confused of course with Carole Kaye, who played bass on Pet Sounds among a million other things. Both of them geniuses.

I remember thinking that my log book said my Ford Mondeo was petrol blue. One day I realised it ran on petrol and was coloured blue.

I remember my brother’s ex Chloe at a wedding reception trying to get her friend Fliss to come and stand in the middle of the dance floor while the DJ played Brown Girl In The Ring. Chloe is from Liverpool. Fliss is brown.

I remember Roger Curtis’s band who often played at the Berrylands. They might have even have had a residency. They came to my dad’s studio and we recorded a few songs. One had the word ‘strawberry’ in the title but that’s all I can remember. Oh and one about drugs – a sort of cross between The Needle And The Damage Done and The Needle Of Death. And the Currys heir was their roady. Perhaps the band’s name rather than the song had something to do with strawberries.

2010-07-31T15:50:00.001Z

I remember The Zodiac by Cosmic Sounds – although for a long time I thought it might even have been Cosmic Sounds by The Zodiac. It wasn’t a real group, though I didn’t know it at the time. After all, Wikipedia wasn’t around in the 60s. Now I even have the CD with liner notes by Richie Unterberger so its genesis is clear. A bunch of (top-notch) session musicians and someone with an idea for a concept album that was kicked around. I don’t know why the words still excite me: ‘Nine times the colour red / Explodes like heated blood. / The battle is on’. I don’t think it’s the quality. But Cyrus Faryar’s straight but very West Coast delivery probably has a lot to do with it: ‘Quick - find another fire!’

I remember climbing up on to the shelves in the alcove – I believe to plug in my train set – and getting an electric shock. Perhaps more of a surprise shock than an electric one. I may have been trying to push bare wires into the socket rather than an actual plug. And this was in the days of two rather than three-pin plugs. I am sure there was an element of mischief involved.

I remember the theory of plate tectonics, which I thought made absolute sense when I was studying it in the late Seventies or early Eighties. I have only just discovered that it only became widely accepted in the 1960s.

2010-06-25T19:29:00.001Z

I remember Glee.

2010-05-31T08:49:00.001Z

I remember when I could make a whole ward sing… is a line from episode 2 of Karaoke, which is blowing me away nearly 16 years after Dennis Potter died and just over 14 years since the series was first broadcast. I’m not sure why it has taken me until now to watch it. What would we do without 4oD? The line is spoken by Albert Finney, who plays a writer who keeps finding people speaking his lines. He lies in his hospital bed, winces with pain and says, “Blockage… Writer’s block… I remember when I could make a whole ward sing,” and smiles, which is surely Dennis Potter lying in agony and remembering The Singing Detective. Ian McDiarmid (the Emperor in the Star Wars films) looks scarily like Potter (he plays a writer who sees people speaking his lines in a film written by Finney’s character, who is speaking lines written by Potter… close brackets). Confused? The thing is, Potter wrote in such away that everything made sense.

I remember watching with wonder as George Best would run rings around the opposition. I haven’t seen anyone play with such skill, finesse and brilliance since. Not that I ever watch football or would know a good from a bad player. But with George Best it was obvious. Like Torvill and Dean. Or SuBo?

2010-04-30T22:46:00.001Z

I remember a toy that was just a card with a cartoon face, but on it were iron filings under a plastic bubble that you could move with a magnet to create the face’s hair, eyebrows, moustache and/or beard. In America it was called Wooly Willy but I think it was different over here. I thought so – it was Fuzzy Face. Good old Google.

I remember smelling a really evil smell every evening one summer as I walked into my front garden coming home from work. One day I stopped to investigate – having put two and two together – and found the cause. A fox had curled up and died under the hedge. The council came and removed it.

I remember the cream doughnuts and iced buns that we used to get at the school tuck shop. I think they were supplied by Clark’s. Theirs were the nearest thing to them I could find post-school. Don’t know if they exist now as a baker. I also remember the bottles of Coca-Cola that they used to put in the freezer. When they opened the bottle the Coke would solidify. We used to think it was fun.

2010-03-31T03:12:00.001Z

I remember coming across Jeff Beck’s Nadia and thinking what a beautiful melody it was. Then I was in the bath one day listening to Chill and it came on being sung – virtually note for note the same as Jeff Beck. I managed to find the playlist for Chill online and was amazed to discover that in fact it was a Nitin Sawhney track. It is still beautiful, and I am still amazed at Jeff Beck’s ability to emulate note for note the sung tune on the guitar.

I remember seeing (because it was only this month) Judi Dench in A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Rose, Kingston, Mel C in Blood Brothers and Brian Conley and Micky Dolenz (yes, the Micky Dolenz!) in the last ever Shaftesbury Theatre production of Hairspray. What a month!

I remember Pinky and Perky. I had – and might still have – a 45rpm single of them singing The Ugly Duckling. My second favourite version of the song after Danny Kaye.

2010-03-12T01:07:00.001Z

I remember Stephen Collins. To be honest, I’m not sure he doesn’t spell his first name Steven and I’m not even 100% certain that Collins is his surname. The only reason I remember him is that his mum was in the next hospital bed to my mum when I was born. He was born the next day. My mum and his mum remained friends so we did meet when we were older, but I’m not sure if he went to my school or lived around Motspur Park or anything else about him. It’s all a bit obscure. But I definitely remember his birthday was always the day after mine.

I remember Paul James, a member of the school stage gang who was always making jokes. A bit older than me, he had a wealth of one-liners and bawdy songs up his sleeve and was a bit of a life and soul of the party sort of a guy. One thing I distinctly remember was that he would go down to the green room to call the orchestra and shout: ‘Can we have the band on stage please.’ They didn’t like being called the band, you see. It was v funny at the time. I only found out recently that he went into the ministry. Which is great.

2010-02-28T15:51:00.001Z

I remember Ian Trigger, who was in a lunchtime play I went to see with Richard Faulkner and presumably several others at Ed Berman’s InterAction theatre - Richard's brother was their accountant or something... Trigger was excellent but the real reason I remember it – and probably the real reason I went to see it - was that the female lead spent most of the play dressed only in a chastity belt, which if I remember correctly fell off at one point. Or perhaps it wouldn’t come off. Oh yes, I read Ian Trigger’s obituary in The Times the other day.

I remember protecting Bra (=Barbara =my first girlfriend) from the evil clutches of Steve Holness. She fell instead into my evil clutches. It was at a party over Belmont way I believe. I was standing in a doorway and grabbed hold of her and – no matter how hard Steve tried to chat her up – I wouldn't let her go. I bumped into him in the queue at Langley Motors – the motor spares place round our way - when it was still on Oldfields Road quite a few years later.

2010-02-01T02:56:00.001Z

I remember when I was growing up that the only black man I knew to talk to was Mr ‘Jacko’ Jackson, who ran the garage at Motspur Park. A proper garage with attended petrol pumps, servicing, repairs and so on, it has since been razed to the ground and had offices built on it. He was very jolly, much-loved by locals, and as far as I know retired homewards to Jamaica or Trinidad. Somewhere in that general direction. I don’t think there were any Afro-Caribbean children or teachers in my primary school, or Asians for that matter.

I remember a time when if you missed something on television, you had missed it. Nowadays most programmes seem to be on two or three times – and there is always the internet to fall back on - so there isn’t the sense of occasion that there once was.

I remember going to see West Side Story at the cinema at the top of Sutton (which is now a night club) with Sue Joins, I think that was her name. Alex’s girlfriend.

I remember wanting to do a production of the The Persecution and Assassination of Jean Paul Marat by the Inmates of the Asylum at Charenton under the direction of the Marquis de Sade at school. There were a few of us very keen to do it but we didn’t have much hope. I don’t think we even approached any teachers because we knew there was no way they would let us do it.

I remember wanting to do West Side Story with the Tiffin Arts Society, but David Nield said the music was too difficult, ie we’d have to hire an orchestra, which would cost too much money. And as he was the musical director, we never did do it.

I remember Bernard Lang’s stories, especially the one where he went out to post a letter and didn’t come home for two weeks.

I remember Al Stewart at Les Cousins saying what an amazing acoustic guitar player Pete Townshend was – Pinball Wizard had just come out. And the acoustic guitar work was impressive.

2009-12-31T14:59:00.001Z

I remember William Hartnell as Doctor Who. And seeing Roger Charles as an extra in an episode that I will one day track down. And seeing William Russell, who was one of the Doctor’s companions, on a Tube train looking pretty good for his age. And fancying Leela like mad. Especially in that little skirt she wore. And tomorrow the 10th Doctor will regenerate into the 11th.

I remember Paul Hutchinson’s dad playing drums for school concerts at Green Lane. A proper kit and all.

I remember a time when things seemed so much more simple…

2009-11-30T12:02:00.003Z

I remember visiting my then wife’s common-law step-sister’s husband’s sex shop in Margate. Or he might have been her common-law husband. There was a woman trying on lingerie who kept coming out into the shop to show us what it looked like. Her bloke was there too and didn’t seem to mind.

I remember listening open-mouthed to Duncan Campbell’s talk to myself and fellow students at the London College of Printing. He was of course then the crime reporter for the Guardian and had many interesting anecdotes to tell us, particularly about a fellow reporter in cape and black fedora whose name will one day return to me. But it was Campbell’s relationship with the actress/goddess Julie Christie that made me hang on every word.

I remember visiting Simon Rawles, a fellow student at LCP, when he was working at the Jazz Cafe as its press officer. Jose Feliciano was appearing there that week, and had gone out with a minder or two but had wandered off on his own and no-one knew where he was. Fortunately this all happened around lunchtime and was resolved happily by the time of the evening’s performance.

I remember one of the many pithy statements chalked on the beams of the George in Bridport – ‘if I had all the money I’d spent on drink, I’d spend it on drink’.

I remember reading a haiku reportedly by John Cooper Clarke and thinking how clever it was – ‘To convey one’s mood / In 17 syllables / Is very diffic’.

I remember bumping into Edward Woodward, who died this month, in Port Issac a few years ago. He and Michelle Dotrice had been eating in the same restaurant as Margaret and I, the Slipway Hotel, under the awning a table or two away, and I had realised who they were and was getting very excited. After they had left, they obviously went for a stroll around the village because as we left they were walking back to their car. I walked up to him, apologised for the intrusion and told him I thought The Wicker Man was one of the best films ever made in this country. I still can't get over how excited *he* was at my interest. He had been involved that year in quite a few re-release for DVD projects and seemed genuinely grateful for any praise offered. I pointed out that Mrs Woodward hadn't done too badly herself. They laughed. At the time I couldn't remember what she was famous for - just that it was something archetypal. Of course she was Betty to Michael Crawford's Frank Spencer! A lovely man and a lovely couple.

2009-10-29T11:03:00.001Z

I remember David Miles.

I remember popping into the Catherine Wheel on Kensington Church Road on my first day at the Mail on Sunday to ask the way to the Churchill. They obliged of course (it was quite a bit further along KCR). The Catherine Wheel has long gone and is now a swish Lebanese restaurant.

I remember we always used to see large groups of orthodox Jews on the beach between Elmer and Climping. They would settle themselves apart from everyone else, which on that beach you could quite easily do.

I remember Coco the Clown, who would make his ginger hair rise and fall, and Charlie Cairoli, who wore a bowler hat.

I remember Shirley Collins getting quite upset at Bob Copper’s funeral service when she recalled Bob waiting for a beetle to cross their path while they were out walking. I couldn’t help feeling that that is what anyone would do. But I suppose it isn’t.

2009-09-30T17:07:00.001Z

I remember '30 days have September, April, June and November, All the rest have 31 except February, which has 28 unless it's a leap year'. It comes in handy - but not for giving you an extra day when you need one.

I remember taking the photos at the weddings of Chloe's sister, Julie and Derek McGrath and my cousin Carol. And our wedding, though I only did the big group shot. Handy things, tripods.

I remember when my first wife gave me the tripod, but whether it was for Christmas or my birthday, that I don't remember. Top of the range and still going strong.

I remember Pat Metheny's striped T-shirts.

I remember Keith Floyd, Troy Kennedy Martin and Mary Travers. Floyd's enthusiasm for food and the world, his cavalier attitude to the medium of television while showing total respect for his viewers; TKM's excellent television programmes, particularly Edge Of Darkness; and (Peter, Paul and) Mary's voice, strength and looks, particularly the way she flicked her fringe out of her eyes while singing.

I remember that the aforementioned Julie didn't like me singing PP&M's Puff The Magic Dragon because it made her cry.

I remember Thora Hird and Freddie Frinton in their sitcom Meet The Wife. But I seem to remember him more for his variety sketches where he would act drunk, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Dame Thora obviously went on to be in everything.

2009-08-31T18:50:00.003Z

I remember my honeymoon in Paris.

I remember the beggar who "helped" people get a taxi, "helped" them in with their folding bikes and luggage, and then wouldn't let the taxi leave until all the occupants had given him money. Much to the other taxis' chagrin. I don't know the French for 'beep, beep' but that is what they cried. That was my first impression of Gare du Nord, Paris, 2009. Fortunately, it got better.

I remember croques monsieur, croissants, pains au chocolat, coupes de champagne, crepes flambees in Weplers, and seemingly everybody walking home in the evening carrying one, two or three French sticks.

I remember, on the walk up Montmartre, watching a man doing his washing up in his front room. There was a sink, washing machine and fridge just sitting at the side of the room. Another house had at least twenty clocks that I could see hanging on the wall through the open window, and another twenty or so on a table through another window.

I remember asking a working girl, standing in the doorway of the Sully Bar, where I could post a post card. I asked in French and she told me in French and the best bit was she didn't even try to speak in English, which most people I came across could and would do. And I posted my carte postale.

I remember that most of the beggars we saw not only had a dog, but also a cat, which upset Margaret a lot, especially as I kept taking pictures of them.

I remember the bicycles that you seem to be able to hire, not that I would have dreamed of cycling in Paris, where the drivers seem to pay only scant regard for stop signs. But there were loads of families cycling all over the place, kids included.

I remember the zebra crossings (equivalent in French probably completely different) at the end of nearly every road, certainly every side street in the area where we were staying.

I remember the accordionist playing to the punters at the Relais de la Butte where we were having a salad on our last night. Paris, at last. The bass player could have done with a few lessons, though.

2009-07-31T02:38:00.001Z

I remember the BBC’s “listen again” feature, where you could stream radio programmes that you had missed and listen to them on your computer. Occasionally they would make available programmes that you could save and listen to later. I realised that by changing the directory address for streamed programmes to the same as the downloadable ones, I could save any programme using Audio Stream Recorder, software that came with my soundcard. Recently this system has often not worked and now it never works, because the BBC have started putting everything through iplayer. Apparently lots of people had worked out similar tricks in order to save programmes. At the worst, even with iplayer, you can just record the sound going through your soundcard in real time. At best… A bit like taping the top ten off the radio, but better quality.

I remember spending lots of money on a decent stylus, turntable, amp and speakers, so that I could get decent quality sound from my collection of LPs. I also remember listening to CDs on a decent system through decent speakers. The argument as to whether vinyl is better than CD, or analogue (valves) is better than digital (transistors) has become redundant when the youth of today are happy to listen to MP3s being played on tinny mobile phone speakers on the top deck of a 154. </rant>

I remember when people used to say “I’m glad I’ve got that off my chest.” Now they say “</rant>”.

I remember watching a boy playing the 2p machine on Bognor pier. One of those machines where you drop your coin in and it falls on a shelf which moves backwards and forwards and might push one or more coins on to the next shelf which moves backwards and forwards and might eventually end up pushing loads of coins into the winnings thingy but more than likely falls into the arcade owner’s secret stash. Anyway, I was watching him because instead of putting in one coin at a time and watching it disappear, he would put five or ten coins in rapid succession, and take out ten or twenty. Aha, I thought, a system!

I remember looking over a houseboat when it looked like that was all we could afford. I think it was near or even on Eel Pie Island.

I remember when Eliot fell over in the school playground. The good old school secretary Pat Pither, rang us and said she thought we should take him to casualty, just in case, which we did. He had hairline fractures in both wrists. It was Ash Wednesday 1992, but I only know that because I found an old diary.

I remember Jack Morrison (David Morse) in St Elsewhere had differently coloured backpacks depending on whether he was on a day or a night shift. He could just pick one up knowing it had the right stuff in it. I thought that was cool.

I remember “Got myself a crying walking sleeping talking livin doll, Got to do my best to please her just cause she’s a livin doll, Got a rovin eye and that is why she satisfies my soul, Got the one and only walking talkin livin doll.” It hit the number one spot 50 years ago today and I didn’t even have to look it up. And they say home taping is killing music.

2009-06-30T13:52:00.001Z

I remember my Sony Trinitron: Stylish cube design with the best picture quality ever.

I remember Kwai Chang Cane and not understanding why people thought he looked Chinese. Rest in peace, David Carradine.

I remember the TV Clinic in Worcester Park and the lost feeling I used to have when I left my television to be fixed – which it usually was.

I remember whirling round like a dervish at the Louise’s last gig in Gander Green Lane.

I remember Bazooka Joe bubble gum. It came wrapped in a little comic.

I remember taking our new kittens to the vet and not understanding how she could say Issey was a she without so much as a peek at her private parts. We had convinced ourselves that Issey was a boy because she bossed Padstow around so much. Anyway we asked how she could tell and she said, “All tortoiseshells are female”.

I remember reading, probably in the Melody Maker, a quote from Scott Walker about Neil Young, just after his first solo album had been released, saying how great Young’s “prose” was. It seemed to me that Walker had misunderstood the back of the album cover, which has part of the lyrics – “I was chopping down a palm tree etc” - of The Last Trip To Tulsa printed as prose on it, and that Walker therefore wasn’t as intelligent as he was cracked up to be.

I remember cycling past a dead badger lying in the road just outside Chapel Amble, and thinking it looked as if it was screaming.

I remember boys at school thinking ginger beer was a really cool idea – we were discussing it at the bus stop at Hampton Court on our way back from games - and I seem to remember Andy Mackie being involved so we are talking about age 12-13 here. I think they had a recipe/demonstration on Blue Peter.

I remember a friend of mine insisting her baby was conceived within wedlock even though the baby was born about seven months after she got married.

I remember interviewing a couple of musicians who asked me not to mention that they lived together, because that sort of thing was not allowed ‘back home’ in Ireland.

I remember asking for, and being given, The Jackson 5’s Greatest Hits, for Christmas the December I got married – I think it was from Val, my first wife’s step-sister. This might be a false memory because it was released a year earlier. But wanting, and getting, the record was real. I also remember being bowled over by the Thriller video. And finally I remember – last Friday – checking the front pages of all the newspapers at the local garage, and all of them referred to Michael Jackson as the King of Pop, none of them as Wacko Jacko. The Sun called him Jacko but that was only due to space constraints. I was very pleased that all the Fleet Street editors had resisted the temptation and treated him as a human being who’d just died at 50. By Sunday of course it was no holds barred.

I remember when JazzFM started playing more soul than jazz and eventually changed its name to SmoothFM. But at about that time theJazz appeared on DAB radio – heaven! Didn’t even bother with DJs rambling on between tracks. Then it got successful, started using DJs and adverts and then – it folded. Lo and behold if the other day, while autotuning our new DAB radio for the bathroom, I didn’t come across JazzFM, which is now broadcasting on digital only, and while there is a little bit of soul and r&b in there, plays jazz. I wonder how long it will last.

2009-05-29T23:12:00.000Z

I remember the other day the Mail - and probably all the other papers around the world - ran a story about an Audrey Hepburn stamp being sold at auction. It was produced in 2001 in Germany as part of a series of movie icons, and showed Miss Hepburn ostensibly smoking, a cigarette holder sticking out of her mouth. While - or because - that image of her from Breakfast At Tiffany’s is indeed iconic, her son, an anti-smoking campaigner, wouldn’t allow the image to be used and the stamps were destroyed. Except 30 or so were saved from the incinerator and some have emerged on the market since. What nobody seems to have noticed is that the cigarette holder on the stamp has clearly been Photoshopped into the picture. In the original, she has a pair of sunglasses dangling from her mouth. I wasn’t too happy about the holder, which looks too thick and not detailed enough. The shadow has clearly been faded out and the picture has been flipped but look at the earring, the smile, her eyes. It’s the same photo. Yet not the same.

I remember having heated discussions with fellow governors over whether children should be allowed to use calculators in the classroom. Or perhaps just discussions. I think the heated ones were with parents.

I remember when software launches involved receiving T-shirts, toys or invitations to parties. The most recent software I received for review came in the form of a 30-day trial.

I remember having the idea for an IMDb for records. You know, which members of a group or which session musicians played on a particular track. But I haven’t got round to beginning it. I wonder how they started IMDb. They didn’t even have a precedent.

2009-04-30T10:24:00.002Z

I remember a member of Roxy Music complaining that, with Brian Eno around, they would play a few notes and what seemed like three weeks later they would emerge sounding completely different.

I remember the snotty little kid who was climbing on the seat opposite me on the bus earlier today banging my guitar case and looking at me and smiling - I paused and smiled right back. Her elder sister did not have a snotty nose but had gorgeous big brown eyes and sort of stroked my guitar case but she was all of four years old so we won't say any more on the subject. Anyway, snot-nose realised she wasn't annoying me by hitting my guitar case so she started to unzip my rucksack and laugh like that kid in The Simpsons - hna hna. I just zipped it back up and she unzipped it so I zipped it up and gave her a look. She then got bored with me and started climbing on the back of the seat - I wouldn't have wanted to be the woman in front. All the while her mother - if that's the right term - was standing in the pushchair part of the bus having a row with someone on her mobile phone. And we're talking about an intimate relationship type of row here. Totally out of control. But the thing that interested me was that I was completely cool with this little kid - though I'd rather she hadn't had a snotty nose - banging my guitar case. The guitar was quite safe... and...

I remember Zippy - our friends' springer spaniel - being so excited to see us that she weed over my guitar case. And my guitar is fine.

2009-03-31T13:48:00.001Z

I remember amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant.

I remember je suis, tu es, il est, nous sommes, vous etes, ils and then it fizzles out.

I remember playing pick-up sticks, which is probably not how the game was spelled.

I remember that scene in Soldier Blue when the very 'white' American soldier got killed by the Indians and everyone in the audience cheered.

I remember the scene in ER when the doctor everyone hated got his arm chopped off by a helicopter blade.

I remember an episode of Scrubs where four doctors/actors from St Elsewhere turned up.

I remember seeing David Battley, a British character actor (usually in TV comedy programmes on account I guess of the shape of his face) outside WH Smith in Streatham. He died in 2003.

I remember sticking up for my ISP in the UKOnline newsgroup. The moderator was so pleased he/she sent me a T-shirt and a car sticker. I still have them both. And I still use UKOnline.

2009-02-27T21:33:00.000Z

I remember 106 Burdon Lane. I didn't, but I came across a reminder while re-reading A Passage To India. Either side of the number at the foot of page 106 I had pencilled "Remember" and "Burdon Lane" - it must have been more than 40 years ago. For that is where the 'first girl I loved', Barbara - known at Nonsuch as Bra - lived. I often see the house when driving over that way and invariably think of her mum and scary dad with their German accents. I remember Mr D once said Palestrina was only good for wallpapering to, Mrs D made apple strudel, Barbara's brother Colin brings to mind one of those brown warehouse worker's coats (like a lab coat) but I can't think why, and Barbara, sadly, I mainly remember for looking down her nose at me (after we had split up) because I didn't smoke. Pathetic. But I wish I had a photograph...

I remember three events that will cause me immediately to change the station when listening to the radio: anything by ELO; anything by Elton John except for Bennie And The Jets, Rocket Man or Tiny Dancer; The Stranglers singing Golden Brown.

I remember Fortes in Brighton. Is that how it was spelled? I think it was where there is now a Harry Ramsden's - just by the pier. And I remember going there after taking my 11-plus and sitting upstairs and having lunch and looking at the view. This was on a Saturday, but I don't know if this memory is true because I also remember having orange juice as a treat with our school dinner and being allowed out on the field.

I remember getting on a bus at Raynes Park (this was when the 118s used to do the route, which is a long time ago) and finding that it was about to be driven by John Goodwin, my quasi-uncle, who passed away last week. I don't think I ever saw John without a smile on his face. He gave me a bag of sweets to share with my friend on our way to Morden - and as far as I can remember we got a free ride.

2009-01-30T12:04:00.006Z

I remember seeing John Martyn - who died yesterday - appearing at Ewell folk club in the room round the back of the King William IV. He asked if anybody could give him a lift back to Kingston. I believe he lived on the border of Surbiton and Kingston at the time.

I remember recognising the location for the cover photograph of The Tumbler. We used to look for it while walking through Home Park on our way to sports afternoons at Grist's.

I remember seeing John Martyn at Kingston Polytechnic - which now of course goes by the name of Kingston University.

I remember taking a video camera with me to the Greyhound, Fulham Road, and asking John if he'd mind me filming the gig. He was round the back, totally spaced out but smiling and said 'no, far out, peace man' etc. I had borrowed the camera from my Dad and unfortunately the video tape is reel-to-reel so I have no idea what it looks like. I must dig it out and see if I can digitise it.

I remember seeing John Martyn at Les Cousins in Greek Street, Soho. It was the first time I had heard him use echoplex and despite the discomfort of the church pews it was absolutely stunning, particularly in that tiny room.

I remember being disappointed when The Road To Ruin came out because there were jazz combos where the echoplexed guitar should have been. The album was delayed quite a while, because of printing issues over the cover we were told at the time, but I now find, according to the 'official' website, it was more complicated than that. I quote: 'John had disagreements with Joe Boyd over the production of this album and, because of the numerous overdubs; John felt that the recording lacked spontaneity.' He wasn't wrong.

I remember John Martyn releasing a live album from his home in Hastings. You could only buy Live in Leeds (named after an earlier album by the Who) by mail order. It was a limited edition and I think my friend Richard actually bought one.

I remember on one of Richard and my many evenings spent exploring the pubs of Soho bumping into John Martyn who was doing much the same with a friend of his. (Bass player - name escapes me.) We exchanged pleasantries and Richard and I later realised that this was the time of his divorce from Beverley/work on the Grace And Danger album.

I remember working out the chords to Winding Boy off of The Tumbler.

I remember being amused by John Martyn's Glasgow/mockney accent, particularly as I knew he was born about five minutes away from where I lived and was brought up. Admittedly he went off to live mainly in Glasgow when his parents split up and I would have just moved into Phyllis Avenue in Motspur Park at about that time, so our paths didn't cross until a lot later.

I remember hearing that John Martyn had lost a leg and assuming it was the diabetes or the drink. And of course it wasn't. He had a cyst behind his knee which burst.

I remember listening constantly to The Apprentice early on in my relationship with Margaret and feeling that every song on the album was about me, was me singing those songs about my life. How did he do that?

I remember exchanging emails with a well-known folk/rock musician, who told me that when John Martyn walked into a motorway service station the other musicians would go quiet, knowing that there might be trouble coming. And a lot of people have said the same. But he was special. And I don't think we'd have wanted him any other way.

I remember going to see John Martyn at the Fairfield Halls, Croydon, a few years ago. (Just checked and it was eight years ago today!) My daughter had bought me a ticket for my birthday. He had already put on quite a bit of weight - he got even bigger when he spent most of his time in a wheelchair. There are pictures and a set-list here.

I remember Davy Graham, whose Folk, Blues & Beyond was the only album I have ever lent without getting it back. And Roger Curtis is dead as well!

2008-12-31T11:53:00.005Z

I remember Woolworths.

I remember how good the first series of Lost was. All those back stories. All those references. All that plotting. And I remember how disappointed we were at the second series. I think my favourite character was John Locke.

I remember Teilo Colley, news editor at PA, telling those of us who were listening all about Morrisons. Apparently it was a chain of supermarkets oop north. We hadn't heard of it.

I remember walking a very drunk Julie McGrath around the function room upstairs at the White Lion in Streatham, back when she used to be Julie Emmett. I can't remember who was supporting her other arm, but it was probably Derek McGrath. She only had to ask and she could so easily have become Julie Gurrin!

I remember falling in love with Nora - but no, I don't remember her surname. It was my first day at a new branch (Brixton) and she had just come back from holiday and was wearing brown legs, a short sundress and a thick Irish accent. I last saw her on the news reports from Dunblane, where a gunman had gone on a rampage. Her kids were at the school and she looked very schoolmummy but still had that accent.

2008-11-29T19:15:00.002Z

I remember Prunella Gee, especially her eyelashes.

I remember Uncle Vic's Christmas club. I think I put in sixpence a week (that's 6d) and got loads of money back at the end of the year with which to buy presents.

I remember being quite chuffed at having no electrics in the caravan except 12v to power the water pumps and a couple of lights. Then five years ago when I was on site for a whole autumn season I succumbed and used a 240v hook-up, with which I could power lights, a heater and charge assorted phones, CD players and so on. By day two of this year's holiday we had three laptops in the caravan!

I remember hidden on the Tiffin stage up behind the tabs was a sign saying 'Cirencester Maternity Hospital'. I have no idea why.

I remember being disappointed by John Martyn's Road To Ruin album because he had a small jazz combo playing the extended improvisation at the end of the title track instead of his echoplex guitar, which I had seen him do live.

2008-10-31T04:24:00.002Z

I remember Patrick Campbell's stutter, Frank Muir's bow tie and Robert Robinson's bell.

I remember subbing a CD review written by a national newspaper editor of an album by Benji Kirkpatrick in which the national newspaper editor referred to "the late John Kirkpatrick". Dead? Surely not. After a quick check on JK's website I pointed out that he was still touring and deleted "the late". And that national newspaper is doing away with subs!

I remember playing a card game with my nephews Oliver and Kit that they had made up called Golden Cap - because that's where they had invented it. If only I could remember the rules.

I remember the exhilaration we all (well, most of us) felt when Tony Blair trounced the Conservatives. I can sense the same excitement with Barack Obama and only hope that he doesn't let us all (and I do mean the whole world) down the way New Labour did.

I remember playing Pooh sticks with Margaret, Alice and Esme at a bridge over a brook in the New Forest. After all, it was only this week.

I remember playing A Rainy Night In Soho by The Pogues for Ren. Only because I was listening to it yesterday and suddenly realised I'd heard it before - at Ren's wake. I don't know if it's a false memory, but it figures that it meant a lot to him in view of the lyrics.

2008-09-30T12:59:00.006Z

I remember Tony Leitch, partly because I bumped into him and his wife Stephanie in Kingston four Saturdays ago - the first time we'd met for perhaps 20 years - and partly because he died of a massive heart attack a week or so later. Consequently, only finding out about this last Thursday when my Mum phoned me to tell me there was an article about him in the Surrey Comet and that the funeral was the same day at 2pm, I managed to get there and celebrate his life along with a packed Putney Crematorium. I do like humanist 'services'. I think I'll have one myself. Not so sure about the canework coffin though. I saw Tony as something of a style guru - before such things existed. I wrote about him here. He crossed my mind every time I opened the cutlery drawer of the caravan. Or even the door of the caravan.

I remember my Egmond guitars - a lead and a bass, both electric. One of them still had the sticker on it from Bell Music when it went into the skip yesterday. They had spent too much time in the loft and I couldn't face trying to restore them - nor selling them (or not!) on eBay. So I took photographs and said goodbye. Anyway, I've always felt much more comfortable with acoustic. But I still can't quite believe I did what I did.

I remember my harmonium, which was demolished on my behalf and which I could see in pieces in said skip. Can't believe I gave my permission - but I did. Managed to retrieve a panel which I shall use as loft flooring. I think we brought that all the way from Godalming on a roof rack on one of my Dad's cars. One note was always flat.

I remember Mrs Hawkey - who put me up for the night - made me ham and eggs on the morning of my wedding. I don't think I'd ever had it before - and I don't think I've had it since.

2008-08-30T10:44:00.000Z

I remember beginning to write this in my caravan. On my laptop. By the time John arrived on Saturday we had three between us.

I remember I used to borrow Eliot's typewriter (which I had bought in a second-hand shop in Wadebridge one summer) because my one was electric and I only had 12v.

I remember practising To Be A Pilgrim in open-tuning in the awning.

I remember nearly losing my awning in a storm. I wasn't even at the caravan, I was working in London for a couple of days. Bernie and Phyllis saved it for me and got soaked into the bargain.

I remember driving up to Cleethorpes for one of my early caravanning adventures and running out of petrol - I hadn't realised how far away it was.

I remember - again this was early on - driving down little Pembury and realising the caravan was skidding to a stop in my rear-view mirror. I hadn't hooked up properly and the emergency break had come into play. Fortunately there was no damage. I never did that again.

I remember walking along Mill Lane at dusk and seeing bats darting about above us.

I remember meeting a macro-brewer called Gene in the Anchor and him inviting me to come and sample his ales and his hospitality. He was so passionate about his product. We had only known each other 10 minutes.

I remember Bernie squaring up to a mouthy little Liverpudlian. The guy was quite drunk but harmless (about half Bernie's size) and as he was leaving he kept commenting on Bear man's presence at the bar (complaining about the quality of the beer, which is what Bernie does if it is a bit cloudy). I commented afterwards that it is a bit much when you have to pull the pensioners apart, but because I had earlier been chatting amicably to him, I got the blame.

I remember taking a tea towel to the till of a pound shop in Dorchester and asking how much it was.

I remember Oliver's fried-egg sandwiches.

I remember caravan pasta.

I remember the Smith family. The rats. The dogs. The coincidence that Eliot - who only they call Elvis - and Andy were starting at the same grammar school the next term.

I remember the name Frisbee appearing on the campsite notice board. Though it hasn't appeared for a year or two.

I remember seeing The Hamsters in Lyme Regis. Stunning. Especially the way they swap instruments during one song and still play better than anyone else.

I remember seeing among others Joe Pasquale and Brian Connolly at Worthing. I think Eliot went up on stage for Brian Connolly - and I did for one of the acts we saw there. I got a lot of stick for being dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. "Thanks for making the effort." The woman in the newsagents in Bridport recognised me the next day. My 15 minutes of fame.

I remember a bit of my tooth falling out while I was eating a memsahib's curry.

I remember the Chideock Cider Makers.

I remember the notices I had stuck to the cupboard doors reminding me of bits that needed fixing. I never did get round to fixing the table. But my dad did - this month.

I remember the bits of wood Eliot used to burn his name into with a magnifying glass. And the wasps.

I remember a little boy in the next caravan who always dressed up in camouflage gear and played soldiers all the time.

I remember a campervan with APE as part of its registration. The bloke used to go fishing all the time. He changed vans, but I have the registration around somewhere. (It was stuck on one of the cupboards until I cleared the caravan out.)

I remember what a grotty job clearing out a chemical toilet is. Especially when people use it. Which is why over the years have I managed almost to do without it. Until Leah stayed the night.

I remember Ken and Leslie Snell, who taught me all I needed to know about caravanning. How to avoid perspiration damage by putting straw beach mats between the cushions and the tables when you make the beds up. How to avoid fading of the upholstery by keeping the curtains closed during the 50 weeks of the year the caravan's not being used. How gas barbecues are the only ones allowed on the continent because they cool down so quickly. Ken gave me little bits of MDF to place under the caravan legs to spread the load and stop them sinking into the grass/mud. As I write, 2d 12h 41m before my eBay auction closes, they are under the legs of the caravan at 303, protecting the asphalt.

I remember going to a couple of other places over the past 18 years, but not much about them. Except for Buckle, just outside Brighton. Ken and Leslie took us there. We had a great singsong once - me on guitar accompanying the amateur musical society Ken and Leslie used to hang out with. And lots of wine.

I remember someone's tent catching fire at Buckle. They came in drunk one night and tried to cook something. The first we knew about it was the fire brigade turning up.

I remember going to Buckle for a few days of alcohol-free thinking about what I wanted to do with my life. I started doing an Airfix kit of a skeleton. I must finish it sometime.

I remember doing a three-point turn in a dead-end in Aberfan.

I remember putting up the awning in a storm one night at the Buckle site just before a London to Brighton bike ride. Margaret was huddled inside. Smuggled in and smuggled out. I threw a barbecue party after the bike ride and if I remember correctly Jennifer and Ren stayed in the caravan for a few days.

I remember my sister introducing me to the delights of a glass of red wine with your breakfast.

I remember - last summer - the awning resembling a Glastonbury mud-slide.

I remember Eliot's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sleeping bag - which is now Jake's.

I remember Eliot playing guitar in the awning for a little impromptu session after we got back from the pub on Friday, August 8, 2008. We tried to be as quiet as we could and still enjoy ourselves, going through the old favourites, Goodnight Irene, Dear Doctor, Wild World, Tennessee Stud etc.

I remember taking the caravan away for what must surely be the last time. Not as sunny as I'd have liked, but had a great couple of weeks. In attendance, though not necessarily at the same time, were my grandson Jake (his first time), my brother John, his sons Oliver and Kit and Kit's girlfriend Amy. My son Eliot - all the way from Texas via Croydon and Axminster - and daughter Charlie. My son-in-law Tony and granddaughters Leah and Keira. Guests of honour on their 59th wedding anniversary were my mum and dad. Even Margaret came, though she stayed in a nearby B&B. Apologies were received from my sister Jennifer, the Hicklings and Richard and Sarah.

2008-07-31T21:55:00.002Z

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.

2008-06-30T20:02:00.001Z

I remember being involved with the Lambeth Summer Project, a police/community initiative designed to break down the tensions and the barriers between the coppers and the youngsters of Lambeth. Mr Harman, late bank manager at Streatham 266, volunteered me and all I really did was to turn up to committee meetings and agree or disagree with things.

I remember Mr Shayler, another manager of Streatham 266, and his prosthetic eye. He had had a tumour removed, but boasted that he was able to sleep at the back of a meeting at area office without being found out because his eye would still be open.

I remember seeing a woman walking through Richmond Park dragging what looked like three tyres on ropes behind her - presumably training for something or other. I was driving so was unable to stop and find out what.

I remember the first time I drove on a motorway - the M1 - in driving rain, with convoys of lorries throwing up spray so you could hardly see a thing, when the loom burnt out on my (my Mum's?) Ford Anglia. Drove the rest of the way without lights but had a jolly good few days as I remember with Richard Jackson and others (Gareth Davies?) at Nottingham University. Rod Stewart was singing Maggie May on Top Of The Pops - with John Peel on mandolin. Hated motorways from then on until one of my Cortinas had wing mirrors, then I was OK. Although the smell of burning wiring still sends shivers...

2008-06-15T13:20:00.001Z

I remember my Dad taking me back along the A3 after I had written off Mum's Austin A40 and showing me the lane-closing signs that said I was running out of road.

I remember us making ice cream out of snow - basically by adding jam.

I remember my Dad building a box for a blackbird with a broken wing until it was well enough to fly away.

I remember when we went to see Ted Hughes give a poetry reading - I think it was at Hammersmith Riverside Studios - and we were both equally impressed by his sheer presence, much the same as, more recently, Jacques Loussier.

I remember when my Dad was the only person I knew that seemed able to mend things, or even make things from scratch: a television, an electronic keyboard, a back gate for Pembury, a coffin for Issey.

I remember taking my Dad for baked camembert and red wine at Cafe Rouge when he had threatened to discharge himself from Kingston Hospital.

I remember when I said I was going to have to get married - my Dad (and Mum) decorated the house and painted the garage so we could have our wedding reception at home.

I remember we were on our way home from remixing the King Lear tapes (at last!) and we stopped off for a drink in Weston Green and I told my Dad that I was leaving Maxine and he said, "I can see a lot of pain coming."

I remember when - ahead of his time - my Dad took a job with a boat builder on the Thames at Richmond rather than become part of a big corporation.

I remember how my Dad has never to my knowledge cooked anything more complicated than a poached egg on toast - with apricot jam... Happy Father's Day, Dad!

2008-05-30T20:26:00.000Z

I remember adapting my mum's old mangle. She didn't need it for the washing any more because she had bought a new spin drier. I used the mangle as a printing press, although I must admit nothing memorable was achieved.

I remember a Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee EP I had - probably given to me by Mr Townsend next door. It had The Key To The Highway on it - can't remember what the other three tracks were.

I remember a workshop that Stefan Grossman gave - I think at Farnham Maltings. He said something that has stuck with me ever since. You should never keep your guitar in its case when at home. It should always be out. Always ready to play. Although I confess I am not in a position to follow that advice...

I remember the bit in Of Mice And Men where they fill up with petrol and he wants to get every last drop out of the hose. I think of that every time I fill up - and stretch the hose out and give the gun a little shake.

I remember helping clear up after a fair or pig roast or something similar at Nonsuch Girls' School - of which I was a PTA stalwart. We looked round and realised Eliot had just stepped down on to the open-air swimming pool cover - indeed had slipped down between it and the side of the pool. He was probably about four years old. We rushed over and dragged him out, and no lasting harm was done. But as well as being soaked, as we pulled him up he got stung by a wasp. Loads of them used to hang around the pool. He wasn't very happy. But when you think what might have happened...

I remember the sterling effort made by our church organist with Widor's Toccata for our wedding. Quite a challenge. John I think his name was. Quite tall.

I remember having a seebackroscope.

2008-04-25T21:44:00.001Z

I remember taking Eliot to the park and trying to show him how to use a swing without me pushing him. In the back of my mind I was thinking I wouldn't be around for much longer to teach him how to do such things. He's 24 today.

I remember what a dashed good-looking conductor Nick Dodd made at the helm of the Chelsea Symphony Orchestra. You'll get some idea from the picture of him here, but I think he looked even better from behind, his mane swaying in the breeze from the first violins. I took him to the Tiffin Carol Service once and he pointed out various imperfections so I didn't take him again. Bloody Royal College of Music allumni.

I remember at Frank and Naomi Whately's wedding we sang a hymn by one of the groom's ancestors. Never done that before - or since.

I remember making a tray and a waste paper basket in canework lessons in the top class at primary school.

I remember How, a TV programme with Fred Dinenage and Jack Hargreaves, where they momentarily pretended to be Red Indians as the show opened, but went on to explain how thinks happened or worked. I think one of the other presenters was called Bunty.

I remember Neil Dunkin, one of the news subs I worked with at the Telegraph. We often used to have a pint and/or a chat together. I met him the other day and discovered that he has had a book published, Anfield Of Dreams, about Liverpool, the city, its people, its football club and their fans. And in the back, under the acknowledgements, he has included me!

I remember always wanting to be included in the 'Thanks to' section of someone's CD. Actually I have already had a couple of mentions in Eliot's films.

I remember, every time I have a pint of beer and a bag of peanuts, the scene in The Hitch-Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy where they prepare for oblivion.

I remember on my way home from the Telegraph one night sitting upstairs on a 154 bus going through the Roundshaw estate and the window next to me shattering. Not sure if it was a pellet or a stone but the bus driver took the bus out of service. I pointed out that he was not going to leave the few of us left at the bus stop at that time of night and he conceded and waited for the next bus to come along.

I remember the Marble Factory, an arts project that I used to lend money to in the Walworth Road - or perhaps it was Camberwell.

I remember words attributed to Sir Thomas Beecham on being asked if he had heard of Stockhausen - no, but I've stepped in some.

I remember how fragrant - perhaps a little overpowering - was the smell of my French teacher's after shave.

2008-03-27T21:20:00.001Z

I remember Instant Sunshine, an occasional group made up of doctors and journalists and such like who sang and played humorous songs on current affairs programmes. The recently departed Miles Kington was one of them.

I remember playing with my train set at our house in Phyllis Avenue. The power supply was from above a shelf in an alcove. I was sitting on the shelf one day, experimenting, and I managed to touch two wires together. I got quite a shock, but fortunately not an actual electric one.

I remember a school show one Christmas that was based on The Emperor's New Clothes in which a rather tubby boy from the next class walked down through the school hall in his vest and underpants. It was probably the year we did Thumbelina.

I remember a work colleague - his mannerisms, his speech, what he looked like - but I can't remember his name or where I worked with him.

I remember my brother getting his fingers shut in a train door at Waterloo - in the days when slam doors were the only type. There were tears.

I remember seeing Nigella Lawson, Tim Burton and Sir Peter Blake in The Wolsley, a restaurant in Piccadilly, though admittedly on different occasions. I wonder if they noticed me...

I remember sherbet.

2008-03-07T22:48:00.003Z

I remember Norman Smith, who, I have just read on totallyfuzzy, passed away this week aged 85. "Fucking cancer", of course. He was the recording engineer for all the early Beatles recordings, discovered Pink Floyd and, as Hurricane Smith, had hits of his own with Don't Let It Die and Oh Babe, What Would You Say. But I remember Linda (love of my life at the time) Forster telling me she used to babysit for him.

2008-02-27T22:06:00.000Z

I remember when Boudicca was spelt Boadicea, and pronounced Bow-diss-ee-a instead of Boo-dick-a.

I remember Ram Jam Singh. He was in the upper remove or something like that and good friends with someone whose surname was Cherry. Thanks to the wonders of Google I've just established it was Bob Cherry - and they were characters in Billy Bunter.

I remember being introduced to the wonder that was Molesworth in a coach on the way back to school, I think by Andy Mackie, who perhaps then lent me the book, which I think was a compendium. I went on to buy the books and the compendium.

I remember Joe Melia.

I remember a print of The Light Of The World by Holman Hunt that used to hang on the wall in the Bunyan Baptist Chapel.

I remember seeing the unmistakable form of John Cooper Clarke walking along Streatham High Road with what looked like Nico in tow.

I remember seeing the Gutter Brothers busking in New Covent Garden. They were phenomenal. The washboard player/singer wore different coloured plimsoles, which for some reason impressed me. Not long after I went to a freshers' ball at Kings' College medical school and you could have knocked me down with a feather - the Gutter Brothers were the live act.

I remember an elderly customer at Streatham who - I felt sure - was being ripped off by her son who had a power of attorney over her account. I made it as hard for him as I could and even went to visit her to try to ascertain what was going on but as far as I know he got away with it. Margaret came with me on the visit so we didin't rush back to the office - we had a nice break on Streatham Common.

I remember visiting Alderley Edge on my way back from somewhere or other. I knew it as the background to Alan Garner's novels though I fear it is more famous nowadays for being the home of various football players. I had my camping stuff with me and actually found a cave and cooked myself a meal.

2008-01-31T12:41:00.001Z

I remember sweet cigarettes. And sweet tobacco, which was yum.

I remember a transvestite called Duffy who used to hang around Wimbledon village. The story was that he had a shock of black hair but his wife left him and overnight it went white. Then he started dressing as a woman and, this being in the Seventies, he started being banned from pubs.

I remember going to see the film adaptation of Le Grand Meaulnes with Julian Vahrmann. I think it was at a cinema in somewhere like Chelsea and because we were running late we got a taxi rather than a Tube. We just paid the correct fare, and because we didn't give the cabbie a tip he shouted at us. We legged it into the cinema.

I remember going for an interview at the BBC and seeing Gillian Hills in the foyer. I had fallen in love with her when she was in the television adaptation of Alan Garner's The Owl Service. She was also in Blow-Up and Clockwork Orange.

I remember Red Shift and Elidor were also televised. I always found it annoying that Red Shift would be classified as a children's book in the library and in bookshops.

I remember indoor fireworks. And jumping jacks. And flying saucers.

2008-01-26T10:23:00.000Z

I remember Den Gibbard - my ex-wife's mother's common-law husband, if you get my drift. He was probably one of the kindest and gentlest men I have ever known, with a lovely sense of humour. I hadn't seen him for five or ten years - he was suffering from Huntington's chorea - but yesterday, on my birthday, I went to his funeral.

2007-12-25T08:53:00.001Z

I remember being able to have snowball fights at Christmas.

I remember waking up one Christmas Eve and keeping my eyes tight shut because I could hear Father Christmas and I knew that he wouldn’t leave anything if I saw him.

I remember knocking on people’s doors and singing carols around the streets of Motspur Park and Ewell and nobody feeling the need to write to the newspapers about youths begging or the general decline of civilization.

I remember Christmas tree lights being quite large. And that was the only place you had lights. There would be paper garlands - or paper chains that you had to make by licking together each loop. I can still taste the gum. And those tin foil spirally things.

I remember, every year in the Service of Nine Lessons and Carols, it would fall to a new boy to read the lesson that had the word naked in it, giving rise to much sniggering in the pews.

I remember going up in a space ship to see Father Christmas at the Co-op in Morden, though eventually I cottoned on that it was just the lift.

I remember it all had something to do with Jesus... Happy Christmas!

2007-11-30T23:30:00.000Z

I remember "Here comes DJ Disco Tex, dancing with his Sex-o-lettes, get dancing" (you had to be there)...

I remember following Pauline Cope around like a lost puppy. I didn't mean anything by it. Nothing untoward anyway.

I remember a zillion sketches from Morecambe And Wise, Monty Python, Not The Nine O'Clock News, even The Fast Show - but nothing from Little Britain.

I remember snogging Sue Joines. That might not be how she spelled her name. And she might not have remembered it as snogging. She was my girlfriend's brother's girlfriend and neither of them (my girlfriend and her brother) treated us (me and Sue) right. We had an enjoyable trip up to the King's Road once and I bought Frank Zappa's live album Fillmore East, June 1971, on cassette. I have since bought it on CD. The snogging I remember was more of a hug, but I did try to touch her around the frontal chest area. She withdrew... I didn't mean anything by it. Nothing untoward anyway.

2007-11-21T23:29:00.000Z

I remember signing the online petition to make Pete Seeger a nominee for the Nobel Peace Prize. You too can sign it here.

2007-11-11T18:34:00.001Z

I remember my uncle Arthur - except I can't, because he was killed at the end of the Second World War, after shooting himself by mistake while cleaning his rifle. I wish I'd known him, because my mum tells me he was always in demand at parties, being very good at vamping along on the piano at sing-songs. Any way, even though I didn't know him, on this day every year, especially as they play the Last Post, I do remember him.

2007-11-06T20:19:00.000Z

I remember Jennifer and Ren getting married - can it really be 11 years ago this evening? - and the amazing effort the staff at Hammersmith Hospital put in to make it a truly joyous and memorable occasion. There was Champagne and cake, which Eliot did a grand job of serving.

I remember Colin Margerison, production editor at the Mail on Sunday, who I learned today passed away last week. We knew it was coming, but it's still a shock. I never could work out whether he liked me or not, but as he kept booking me in for shifts I suppose he can't have thought I was that much of a prat. There are pictures of Colin here.

I remember one of Thelma's sayings: "Fucking cancer..."

2007-10-25T10:25:00.000Z

I remember a Brian Auger Trinity album that I had on cassette. I liked one side but not the other so taped over some of it with tracks from Todd Rundgren's Something/Anything - Torch Song was one of them. But I particularly remember one tune I loved which was Lament For Miss Baker. I only know that because I recently managed to download the whole album. Now I like it all.

I remember the waiting room of Epsom Hospital where I had to take Eliot fairly regularly with his back problems. The children's clinic waiting room was shared with maternity. I would whisper comments such as "How did all these ugly women get pregnant?" and Eliot - far more politicaly correct than myself, or perhaps just a nicer person - would get very cross with me.

I remember my community psychiatric nurse agreeing with everything I said.

I remember a comment I overheard a few weeks ago on the picture desk at the Sunday Express: "The Famous Five - were there books or was it just a television series?"

I remember the way Brian Patten, Liverpool poet, used to pronounce "th" as "v". It made him seem quite vulnerable. He still does it.

I remember finding out that Peter Redgrove used to go to Tiffins, albeit only for a little while, which I only did when he died. And that he lived near my brother in Falmouth. All these missed oportunities.

I remember Peter, Paul & Mary appearing on British television - possibly on Ready, Steady, Go but it might have been an "in concert" performance. One of their guitar strings broke, which obviously was not a problem. They just chatted and fixed it.

I remember being in love with Mary.

I remember remember playing Splat I think it was on the Sinclair Spectrum and being amazed that the little "character" could speak when it reached a certain point: "Yippee!" it cried in a reasonably human electronic voice.

2007-09-30T20:03:00.000Z

I remember the monkfish I had last Friday at Drake's restaurant in Ripley. Probably the best monkfish I have ever had. The texture was absolutely perfect. And various flavours were provided by the bits and pieces served with it. It was fantastic.

I remember Jubb, the way he would follow women home from the station and the way he licked the dry slime from his lips.

I remember Magnus Pyke and Professor Eric Laithwaite.

I remember the smell of a paraffin heater.

I remember driving slowly out of Tiffin's one night probably after working on some scenery when someone rode his bike into the side of my car and ended up on the bonnet. Bernard Lang was in the passenger seat and we got out but the bloke - slightly dazed - apologised and rode off. He had been riding along the pavement. The next day I reported it to the police in case he had ended up with concussion somewhere but they weren't particularly interested. I had to produce my driving licence and insurance though.

I remember seeing a lizard on Wednesday, September 5, 2007, while on holiday in Cornwall (walking round the coast path from Polzeath to Daymer Bay). It was the first time I had seen one in the wild for ages - to be specific, since my primary school years when they used to be found beside the cinder track beteen Motspur Park and Worcester Park, on the allotments near Green Lane Primary School or in the sand dunes that year we went to Perranporth for our holiday. We also saw glow worms beside the road in Cornwall that year but I haven't seen any of them for ages either.

I remember one half of a mobile phone conversation I overheard on the train the other night. "Can you pick me up from Ewell West - something's happened and I can't be on the streets - If you could understand you would understand - please pick me up - I can't be on the streets - please pick me up from Ewell West - If you could understand you would understand - you can drop me off at (garble)" and so on. I resisted the temptation to tell him what he meant was that he would tell his mate/brother once he met him what had happened and then he would understand. I also decided there was little point making a citizen's arrest as this conversation was conducted in full view of a CCTV camera a few yards away.

2007-09-11T20:18:00.000Z

I remember Joe Zawinul, who has died today in Vienna aged 75. Only recently heard him with Cannonball Adderley, but have loads of his Miles Davis stuff and all of his Weather Report albums and even a Zawinul Syndicate CD. But mainly remember being blown away seeing him, on a documentary on BBC4, playing a synthesiser keyboard with its keys reversed (ie the left-hand end plays the high notes and so on) just to practise and exercise his mind - and sounding fantastic. Very much like Hendrix, the way he could pick up a guitar strung any way and still get it to sound beautiful. He liked a drink, too.

2007-08-30T17:21:00.000Z

I remember how amazed I was to see Eliot walking towards me the other week. It couldn't be him. He's in Austin, Texas. Only he wasn't.

I remember thinking what a nice girl Sue Ambrose was. I have a vague feeling she went out with Ross Hutchinson for a while. Blonde hair. Of the Heather and Hattie crowd. Not sure why it's always stuck in my mind but I can still see her, sitting on the grass outside the back entrance to Nonsuch.

I remember Elton John playing the swimming baths at Epsom. Only we didn't bother to queue for long as Linda wasn't feeling well. I am being tactful here, because I remember exactly why she didn't want to queue any longer, but I'll keep that to myself.

I remember a bloke at school who put a Jaguar engine in a Mini - I think he used to go drag racing - and I think his surname was Bishop.

I remember my Dad making a box for a blackbird to live in until its wing was healed.

I remember Jill Smith, an early Kingston OU colleague. Probably burned into my brain because she once told me how fantastic it felt to swim naked in the sea. She was right.

I remember Chris Trevor-Wilson and his yellow and red cards. We were sitting outside the Cricketers in Richmond last night when the alarm of a car parked over the road started going off intermittently, with someone sitting inside it. It got to about the 10th time and Chris stood up and gave it the old red card treatment - at which point it gingerly drove off. He's still got it!

I remember driving Eliot to the airport this morning.

2007-07-31T20:43:00.000Z

I remember not wanting to join the Scouts because I had heard that they strip you and cover you in boot polish. I was in the Cubs - 22nd Wimbledon - and got loads of badges, although I seem to remember having to redo my artist's badge because the examiner wanted to see more original work, rather than copies. Kids these days don't know they're born.

I remember Akela, Baloo and Riki-tiki-tavi.

I remember the drummer of Slade losing his memory after having a car crash.

I remember being disappointed that most of the people I met in the OU were studying for what I felt were the wrong reasons. Public sector workers - teachers, civil servants and so on - were guaranteed a pay-rise if they got a degree. They all tended to take the easy options - including of course sociology. Not many people were doing it for the love of learning. Like me.

I remember the coolest name in Tiffins. Ever. Sergio Dalmazzo-Auckland.

I remember Avrom Feldstein, although his real name was Brian Field.

I remember one afternoon during rehearsals watching a young lad, an old boy of the school just as I was, playing Everyday Hurts by Sad Cafe on the grand piano in the school hall and thinking how talented he was - good-looking too - and how shocked I then was to hear that he had jumped off a railway bridge in Hinchley Wood.

I remember flat, square chewing gum that came in a pack with a series of cards, such as flags of the world. On the other side there were facts such as the name of the country, its capital and a word or phrase in its language.

I remember in my year of about 90 boys (three classes) at school we had a couple of Jews and a guy whose family was Plymouth Brethren. Other than that we were all presumably Christian to varying degrees. The others didn't have to go to morning assembly or RE lessons. If you were Jewish you weren't allowed to write "Yahweh" or "Jehovah" on the blackboard, which I thought was quite respectful. I admired them for that. I wasn't aware of any anti-semitism or bigotry or racialism. I don't think we had any Asians in the school. The only black people I knew of were the blues guitarists and singers I used to listen to.

I remember the London to Brighton bike ride - and the thumping in my temples as I gave up two-thirds of the way up Ditchling Beacon.

I remember being chucked for being frigid. Her name was Jackie.

I remember a large marquee opposite the pier at Bognor. A summer evening. As we walked past, we could hear someone inside singing You Are My Sunshine.

I remember how excited the country was the night Tony Blair was made Prime Minister. What a disappointment he turned out to be.

I remember JJ telling us we should always get on a bus with the correct change for our fare. I don't always do it, but I know that the world would be a better place if everyone did.

I remember playing a practical joke on a guy who I think was called Steve Brown, who had resigned from NatWest and was going to work for some foreign merchant bank or other. On his last day I got Bob Smedley - I think that was his name and quite frankly he should have known better because he held a position of responsibility - to hand him a letter I had prepared on Area Office headed paper, declining to accept his resignation. He cried! Bob got the blame! Don't you just love it when it all goes according to plan?

2007-06-30T06:25:00.000Z

I remember at the end of The Knuckledy Crunch and Slippledee-Slee Song, a nonsense song on John Martyn's 1968 LP The Tumbler, a civil servant-type voice pipes up with "Is it folk?"

I remember walking along the high street in New Malden very late one night, either on our way to or back from a party, with four or five of us singing Sympathy for the Devil at the top of our voices.

I remember taking Fairport Convention's Unhalfbricking album to a music lesson and playing a track - I think it was Autopsy. Bruce Pullen, our music teacher, ripped it apart, saying how unsubstantial it was and making various arguments for its worthlessness. I couldn't understand how he couldn't like it but I couldn't express why I though it was good other than to make noises of enjoyment. I still love that song, and I still can't explain why.

I remember when I was newly married putting together little plastic football players for a Subbuteo-like game for pin money. I wish I could remember how much we used to make - it was something ridiculous like £1 for a 100.

I remember delivering leaflets for a carpet company. That was while I was still at school and that paid even less. I think Mike West arranged it through a woman who lived somewhere mysterious such as Mogador or Merstham. There was none of that throwing the leaflets in a ditch or hiding them in a wardrobe like in Billy Liar.

I remember Argent, around the time of their biggish hit, Hold Your Head Up, playing a gig at Kingston Poly, which is now of course called Kingston University.

I remember visiting a friend of Dave Hawkey - or it might have been David himself - and being in awe that he was allowed to work on a stripped down car engine on the table in the kitchen.

I remember thinking Tim Buckley was crap when I saw him as support act for the Incredible String Band - probably at the Royal Festival Hall. In my defence, we were in ISB mode, and he most definitely was not. I also went on to buy his album Blue Afternoon - probably because it was on Frank Zappa's co-owned label - and still think I Must Have Been Blind is one of the most beautiful songs ever recorded. But at the time I couldn't wait for him to get off stage and take his 12-string guitar with him.

I remember Paul Gogarty being knocked off his bicycle in the high street in Worcester Park and probably being the first young person I knew to die.

I remember the yes-no interlude.

I remember Twiggy.

I remember Beech Nut chewing gum. There was only that or Wrigley's (spearmint or doublemint).

I remember seeing a peregrine falcon taking a woodpigeon in mid-air. I was impressed.

2007-05-27T15:50:00.000Z

I remember when a million was a million - which happens to be a line from a Tom Waits song (Little Drop of Poison on Orphans).

I remember seeing Tom Waits in concert on television - and I don't think the programme has ever been repeated. It was from somewhere like the London Palladium, he had a lamppost - or perhaps it was a hat stand - on stage and he was brilliant. I suppose it was around the time of Blue Valentines - probably my favourite of his albums.

I remember always bumping into Steve Madden at the Tiffin Fair and sharing a laugh at my expense over the fact that I was still working for the bank, but that I wouldn't be next year, but that I still was.

I remember listening to Steve Madden on Radio 2 one night, and enjoying the programme, only to discover that it was his last show. I think he is on one of the regional stations now, and I did find a publicity snap of him on the BBC website and he was as bald as a coot - serves him right for laughing at me!

I remember John Peel raving about the Four Seasons' new album when they signed to Tamla Motown.

I remember taking the exhaust off my mum's Ford Anglia trying to enter a petrol station by driving across a grass verge which unfortunately ended with a low wall - it was dark and I mistook it for the entrance. I also remember writing off my mum's Austin A40 by driving along the A3 when they were building the Tolworth underpass and not realising that my lane was about to come to an abrupt end - my dad took me back the next day and showed me the signs. They were there. In my defence I managed not to hit anyone else and did a fairly controlled skid ending up on top of a heap of rubble. I think Stuart Constable was with me. No one was hurt. The thing is, I don't remember (and I have Paul Smith to thank for this) "your side-scraping your old man’s Humber on the A3". I remember the car well - I used to drive it to school and we would go and hang around the entrance to Tiffin Girls' School.

I remember Paul Smith getting Ginger Baker's autograph with my pen. He was sitting behind us at Jimi Hendrix's Albert Hall concert.

I remember a tree there was in Nonsuch Park, probably an oak but I wouldn't swear to it. This was over on the wilder south side of the park. It was beautiful and dominated the landscape and every time I went I would think I must bring a camera and photograph it. I had plans to do pictures of it in each season - I can still remember it surrounded by snow. Then one day I noticed it had gone.

I remember having an enormous argument with my parents - we were in Kingston and I wanted the money to buy the first Vanilla Fudge album. I eventually got it but I don't think it was that day. I remember going home in a real sulk. I thought it was good at the time - and I have bought it on CD but don't listen to it that often. It's certainly not worth falling out over.

I remember a physics teacher at school called Mr Taylor. First name Ian. These days IT would be fairly cool initials to have. But in the Sixties he was just it.

I remember in a very early woodwork lesson - so I would have been about 11 or 12 - and the teacher, who I think was called Mr Taylor, showed us how to hold a saw, with your index finger pointing along the blade. I have remembered that every time I have picked up a saw since.

2007-04-30T18:41:00.000Z

I remember my very own flasher. I was walking down Motspur Park (the road - not the village) after I believe an evening at Ross Hutchinson's house in North Cheam because I had a few issues of Art & Artists under my arm. So it was probably during my years in the sixth form. It was dark. A car pulled up. A bloke asked me through his open passenger window which was the way to New Malden. I pointed out that he was going the wrong way but all he had to do was turn round and turn right at the end of the road and he couldn't miss. All of a sudden he changed his tone and started asking if I knew where you could find any women etc - in slightly more unpleasant language - and then he said, "Here - look at this," and pointed down. I stepped back, shocked, and walked off. I heard him turn round and drive off. I couldn't believe it.

I remember one evening at The Rising Sun - probably the only time I had a drink there - in Surbiton when we were sitting in the beer garden and the infamous Mick Foster walked over to a (feathered) bird that seemed to be in distress and wrung its neck. He was just putting it out of its misery.

I remember a party at the infamous Mick Foster's house. There were ants crawling all over the dishes on the kitchen counter.

I remember another party at another house. A young lady whose name I remember but shall not divulge had been saved from the evil clutches of the infamous Mick Foster, I think by someone offering her a lift - or maybe just a drink. I bumped into Mick on the stairs. Apparently heartbroken, he said: "Damn. I was just about to slip her a length." He looked a bit like Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, but with none of the class.

2007-04-23T20:42:00.000Z

I remember St George's Day parades.

2007-03-30T11:52:00.000Z

I remember the Pye record label.

I remember sub-manager Eric Swingler's response to Robert Wood when he told him he had been held up at gunpoint. (Robert was a bank cashier - I think this was at Brixton branch.) Eric apparently said: "Are you sure?"

I remember Rumbelows. It was a small chain of shops selling radios, televisions and records. I bought Donovan's boxed set A Gift From a Flower to a Garden at the one in Raynes Park.

I remember the flavour of Uncle Vic's home-grown tomatoes.

I remember spending an OU summer school week at Keele University and not being surprised that a survey had shown it was the worst university in the UK for suicides.

I remember Professor Jimmy Edwards. Can't recall whether he had a TV series or a film called Wacko but I know I had a game called Chislebury Capers, based on it. Perhaps the game was called Wacko and the series was called Chislebury Capers.

I remember "me casa, su casa". I don't know how it is spelled but it is an expression that was used in the TV series High Chapparal, which had more than its fair share of Spanish-speaking cast members. It was either Buck or Manolito that used it, and it meant "My house is your house" ie "Make yourself at home".

2007-02-28T22:46:00.000Z

I remember the press party to launch the Nintendo 64. Entertainment was provided by Bob Monkhouse and he was absolutely fantastic. With each joke you could see him working out how far he could go with the adult stuff and taking it as far as he could. A true professional. I reckoned that for his 45-minute or so spot he earned as much as I did that year. I walked all the way home from Hammersmith. My legs really ached the next day.

I remember George Butler, the school caretaker, who was also a justice of the peace. The headmaster was also a JP, which was, on the face of it, a bit weird. George passed away recently.

I remember the musty smell in the basement of Elmfield, the building in the middle of the school site. It had originally been the actual school, but was now given over to the library, the tuck shop and several spare classrooms, and George Butler and his family lived on the top floor. But the basement was used for storage by the stage gang. It was also used for smoking (but not by me!) and there was a good selection of 1960s (ie innocuous) pornography - Playboy, Mayfair, Parade etc. To this day, a musty smell puts me in mind of 1960s porn.

I remember Mick Foster - aka Fester.

2007-02-22T22:12:00.000Z

I remember Ali Wellobbs. Well that's how Uncle Vic used to say it. We thought he was joking, which he usually was, but he insisted he was an actor. And he was - but his name was Halliwell Hobbs. You see we didn't have much more than three channels in those days, so no endless repeats of old films, and we didn't have the Internet Movie Database to check on either.

I remember when Martin Simpson was over here on tour one year (he had previously moved to the States) I followed him around the Home Counties going to every gig in range, taking in the Ram, Nettlebed and Banbury (or was it Newbury?). He must have thought he had a stalker. He's back living over here now so I don't feel the need quite so much.

I remember singing Yarmouth Town in a festival singaround with several of the Wilson Family in attendance. They made me sound quite good.

I remember "Music and Movement". It was on the radio and we had to be down in the school hall at the right time for it. Thursday mornings I think it was.

I remember I used to cry every time I saw Lord of the Flies at the bit where they kill Simon. That was watching it on a big screen. Although I cry during every episode of ER and that's on a small screen.

2007-02-18T19:55:00.000Z

I remember seeing Patrick Stewart as Oberon in an RSC production of A Midsummer Night's Dream - the whole cast was so full of energy I marched back across the bridge to Waterloo Station in a state of elation.

I remember going for a ride into New Malden on the back of a scooter during a party we had after one of the Tiffin School fairs. Richard Faulkner drove - though it wasn't his scooter and as far as I know he didn't know how because I had never seen him on one before. It probably belonged to his girlfriend's brother, Fran. We were quite drunk. He was going all over the place and we nipped into a pub - probably the Railway. We could see a Panda car driving around outside so I said it would probably be best if I drove it back, despite the fact that I had never driven a scooter before either. Like I said, quite drunk. So the policeman pulled us over and Richard walked off, although the policeman made him come back and arrested me for having no licence or insurance and for being a complete idiot. I think the PC felt a little sorry for me, because he could obviously have charged me with a lot worse. My dad managed to get me through my driving test in a very short time so I could put up a reasonable display in the dock. The magistrates took kindly to me as well because I only got a three-month ban. A complete idiot. Quite drunk.

I remember singing in Carl Orff's Carmina Burana with the Tiffin Oratorio Choir at a church in Wandsworth. I had to borrow my dad's dinner jacket.

I remember a baritone solo - "Three kings from Persian lands afar" - in the Tiffin Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols at Kingston Parish Church for the past couple of years that has been absolutely stunning. Colin Prince's tenor solo each year used to make your hairs stand on end, but he retired a few years ago.

2007-01-31T23:12:00.000Z

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.

2007-01-11T22:47:00.000Z

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.

2006-12-31T23:48:00.000Z

I remember meeting up with Paul Hutchinson and discussing a new group that had appeared since we had finished primary school a few months before. It was the Beatles. We thought they were quite good.

I remember Andy Mackie's brother in a group called the Gravediggers playing in the hall at the Tiffin School Whitsun Fete.

I remember the Post Horn Gallop played over the Tannoy system to call us to meal times at the Sussex Club.

I remember wetting myself on the stage while waiting for a school photograph to be taken.

I remember when you only had fireworks on or around November 5. I used to look forward to them as an annual marker in the run-up to Christmas.

I remember floppy disks. I.4mb. Wow. And I think my first hard drive was 40mb. Today I bought a 320gb external hard drive.

2006-12-30T21:16:00.000Z

I remember reading in the Telegraph's deaths notices that a George Childs had died suddenly in South Africa, and hoping it wasn't the George Childs that I knew from Nat West, Camberwell Denmark Hill. He was my manager then and liked his wine, women and song - well, perhaps not the song. He used to make sure we had some Beaujolais Nouveau in on BN day. And he would take us for a curry and put it on expenses. I recently learned from the obituaries list I get each year from the bank's pensions department that he had indeed died.

I remember bumping into Derek Harman on the train home from work one night at the end of January, and writing about it here. He was my manager at Streatham 266 High Road. He had retired way back and carried on directing shows - as Del Harman - for various amateur musical and dramatic societies. He seemed genuinely pleased to meet me and to find out about my new life and tell me about his. I found out recently that he had died in August.

I remember a Christmas show we did at primary school based on Hans Christian Andersen stories, and one boy had to walk down through the audience in his vest and pants so everyone could sing "The king is in the altogether". I can't recall his name, but he was tubby, with glasses, I think. A bit like Piggy, from Lord of the Flies. Wonder what became of him.

I remember being the blackbird that carried Thumbelina, who was played by Lesley Hawkes.

I remember one Christmas Eve having so much wrapping to do we didn't get to bed until 6am. Eliot woke at seven.

I remember catching the last train home after a PA Christmas party and falling asleep just as I came into the platform at Wimbledon. I woke up at Woking where the train stopped but there weren't any going back to London so I began walking. I accepted a small lift from a police car because I was on a bit of road you shouldn't be on, but ultimately I walked as far as Esher and at about 7am phoned my parents who came and picked me up.

2006-12-18T22:54:00.000Z

I remember when Bob Dylan released Self Portrait the critics savaged it, but Marc Bolan wrote or spoke out in his defence, saying all Dylan was doing was singing love songs, and what was wrong with that?

I remember a poem cut out of The Listener which I used to have taped to the top of my bedside table. It was by Patric Dickinson (which might not be the right spelling although I think the first name is correct) and despite years of searching on the Internet I have not been able to find it, but it was about love, chalk and precipitation - or something like that. I thought it was particularly beautiful.

I remember watching Tim Quirk, the best barman in the universe, serve customers at the Anchor Inn, Seatown. He would make everyone feel special, even kids deciding whether or not they wanted a straw.

I remember my son Eliot used to make car journeys go quicker by reciting whole episodes of The Simpsons. He did all the voices as well.

I remember Enos. For indigestion and stomach upsets.

I remember when people used to queue at bus stops. Even children.

2006-11-15T07:53:00.000Z

I remember Alma Cogan.

I remember the test card.

I remember Black Jacks.

I remember Fruit Salads.

I remember "Don't tell him your name, Pike."

I remember Saturday morning pictures.

I remember Gil Favor and Rowdy Yates.

I remember the MFP (Music For Pleasure) record label.

I remember Haagan Dazs ice-cream parlours, particularly the one in Brighton.

I remember fountain pen and propelling pencil sets.

I remember playing with building bricks.

2006-11-13T07:36:00.000Z

I remember Ren (Renato Tambini 29.7.65-13.11.96).

2006-11-09T06:44:00.000Z

I remember a man in the pub who kept calling me Geoff. He would now and again revert to Graham but he was so drunk - though pleasantly so - that while he was talking with deep seriousness about the palaeontology of the area you weren't quite sure whether he was talking rubbish or had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the topic. He also broached the subject of drugs, and several times asked me if I had ever smoked pot, possibly because he couldn't remember my answer and possibly because he didn't believe me. And as I couldn't remember his name five minutes after he told me, I have no complaint about him getting my name wrong. His son's name was Crispin. But it might have been Crispian. They had caught 15 mackerel that day and were in jubilatory mood, and kept raising their glasses or shaking my hand because I was sleeping in a tent.

I remember the barmaid, Kerry, whose parents run the Red Lion in Beominster, when I said goodnight and thanks, saying: "Goodnight Graham, or is it Geoff?"

I remember having to get up at about 3.30 on my first night to make sure the outer tent hadn't blown away. It hadn't.

I remember Clive telling us how he had walked to Eype and then back along the beach, which you can't do. He hadn't even checked the tide tables. But he made it. Apparently John Parker had found a way up from the beach on to Thorncombe Beacon.

I remember Steve, a charming man and an achiever, with two children from his first marriage, two from his second wife's, and now an 18-month-old - all boys. He had worked for BT on virtual reality projects, but while he was trying to talk about this, Pete (if that was his name) would keep interrupting.

I remember Clive appeared to be sat in the bar from about 5 until 10pm. When I arrived I was telling Paul (the landlord) about being made redundant. Clive asked who from and I told him, and it turned out that he had been made redundant by ITN. As I left he said there would be a pint behind the bar for me - and there was. And he wouldn't accept a drink in return.

I remember being disappointed by The George, which wasn't even open on my first day camping because the staff had all gone on a jolly! Whereas The Anchor had once again gone up in my estimation. The atmosphere, the staff, the beer were all top class. Although I admit that the fish pie in The George on Wednesday night was great, and so was the Tally Ho!

I remember the waiter in Long's telling me chef wanted to know if I wanted the head on or off my grilled fish. Then he came back and chef wanted to know if I wanted the roe left in. I went with head on, roe out. But I can't remember what the fish was - and it's only a week ago!

I remember Bernie kept wanting me to borrow his electric fan heater, but I had intentionally left mine behind, keeping things simple, and in any case despite the ice on the outside of the tent, inside it was a good four or five degrees above freezing.

I remember going to Frosts in Bridport and buying a couple of sketch pads and an A4 ruled pad and buying a set of guitar strings in Axminster, but finding it to cold to do any sketching, writing or guitar playing.

2006-10-29T16:13:00.001Z

I remember seeing a copy of a Jackson C Frank album in Staines in QVC (a great discount CD chain which got bought up by someone like Woolworth's but then closed down) in the bargain bin and not buying it. It wasn't there when I went back and I have regretted it ever since.

I remember singing Died for Love at a festival singaround and the organiser saying how clever I was for being able to sing in a minor key. Who me?

I remember reading a Michael Ayrton novel about an artist called Capisco. It was naturally based on the life, work and celebrity status of Picasso, and, when I found out that on the day I read of Capisco's death in the closing pages of the book Picasso himself had died, I was more than a little disturbed. Did I have paranormal powers? Could I do it again?

I remember the little alcoves on the old Hungerford Bridge which were presumably meant to be used as viewing platforms but where we would always stop, hug and kiss.

I remember the house swimming gala where I was in the backstroke heat but then they put me in the relay. I could only swim on my back so didn't want to do it but they insisted I go ahead. By the time I had finished, the other teams were about a length ahead.

I remember watching (out of the corner of my eye) a man on the train. He was quite stubbly and dishevelled and wore a bus company-type blazer, which I realised later was probably bought from a charity shop, because the pocket with the logo on it was torn at the seam. What was particularly fascinating was that while he was reading his free paper, every now and again he would pinch and tear a word out, or write in the margins with a red ball-point pen or tear out whole sections by hand and put them carefully into one of the two carrier bags he had next to him.

2006-09-30T13:33:00.000Z

I remember, when I used to want a day off from school, I would twist the corner of my handkerchief into a point and stick it up my nose, tickling myself into a bout of sneezing. I would then tell my Mum that I felt really awful. Worked every time.

I remember using handkerchiefs instead of tissues.

I remember a song probably from the Sixties that I had/have on an old reel-to-reel tape that went "Said she'd be there/At Trafalgar Square". Despite extensive investigation, I have no idea who it was by or what it was called.

I remember Dave Kelly playing at the Ram Folk Club - or it might have been Sutton Folk Club - shortly after his sister Jo Ann had died. He began to play one of her songs in her memory, but only got about half way through the first verse and burst into tears, saying "It's too soon, too soon". So he started playing something else.

2006-09-28T23:44:00.000Z

I remember when you only had one dustbin.

I remember a book we had at primary school about a log floating down through the Great Lakes. And another about a penny. And another about Pestalozzi children.

I remember, when I was a highly regarded bank manager (not), lending Alan Kewn £100 to pay his phone bill so he could get his PR company off the ground. I liked the look of him - he had long hair and a Liverpool accent. What better credentials would someone wanting to get on in the pop business need? I am sure the statute of limitations covers this as regards breaking confidence, and anyway it was in another lifetime. And, thank God, I don't work for the bank any more. But he still has his PR business which appears to be thriving. And he came to my leaving do so I expect he remembers me.

I remember my headmaster telling us to look up a word we didn't know and during the next week we would be guaranteed to come across the word again. The other day I was surprised to have to explain to a fellow sub that pawnbrokers used to be referred to as "uncle". Within a week I had heard the expression used twice - in Upstairs/Downstairs and The Pawnbroker, both repeated on TV.

2006-09-24T06:01:00.000Z

I remember learning how to make french toast by watching Kramer vs. Kramer.

I remember Uncle Tom, a distant relation, whom we used to visit in Friern Barnet, north London, every year or so, and who had a fantastic record collection, mainly 78s, including such wonders as Axeman Spare that Tree, Mad Dogs and Englishmen and songs by Tom Lehrer. They were quite obscure at the time, but now I've probably got most of the stuff I used to listen to there on CD or downloaded from the Internet.

I remember Mike Wilson, of the Wilson Family, a family of fantastic unaccompanied singers from Teesside, beginning to sing Ewan McColl's Joy of Living at a singaround at Bracknell Folk Festival. Someone who I guess had been recently bereaved burst into tears, leapt up and ran out. At least I hope that's why they ran out. Mike carried on. It's a very moving song.

2006-09-06T07:44:00.000Z

I remember a front page splash I did on the Staines News about a student who died after crashing his car into the school gates while under the influence of alcohol. The next week there was a letter accusing us of being insensitive to the family's grief etc. I felt bad. The following week there was a letter suggesting the first respondent should spend some time in a casualty ward seeing the consequences of drink-driving. I felt better.

I remember the school song - Non nobis domine. I have only just discovered that it was written by Rudyard Kipling (or to be more specific it was Roger Quilter's setting of a text by Kipling).

I remember knocking at someone's door, presumably in my role as encyclopaedia salesman, and a little girl saying "Mummy, there's a man at the door." Man? Was I that old? Suddenly a gloom descended that I have been under ever since. Until, that is, the other day when I picked up a blanket a young mum had dropped from her pushchair. A little girl nearby said: "Daddy, that boy helped Mummy." Life is sweet.

I remember fare stages at some bus stops.

I remember often seeing Lol Coxhill with his saxophone busking at the South Bank end of Hungerford Bridge.

I remember recognising Ian McKellen sitting upstairs on the front seat of my bus towards Waterloo busily studying a play. Long before he was knighted. Long before he'd come out. Long before he was Gandalf. Probably before Peter Jackson was born.

2006-08-26T15:24:00.000Z

I remember when the bar staff used to give you a warm welcome when you walked into the Anchor.

I remember (long pause) "mmm, that Condor moment". It was an advert, I think, for a particular brand of tobacco.

I remember one of my OU tutors called Joan - a very nice lady - who couldn't come in one week because, we were told, she had the flu. The next week we found out that she had been diagnosed with leukaemia. A week or so later a few of us attended her funeral.

I remember a young dog - a golden labrador called Lucy - who used to follow the children around the estate at Elmer Sands each year. She would even follow them down on to the beach. Or perhaps it was they that followed her.

I remember R.... C......, an old Star sub who took redundancy and came to work for me at the Staines News. He used to say that local papers were a great place to start your journalism career and a great place to come back to. I learned some time after I had left that the editor "had to let him go" because he was subbing an agony aunt's column in the Leader, the sister free paper, and in an answer to a letter about child behaviour problems, needing an extra couple of lines, he had added words to the effect: "If that fails, give him a clip round the ear".

I remember Green Shield Stamps.

I remember The Lotus Eaters, a TV series set somewhere mediterranean starring Ian Hendry, Wanda Ventham and Maurice Denham.

I remember frequently getting Maurice Denham and Denholm Elliot mixed up. Although they have very different names, in my defence they were both such excellent actors.

2006-08-09T21:20:00.000Z

I remember receiving a rejection slip from the script unit at The Bill. It was the highlight of my career.

I remember Potter's Museum of Curiosities when it was in Arundel.

I remember Transformers (robots in disguise).

I remember in the TV series Kung Fu, as Kwai Chang Caine (David Carradine, quite possibly as American as apple pie) strolled into town each week, people would stare and say "look at his slitty eyes" and curse him for being Chinese. But apart from him looking a bit myopic, I just couldn't see what they were on about. Loved the series though.

I remember an excellent BBC television series based on the ghost stories of M R James. David Buck and the wonderful Freddie Jones were involved. There were maggots falling out of the eye sockets of a corpse so my schoolboy imagination was quite excited. I'd never seen anything like it.

I remember the TV Comic.

I remember a book I used to read at my grandmother's all about fishing and cooking the fish that you caught. In the chapter on the chub, its advice was to cook the chub on a piece of wood, throw away the fish and eat the wood.

I remember my first American Hot at Pizza Express. My palate was obviously more delicate then, because I couldn't eat all the chillies.

2006-07-20T21:02:00.000Z

I remember drinking in the White Lion one night after work with Julian Heathcote, a fellow banker and cyclist. On my way back from the gents', resplendent in my Lycra cycling shorts, I noticed someone had got Tom, the landlord, pinned back against a table and was repeatedly punching him in the face. Having had a couple of pints, I instinctively pulled the man off, Tom only being a little (though sinewy) Scot, and then, just as instinctively, I ducked because I realised I was about to get punched. When I looked up, however, the attacker was actually heading for the door. It wasn't long before the police arrived, Streatham nick being over the road. In the meantime I was given a swift half, which was all my adrenalin-rushed body could take, on the house. It turned out to be a revenge attack by a big Irish family in the area, one of whom Tom had banned from the pub. I even went to court as a witness, but the rest is mystery. I don't think the pub's even called the White Lion any more. And where was Julian?

I remember Bill Boaks, who used to cycle around Wimbledon with billboards about road safety all over his bike.

I remember odhu/ntinggo, Big Chief I-Spy's sign-off in his column in the News Chronicle and in his books.

I remember Walter Potts, a character in Coronation Street. I think he was a window-cleaner with aspirations to be a pop star and with Dennis Tanner's help, he made a record, which I think was released in real life. Christopher Sandford was the actor's name.

I remember Travis Bickle saying: "Someday a real rain will come and wash the scum off the streets."

2006-07-18T20:45:00.000Z

I remember the night the news broke that Ian Dury had died, I was working overnight on Teletext and put up as quote of the day for the next day a line from one of his songs: "All I want for my birthday is another birthday."

I remember changing the big ends on my Hillman Imp.

I remember all the words to I've Got You Under My Skin.

I remember knowing two girls from The Lady Eleanor Holles School. They were sisters and one of their names was Bryony. Very grand.

I remember discovering that my old schoolfriend and guitar partner Gareth blew the whistle on Nick Leeson, the "rogue trader". I heard it from Simon Windmill.

I remember dandelion and burdock, a popular fizzy drink.

I remember feeling guilty because my brother use to tease my sister and I knew he only did it because I used to teased him so much.

2006-07-13T20:32:00.000Z

I remember the man who called himself Jesus. He used to hang around at gigs and festivals dressed in sort of a white shift and sandals and he said he was Jesus. And then the Strawbs sang a song about him.

I remember the first time I repeated myself in this blog. It was a piece about Eliot's brace at rehearsals for the Fragile gig. I had almost repeated myself word for word. And I had to go back and delete one of the entries, I can't remember which. Now I wish I had left it, because I am sure there would have been a slightly different nuance to what I had written. And let's face it, it wasn't blatant plagiarism. Though it was perhaps lazy. Thing is, it's bound to happen again, and I don't know what to do.

I remember Mrs Morant, a primary school teacher, standing over me until I had finished my pudding (see my entry for March 9), but I did not know until recently that my mother had gone into school the next day and respectfully suggested they were wasting their time making me eat anything containing currants.

I remember my first day as an encyclopaedia salesman. We had had a couple of days training (that is learning the spiel and when to stop if you are clearly wasting your time.) Anyway come the first day, walking from door to door and not once getting across the threshold to the second speech, which is delivered in the living room, I was so hungry half way though the afternoon that I ate the only thing offered to me - a currant bun.

I remember Mr Forster (my girlfriend's father), on hearing that I had a job as an encyclopaedia salesman, saying: "You couldn't sell milk to a starving pussy!" He was right.

I remember An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge.

I remember my dad's boat, the Margorikki. Mainly finished in mahogany.

I remember the first film I saw at the pictures was The Abominable Snowman. I hid under the seat.

I remember losing my recorder on the way home from school. It had a specially made case.

I remember getting a penny deposit back on empty bottles.

I remember Chaucer's Nun's Priest's Tale.

I remember our crop of English teachers, Jim Greenwood, Alf Monk and Bernard Harrison. They were all totally genuine, passionate and anti-establishment, a bit like Robin Williams in Dead Poets' Society. It wasn't until many years later that I discovered they were disciples of FR Leavis, straight from Downing College and hoping to change the world, teaching a morality based on the works of Shakespeare, Chaucer, DH Lawrence, John Clare, John Donne, William Blake.

2006-06-28T08:25:00.000Z

I remember my dad having a triple heart bypass and mitral valve repair in St George's Hospital, Tooting, on May 17, not coming out of intensive care until nearly four weeks later, June 13, and spending another week in a room on Benjamin Weir Ward (with shingles!) before being transferred to Kingston Hospital, from where they are talking about moving him to Tolworth, where they have better physiotherapy facilities. I didn't mention the blood clots, for which he had a follow-up operation on May 18, the temporary renal failure, the AF or the post-op confusion. I will remember why I have found it difficult to update this blog recently.

I remember my first and only drum kit - various pots, pans and biscuit tins with my mum's knitting needles for drumsticks - which I played alongside various jazz records in my dad's collection. There was Lionel Hampton, Lee Wiley with Billy Butterfield, and Eartha Kitt singing St Louis Blues and Long Gone John from Bowling Green.

I remember a time when supermarket car parks used to be empty on Sundays, so you could learn how to drive a car in them.

I remember when we weren't allowed to run car boot sales on Sundays.

I remember having a drink with my schoolfriends in the Hand in Hand, next to Wimbledon Common, on the night my sister was born in nearby St Theresa's Hospital. It was snowing.

I remember my summer job at Lyon's in Wimbledon. There were several regulars who would come in and make a glass of milk last all morning. I used to wear Levi jeans that I had bleached a bit too much, and finish the look off with one blue sock and one white sock. One of my colleagues, who was a bit simple but was well respected by the manageress because he had been working there for so long, lived in a nearby Dr Barnardo's home, and another was a German woman. My abiding memories are of the flavour of the tea, which was apparently a secret blend that you couldn't buy in shops, and of my favourite breakfast there, sausages on toast with HP sauce. And people asking for "milk and a dash".

I remember my dad coming to pick us up after the London to Brighton bike ride one year and taking us to a pub away from the main drag to celebrate our achievement. There we were, all Lycra-clad with a chamois gusset, when we realised the pub we were in was very much a gay pub. Not surprising in Brighton I suppose.

2006-06-13T22:49:00.000Z

I remember Letts Schoolboy diaries.

I remember the Spirograph. They never seemed to come out quite the way they should, largely because the pins would always move in the cardboard backing.

I remember Airfix kits, which I loved glueing together but could never seem to be bothered to paint. Or, if I did, I would make a complete mess of.

I remember refusing to wear turn-ups, mainly because I had gotten away without ever wearing them at school.

I remember in the senior class at primary school the only boys who wore long trousers were those who were unusually tall. There were only one or two of them.

I remember learning how to make French toast by watching Kramer vs Kramer.

I remember going to one of those hi-tech entertainment exhibitions at Earls Court or Olympia and being amazed at the number of people (me included) standing transfixed before a large screen DVD presentation of Roy Orbison's Black & White Night. Forget synthesisers, just serve up some good old-fashioned rock'n'roll.

2006-05-31T01:03:00.000Z

I remember a film society at school where they got hold of various obscure films, the only one of which I remember consisted largely of documentary footage at concentration camps during the Second World War.

I remember bumping into Wee Willie Harris on the train on his way home from filming - some sort of promotional work. I used to know his wife.

I remember going to watch Dennis Waterman's Showbiz 11 play football. One of only two or three football matches I have ever seen in my life. Francoise Pascal kicked off.

I remember the Monty Python team brought out an LP (Matching Tie and Handkerchief) which on one side had - though they didn't announce it - two grooves, so which track you heard depended on where the needle landed.

I remember the production of King Lear we did at Tiffins, when the cast (ie two of the three sisters) included the daughters of both Dorothy Tutin and Paul Daneman.

I remember being one of the last few up on the last night of an OU summer school (the other two were girls). It was about an hour before breakfast. And we made it to the final morning's classes. I think I even made it to breakfast.

I remember "dost thou think just because thou art virtuous, there'll be no cakes and ale". Or something like that.

2006-05-29T09:53:00.000Z

I remember Mr Crabtree goes fishing.

I remember a man who used to entertain the queues outside the London Palladium by jumping over a matchbox.

I remember "WPc Sadie Stick, hit me again with your big black stick, I'll have a word with you when I find my dic - tionary," words from a song by Mike Absalom which I probably only heard once, when I visited my estranged wife's cousin in Salisbury.

I remember a fabulous ride on horseback in an unspoilt part of Majorca where we were staying on holiday. Soon after we returned home I had a riding lesson in Coombe and was put down by a rather snotty teacher so never rode on a horse again.

I remember chimney sweeps.

I remember Five Boys chocolate. It had pictures on the wrapper of a boy or boys with different expressions on their faces.

I remember hearing someone knock at the door and being told, when I asked who it was, that it was someone who said: "Children should be seen and not heard".

2006-05-10T10:12:00.001Z

I remember my first remote - you had to plug it into the VCR!

I remember Fannie and Johnnie Craddock.

I remember baking powder submarines and divers.

I remember Look and Learn, a weekly comic for grammar school boys.

I remember Ernie Reid, who gave us a guided tour of Chichester Cathedral.

I remember Henry Cooper knocking down Cassius Clay.

I remember radio valves.

I remember Torchy the Battery Boy and Four Feather Falls. They were among the first "Supermarionation" programmes.

I remember a second-hand shop in Bognor Regis called The Barons.

I remember Shergar going missing, as well as Lord Lucan. Probably a complete fallacy, yet to my mind they always seem connected.

I remember A for Andromeda, a superb BBC science fiction series starring a young Julie Christie, with whom I fell in love.

2006-05-02T10:47:00.001Z

I remember walking up Golden Cap (highest point on South Coast, I believe) one year and Eliot complaining that his back was aching. I probably said words to the effect of "pull yourself together, you big girl's blouse", let him rest a moment and then amde him carry on. Imagine how great I felt a year or two later when he was diagnosed with scoliosis.

I remember Ronnie Wood buying Sir John Mills's home in Richmond so he could sleep in the same room as Hayley Mills.

I remember when the Hand in Hand, on the edge of Wimbledon Common, didn't have a spirit licence, and just sold beer and mead.

I remember The Persuaders - I still wear black driving gloves on the off-chance that they make me look a little like Tony Curtis.

I remember seeing Ian Dury and the Kilburns at the Nashville, shortly before he got his record contract. He was stunning, particularly on Nervous Piss, which I have never been able to find recorded.

I remember reciting the Lord's Prayer really fast with my friend during a family service, and thinking that we wouldn't be noticed. We got such a withering look from Mr Dibben, the Sunday School teacher.

2006-04-28T21:31:00.000Z

I remember an old busker who used to play a one-string fiddle outside the Lyons in Kingston. Lyons was on the river side of Thames Street, and I used to like their hot Ribena, which came in a glass held in a metal holder.

I remember going to Headley Heath one Boxing Day with my new walkie-talkies.

I remember riding on Bruce's back. He was a red setter belonging to my aunt and uncle.

I remember El Cordobes. i think I even had a poster.

I remember one lunchtime being amused by a bloke singing along at the top of his voice, arms waving, to We are the Champions by Queen. It was at the Charlie Chaplin, a pub in the Old Kent Road, and a stripper was on stage dancing to it, but it was the drunk who I found fascinating.

I remember an old guy who used to sit on a bench in the grounds of St Leonards in Streatham, which I used to walk through on my way to work. The first time he asked me for change I said "no, sorry" to which he replied "sorry - you don't know the meaning of the word". So then I used to give him 50p if I saw him on or just after my pay days. The last I remember of him was that he thought he'd roll up his trousers and show me the sores on his legs. I still always acknowledge beggars and apologise to them if I'm feeling neither flush nor generous. They usually seem to appreciate it.

2006-04-24T19:24:00.000Z

I remember sitting in a bar at the Royal Lancaster Hotel with a champagne cocktail and a bowl of nuts, feeling like goddamn Holden Caulfield.

I remember the excitement of BBC2 and Radio 3 simulcasts, whereby you could watch, for example, the Last Night of the Proms - and listen in stereo. Wow.

I remember stuff I learned at primary school that I still make use of now, such as scoring paper or cardboard so as to get a neat fold.

I remember Crackerjack.

I remember there was a factory on the way to Kingston which had the company name, Dallas, in large letters on the side of the building or on its chimney, which whenever I saw it reminded me of the Dallas Boys, a five-man singing act who we had gone to see in a summer show while on holiday, I think supporting someone like Lonnie Donegan.

I remember shaggy dog stories and knock knock jokes.

2006-04-16T21:54:00.000Z

I remember as if it was only a week ago (which it was) that I went to see Ken Dodd at the Wimbledon Theatre (which for some reason is now called the New Wimbledon Theatre). And yet I hardly remember any of his jokes. Not that he told that many - about five or six and they were nearly all in the second half. And yet he was on stage, making a packed theatre laugh non-stop from 7pm until just after 11pm with only a 20-minute pause for his support act (a relic from the days of variety, a lady trumpeter(!) who has supported him for years) and a 15-minute interval. So for about three and a half hours he had that audience by the scruff of its neck. Genius.