The little memories that made us who we are

What was your first ever job, and what did it pay?

Paper round, 6am, rain or shine, for the princely sum of £3.50 a week. Felt like a millionaire on a Saturday. The dog at number 12 is the reason I can still run when I have to.

What did your family car journeys sound like — no seatbelts, all singing?

Three of us rattling around the back of a Cortina, no seatbelts, windows down, Dad doing the whole of the Radio 2 singalong. “Are we nearly there yet?” every four minutes until he threatened to turn the car around.

What was the best programme you rushed home from school to watch?

Grange Hill, then Blue Peter with the sticky-backed plastic. If you missed it there was no catching up — you just had to hope someone at school told you what happened.

What game did you play in the street until the lights came on?

Kerby, British Bulldog and knock-down-ginger when we were feeling brave. Home only when the streetlights flickered on or your mum shouted your full name down the road — then you knew you were for it.

What sweet or treat takes you straight back to being a kid?

A quarter of rhubarb and custards from the shop on the corner, weighed out on those big brass scales and tipped into a little white paper bag. Tuppence well spent. Rotted my teeth but worth every second.

What one smell instantly whisks you back to yesteryear?

Sunday roast wafting up the stairs while Songs of Praise played downstairs. Mum peeling spuds, the windows all steamed up, and Dad pretending he wasn’t nodding off in the good chair. I can smell it now just typing this.

What did Christmas morning feel like when you were small?

A pillowcase at the end of the bed — never a stocking, always a pillowcase — with a satsuma in the bottom and a selection box you weren’t allowed to open till after breakfast. The excitement was almost unbearable.

What song takes you right back to your first dance?

The last waltz at the youth club disco, hoping the boy you fancied would ask you before the lights came up. Sweaty palms, terrible aftershave, and a memory I’ve kept for fifty years.