I was walking home one day, many years ago, back when I lived in Cricklewood and worked shifts.

The street I lived on, Chichele Road was accidentally more interesting than the usual London residential street. For one thing, it’s one of the places where people working in the grey economy wait very early in the morning to be picked up for casual, cash in hand labouring work. For another it was the street that had two homes owned by my Landlord, Mr Lent (who would always pretend to be his brother and therefore unable to help you any time you had a problem).

It was also the home of ‘Hector the Famous Inventor’, a title I soon learned was self applied – I learned all this after a conversation with him in his house that started with him asking as I passed by “Are you the man from the newspaper?”

“Yes!” I replied, a bit like Richard Hannay when asked if he is the liberal candidate in John Buchan’s ‘The 39 steps’. A short but enjoyable conversation followed inside his home.

He knew I knew he was lying about being a Famous Inventor (and possibly even about being called Hector), he knew I was lying about being from the newspaper but we both none the less had fun while he explained how he had invented virtually all of the modern world (including the Nuclear Reactor; he even showed me the reactor diagrams he had on the back of fag packets). I’ve had a lot worse days.

The there was the possibly tourettes suffering old gentleman who was walking down the street cursing everything quite loudly until he drew level with me and a friend back on our way home from the pub – the stream of swearing stopped briefly and he offered a gentle “Right lads?” before continuing on his way, cursing all the while.

(Probably told you all this in the pub recently but like a sad, doorway sleeping drunk I have forgotted)